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My house is the party house.  I’ve long accepted its designation as such.  With Southern roots come certain responsibilities.  We cook edible meals.  We are expectant of chivalry.  And we are at all times hospitable to strangers in our home.  Should we find ourselves in a predicament where someone who is less than charming invades our space, we don’t give them the old “heave-ho” *GTFO… They just won’t be invited back.  It’s as simple as that.  To illustrate the depth of my hospitality I offer you this: Last week I had a party.  I inadvertently forgot to invite an actress who bunked on my sofa for a month when she first moved to L.A.  I remembered I had forgotten her when I posted the pics from said party publicly on “Tracebook.”  Upon remembering, I immediately sent her a message apologizing for my forgetfulness.  Some people would say, “The party was over!  Why apologize after the fact?”  I’m not sure.  I guess it’s just the most Southernly hospitable thing to do.  Plus, I like her.  She’s cool peeps.  And I felt bad.  Isn’t that reason enough?  Go ahead and say it.  I’m just too damn nice.  I already know.

Admittedly, I’m a bit of a control freak.  I like hosting parties because it gives me control over the atmosphere of the room and thus hopefully my guests’ level of good time.  Is everyone drinking?  Are they enjoying themselves?  Bopping to the beat?  No?!  Really?!  Put that on pause.  Changing the song.  Ahhh… there we go… This is how we doooo it…  Literally.  In case you don’t know, Montell Jordan will liven up any party!  That 90’s song has the same effect as “Pour Some Sugar on Me” in a Caucasian bar.  (Which until recently, I always misidentified as “We Will Rock You” if I caught the song midway through.)  Shut up already!  I know!  You die hard Queen and Def Leppard fans are uttering curses as I type…  Calm down.  It’s okay.  That was before.  Now?  You would be ultra proud of me… right on time singing, “I’m hawwwt… Sticky SWEET.  From my head down to my feet!!!” Give me an “A” for effort and an “A+” for versatility, why dontcha?  I digress.  Back to my party where the beer is iced in the bathtub.  It’s free.  Don’t judge me.  Once everyone is moving and grooving I’m cool and if everyone leaves happier than they came I’m ecstatic.  Everyone loves a good house party, right?  I think that’s why the movie was made.  I have yet to eject anyone for bad behavior – which includes unwanted groping of the opposite or same sex, double dipping in the chips-n-dip, or stealing of any sort including liquor from my bar.  I haven’t found anyone making out in my bedroom or smoking reefer in my closet.  Nothing’s been broken and the neighbors haven’t complained (someone said they actually heard the music from the corner and everyone on the street was twerking a little to it).  So far, so good.  Hopefully Murphy stays far far away, unless he’s single and likes to do the wobble.  Then, he’s invited to my place for a party anytime!

The only thing I hate about throwing house parties is the aftermath.  I once compared it to 100 elephants having trampled through your place.  It’s exhausting.  After all the glorious hosting and grand glorious dropping-it-like-it’s-hot, to wake up the next morning and face the kitchen, the rearranged furniture, the empty bottles and general people-in-your-place-ness of it all can be a bit overwhelming.  Luckily for me, I have wonderful friends.  My mother always said, “To have friends, you have to be a friend.”  I believe it.  All of my friends know I hate washing dishes.  Period.  There is little to be done to get on my very best side.  If you come to my place and I’ve cooked a fabulous meal, lend a hand in the kitchen.  I will love you for life.  The contary goes without saying.  Even if I give you the Korean cultural norm and I refuse your gesture twice, persist.  This party time, two lovely female friends of mine helped out during the party and two strong, handsome male friends came over the next day and helped me put it all back into perspective (get your mind out of the East Jersey sewerage – they are just friends).  We laughed and talked about the party while they helped me clean.  It made the process go much more smoothly and helped me disassociate any bitterness with “the day after.”  SO.  If you are ever so fortunate as to receive and accept an invitation to one of my house parties, please know that my wish for you is to have the very best of times.  And know that your good fortune has been precipitated by the good will of those around you.  Don’t take it for granted.  Pay it forward.  And, in the process have fun. 😉

Persnickety Self-Adjustment: Line up the cleaning crew beforehand.  It saves on bitterness in the aftermath.

*GTFO = get the f*ck out


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