I have parties all the time, convincing myself that my shindigs are the most fabulous and entertaining events in all of San Francisco. I drag random friends from various circles, forcing them to attend what I’m convinced will be the best soiree of all time. I so adore being a hostess that I rarely get to experience the other side and actually attend someone else’s party as a guest. That changed on Friday.
Darren is one of my favorite people alive, a rare combo of amazingly cool and straight. He is one of my closest friends who listens to my boy troubles, lets me pick out his clothes, and dutifully attends each and every party I throw. Darren’s become quite the party host himself and tends to throw his massive get-togethers whenever I happen to be away. Finally, this past Friday, Darren had a party and I was hell bent on making it. I dragged Andy and Amanda with me, picked up a case of beer, and headed over there.
Darren is a high school math teacher and lives in the Sunset, in a massive one bedroom apartment he let me decorate. We arrived to find it packed with strangers, who when introduced to us, all stopped what they were doing, looked up at us disappointedly, and then quickly looked away. Hmmmm. Whatever.
We followed Darren into the kitchen where he had a huge bar set up, complete with laminated menu of specialty cocktails. As I sipped my divine cosmopolitan, the doorbell rang. This time, when Darren introduced the new guests to the group, they were greeted with hoots and hollers, high fives and ass-slaps. Hmmmm. Whatever.
Andy, Amanda and I set up shop in the corner and proceeded to be ignored by everyone, which we found hilarious. Our exclusion was compounded by the fact that on the huge flatscreen, Darren had set up a PowerPoint slideshow of past party pics, in which we were noticeably absent. Clearly, Darren had a consistent group of hardcore yet slightly uptight party pals and with each party photo, we’d politely listen to story after drunken party story. I began to wonder to myself, is this what it’s like at my parties? Hmmmm. Whatever.
At this point, after making many attempts to interact with the other guests, Andy, Amanda and I gave up, claimed the couch, and proceed to make fun of everyone. Before you begin to judge our immediate need to mock, keep in mind that I literally walked up to 4 (four!) groups of gals in an attempt to blend and was systematically snubbed by each and every one. Amanda and I decided it was because we were so cute.
On the couch, with drinks in hand and pizza being passed, we snidely pointed out the albino with the harelip and rolled our eyes at the drunken skank who kept knocking over the Easter candy display (don’t ask.) I’m sure that simulatiously, every other group was snickering about us; the anti-social overdressed fag hags and requisite queen downing vodka and appearing superior. Or maybe they’re far less insecure and were merely having a good time in spite of us. Hmmmm. Whatever.
It is at this point that the spitting image of actor Jeremy Piven comes over and attempts to speak to all of us as a means of zeroing in on Amanda. His name is Aaron and he works at the high school with Darren. Aaron was drunk, Aaron was obnoxious and Aaron had no idea he’s walked into a threesome desperate for some action. Thus, Aaron became our sudden means of entertainment.
We convinced him that Amanda had just been cast in a TV sitcom pilot, a 6 episode run for Paramount that may or may not get picked up. With such illustrious guest stars as Jon Lovitz (cast as the wacky professor), Amanda was sure to be a huge star, what with her immense talent as both an actress and tap dancer. Amanda played it off beautifully, flanked on either side by Andy and myself constantly throwing in tidbits about agents and West Hollywood apartment hunting. Aaron, so convinced that Amanda was primed for immediate stardom invited her to his open mike night, and she promised to exchange e-mail addresses with him before we departed. Fabulous!
Andy was now delighted with the party, squealing to himself, “Oh, let’s do it again. I want to be a cop this time!” It is at this point that we noticed a new guest. Clad in a sports jersey of some sort, he was engrossed in conversation with the hare-lipped albino and as he chatted, he rested his shoeless foot atop a kitchen chair and put his elbow on his knee, kinda like an old cowboy.
Andy leaned over, “Check out Captain Morgan over there.”
Captain Morgan was wearing grey socks and across the foot was knitted a pair of red chilies and the words “Hot Chilies!” The “Hot Chilies!” was made exceptionally noticeable by the propped up foot he insisted on displaying Captain Morgan style. Our focus then became the constant monitoring of the ups and downs of this guy’s chili clad foot upon the chair, each movement sending us into fits of hysteria.
Darren came over to rescue us and we filled him in on both Captain Morgan’s chili feet and our fabulous lie to Jeremy Piven. Darren, god bless him, charmingly laughed at us, refilled our drinks, and sent over his little British marine biologist girlfriend to keep us behaved. Sophie and Darren have been dating for a month, so after telling her all the wonderful things about Darren we could think of, we asked her all about herself. Considering our mood, this was probably a mistake as she began to speak at length on the less than fascinating subject of captive versus wild dolphins. Hmmmmm. Whatever.
Finally, having stayed well past our limit, we excused ourselves and departed. I don’t think anyone even noticed, save Jeremy Piven who grabbed Amanda and inquired as to her e-mail. “Oh, I’m just going to have a cigarette…” she lied as we ran down the stairs and into the rain.
As we drove home, I thought of my past parties and played the odds that many of them may very well have sucked. I cringed at the thought of my beloved friends driving home just as I now was, relieved that they could finally leave. I promised myself that every party from henceforth would be the most extraordinary, all-inclusive marvelous event any of my guests had ever attended. But again. Play the odds.
Either way you cut it, I was glad that I finally made it to one of Darren’s parties. Although, I think it’s safe to say, I won’t be a featured star on the next PowerPoint party slideshow. Hmmmmm. Whatever.