You know how they do play-by-plays of the Oscars and other events of significance? Since I know you're all on the edge of your seats, here's a play-by-play of my Sex in the 90s non-party. (Actual times are fudged a little, because, well, it would've been kind of creepy if I'd been sitting there with a stopwatch and a notebook.)
I decide the theme for tomorrow night will be kitsch and spend more money than I ever thought possible on gummy worms, sour patch kids, Swedish fish, and ring pops.
The voice mail robot lady tells me I have three new messages. First one is from Jason; he'll be able to tear himself away from work and make it. Second is Jason again; he spoke too soon and has to work. I'm hoping the third is him saying he actually CAN make it, because I want him to come and also, how funny would that sequence of voice mails be? But it isn't from him. It becomes clear to me that he's chosen his job over Sex in the 90s. I immediately terminate the friendship.
Party Jen calls, subliminally sensing that a gathering might be afoot. She even says she'll come early and help me wash my wine glasses. That's love, people.
I call Jen and ask her to come earlier than she planned because I want to crack open that wine, and if she's with me it's festive, but if I'm home alone, I'm a drunk.
Saturday, 7:30 PM:
Carly isn't in the door five seconds before she's insulted the Swedes. Now it's ON.
Joe lets me serve him soda like it's wine; he inhales the bouquet and then swishes, but forgets to tip me when he leaves.
I tell them the Dirtiest Story I've Ever Heard in my Entire Life from my godmother's retirement party (the one that I blogged about a couple days ago). You can find the story in the comments section from that entry; I apologize ahead of time.
Crazy Neighbor is outside smoking in the rain; I lose my mind and tell him to come over later for wine. Then I realize I've put myself in a weird position, because if he DOESN'T come by, now I'm the girl that wasn't cool enough for Crazy Neighbor to hang out with.
We make the odd discovery that Kevin played Tetris in college with The Bride's tall brother. And this is irrelevant and none of these people were present at the time, but Dave's roommate is good friends with my orthodontist's daughter. My point is this: It's a small world after all.
We poke at Melissa's belly to feel (i.e. wake up and anger) the baby. Later I'll poke at Jen's belly, but only to see her bellyring, which I happily report is a very early 90s kind of thing, in keeping with the theme and all. Anytime you can have an ironic piercing, it's a good thing.
We start watching Sex in the 90s. We make kind, sympathetic remarks about the character with AIDS: "She's probably dead now, you guys!"
Crazy Neighbor comes by. After a few minutes I realize that I only wanted him to pop in for a cameo, like a guest on Letterman, but not move in. It alters the vibe, but I have no one to blame but myself.
Crazy Neighbor leaves and comes back with more wine and also, um, pot, at my request. What the hell is my problem? I haven't smoked since college, and even then it was sporadic and never sought out. Party Jen, who has an encylopedic knowledge of my life, immediately corrects me and reminds me that the last time I smoked was with "those guys at that club in the Bahamas." Oh, right. That moment must have not made it into the photo album.
Crazy Neighbor's superweed basically kills Carly, and my pregnant friend is in the other room. I immediately know that I'm going to wake up feeling dirty, and not in a good way.
Crazy Neighbor is pontificating about how everyone in the room will be friends for the rest of our lives. It's such a lovely, drunken, random sentiment that I don't have the heart to tell him that three people in the room just met for the first time tonight.
It seems like a GREAT idea for Jen and I to agree to go to Turks and Caicos with Crazy Neighbor. He leaves us with a $150 bottle of wine and the knowledge that his and my next exchange may be our most awkward one yet.
Mark can't stop laughing at me: "I wish I'd been able to come to your party and get high, man." Also, I notice that all the Swedish fish have been eaten... except for the green ones.
When all was said and done, we only got to watch a tiny bit of Sex in the 90s. Too much Crazy Neighbor and far too little sex. You know what that means: Do-over. And maybe next time, only invited guests and only legal substances... man.