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Housepartyin' Up In NYC

I recently co-hosted my first large gathering house party in my adult life in where else, but my fairly small Brooklyn apartment.  For reals, I don’t think I’ve hosted a party of that size since maybe college or so (and even then, it doesn’t even really count, in a way), and this time around, I learned a little thing or two about a thing or two on this wild and winding party path to partyin’ in padulthood.  That’s right, padulthood.

1) Despite my numerous “appearances of being an adult” attempts, large groups of people always cancel it out

I bought $63 worth of cheese (one that had black truffles in it.  BLACK. TRUFFLES!), I bought three different types of  flowers and arranged them, and I made a french 60s pop/jazz-centric playlist!  So why did I wake up in a sea of tissue and bottlecaps on the floor of my room?  Well, have you ever seen a civilized music festival in which there is no trash anywhere?  Only once, when I went to go see a Mel Torme concert with my parents that for some reason required us to buy a table and $50 plate dinners.  I’m thinking that actual old people are too tired and beaten down by life to have any lively fun.  Maybe this just means that our friends aren’t really that old.  Or they’re just kinda slobs or something.  I dunno.  Regardless, large numbers of people in their mid to late 20s are most certainly harder to tame and single out to accuse of littering, regardless of your intent.

2) There’s always going to be “the riff raff” you blame for anything that goes wrong

There were a group of dudes we deemed “the crackheads” that showed up who looked like they lived in freegan lean-to crystal meth wonderland co-op.  I guess we vaguely knew how they were connected to us, but we really didn’t know them at all.  Their shirts were all rippy re-fashioned tanks and all they drank was PBR (YOU know EXACTLY what I’m talking about).  So, basically, my roommate and I, because we didn’t really know them, and they kinda spilled beer all over her room, pretty much blamed them (partially in jest) for like, every single thing that went wrong.  And even for things that go wrong with our apartment after that, I’m still going to go ahead & blame them.  Kind of like how when we first moved in, my solution to everything was “maybe the movers could drop off my 30 lb laundry”.

3) I’m totally  glad I never got a keg

A friend of mine offered to get a keg for the party, but it ended up falling through at the last minute.  Though it seemed like it would’ve been a good solution to having a large number of people over, based on how much trash there was and how little space I have, I think the morning after cleaning situation would’ve been a much bigger nightmare.  Unless you have a backyard, I think it’s best to stay away from kegs.  Plus, like how old are you?

4) If there’s a sassy gay posse, your party has probably waaaaarked

I actually hate that stereotype, and hate it when straight girls other-ize gay men and talk about them like accessories.  But, well, when I see a group of gay men who want to dance with me and my friends, I’m sorry, but I consider my efforts to make my party fun to not have been in vain.  Also, this Hollywood gif is the best thing ever created in the history of all time.

5) Living in a central location that most people go totally helps boost your guest numbers

Me, my roommate, and our railroad-y style apartment could not have anticipated a higher turnout.  As awesome people as we are, I think the fact that we live so close to the train and various bars in walking distance was a huge draw.


6) Buy ambiguously disposable plates

Dude, have you LOOKED at styrofoam or paper plates lately?  They’re fucking ugly as shit.  I didn’t want to buy a super pricey serving plate alternatively, so I found out that these Bambu single-use plates were a middle-of-the-road solution.  I actually could not figure out whether or not they were disposable…but I don’t think they necessarily have to be, depending on what you put on them.  So really, I think I may have just purchased really inexpensive plates to put bread on– which is actually a whole lot better than 8 kinda expensive ($10) completely disposable plates.  Who’s the smart guy NOW, Bambu?

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About the author

Anna G - Caliburg Contributor

Anna G. is a Southern California native living in the Williamsburg area of Brooklyn since 2005. Anna is constantly trying to unite her love of CA sunshine and the excitement of the New York urban jungle, all the while trying to keep her unwieldy credit card debt under control, and look fabulous at brunch, no matter how un-showered and hungover.