Question for you on this dreary Monday morning (an adequate barometric representation of my feelings this morning, coming down from a festive weekend of holiday revelry): What has become of the once-ubiquitous Theme Party? If you ask me, we don’t hold or attend them nearly enough. Seems to me every gathering can benefit from a little labeling and a clever dress code.
Case in point: Saturday evening was our friend’s now-annual “Christmas Luxury” party – which sounds swank and stuffy, unless you know that we’re a group of late-twenty somethings living somewhat Bohemian lives that, while exciting and satisfying, are not what one might call “luxurious.” So it was essentially a bunch of people satirizing the upper classes, playing flip-cup and random improvisational games and singing carols (and the Christmas Luxury Theme Song – yes, there’s even a theme song) in fur stoles and bow ties and really bad Christmas sweaters and the occasional silk pajamas.
The results: A girl who normally can’t keep her heavy eyelids afloat beyond midnight found herself grabbing breakfast at 4am (Eggs! This place has THE BEST post-party grub on Earth. ON EARTH!) and not falling into bed until 5. Needless to say, good times were had. So – any of you planning a holiday or New Year’s Eve feast…. Tag on a theme, sit back and see how effortlessly the fun just happens. You couldn’t stop it if you tried. (A word to the wise, however – should, at one of this parties, a jubilant South African offer you a Springbok, be clear on this point: He is not hooking you up with his handsome, professional rugby-playing cousin, but instead a creamy, green and gold shot that tastes startlingly like Mylanta and has something of the opposite effect.)
Also this weekend: My roommate had her singing, dancing holiday extravaganza and it was insane. We showed up a little late after checking out a play, and the bar was standing room only. But it was lively and goofy, and we danced under misteltoe and cheered her on and had a grand time, all said.
OH – and one more notable piece of news…. that cute little guy who’s made himself at home in J’s house (see below)? He’s missing some pretty important bits and pieces. Seems J didn’t look very closely in his initial examination (can you blame him, really?).
That’s right. Our little guy is a girl.
Sophie, to be exact.
(And once you’ve named them, there’s no turning back.)
(Below: The hangers-on at Christmas Luxury ((at this point, we’d lost a few, and people had dumped their costumes, but you get the idea)))