Saturday, July 17, 2004
Party at my house
Carlos has been visiting since Tuesday night, which is why I have been silent here for days. More about his visit later. About the chance to introduce him to the joys of Seattle summer food. Or the mind-bending work of editing his PhD dissertation (hey! I'm on summer vacation! but he's my dear friend. There's no other choice but give when it comes to my friends). And today we're headed to Vashon.
But last night, I had a party in his honor. The most people I've had in my home at one time since returning from Sitka. It was a good party. Carlos is so fucking hilarious, and the two of us set each other off. After listening to us tell our stories of taking the Hydro-fit class (in which Carlos nearly drowned, but I'd have to do the physical gestures in person), or him trying to adjust to a yoga pose this morning, or just wildly gesticulating as we described my editing his dissertation, my friend Amy said, "I wish I could just have a videotape of the two of you walking through your day. It's like a Seinfeld episode." (And damn, that was a long sentence.) I love introducing all my friends to each other. It's one of my favorite activities in life. Eric brought frozen Tombstone pizza (!), but he had thought of bringing pigs in a blanket. And then he proceeded to make me laugh so hard that I nearly burst my spleen. Typical. Jim arrived unexpectedly from Chicago, and he pontificated from the couch. Tamara showed off her new red shoes and talked with Carlos about the history of the Dominican Republic. And then they figured out that they both just finished the third book in the Proust series, yesterday. Annie, Pattie, and their friend whose name I never caught (but it's something like Jarsheesh? Is that possible?) begged me to tell Pierce Brosnan stories, and Eric was so eager to hear the Grey Owl one again that he nearly begged. Amy and Paul brought over Maui Sweet Onion chips, and we stood in the kitchen talking and reaching and decimated that bag in five minutes flat. My neighbors from downstairs came up, bearing platters filled with homemade bruschetta and this fabulous heap of linguine with fresh mozarella, zucchini, succulent tomatoes, and kalamata olives. (Damn, I live in the right place.) And three people I only barely knew--they were all Tuney's friends, but she's golden with me, so whatever--showed up at 10:45. We practiced trying to balance on my exercise ball, spontaneously. And then we played Apples to Apples (have you played this? genius.) while lying on the floor on our stomachs.
There was much laughter. Of course. And no one got drunk. And they all left at midnight. Perfect party.
Well, of course, except for your absence.
Carlos has been visiting since Tuesday night, which is why I have been silent here for days. More about his visit later. About the chance to introduce him to the joys of Seattle summer food. Or the mind-bending work of editing his PhD dissertation (hey! I'm on summer vacation! but he's my dear friend. There's no other choice but give when it comes to my friends). And today we're headed to Vashon.
But last night, I had a party in his honor. The most people I've had in my home at one time since returning from Sitka. It was a good party. Carlos is so fucking hilarious, and the two of us set each other off. After listening to us tell our stories of taking the Hydro-fit class (in which Carlos nearly drowned, but I'd have to do the physical gestures in person), or him trying to adjust to a yoga pose this morning, or just wildly gesticulating as we described my editing his dissertation, my friend Amy said, "I wish I could just have a videotape of the two of you walking through your day. It's like a Seinfeld episode." (And damn, that was a long sentence.) I love introducing all my friends to each other. It's one of my favorite activities in life. Eric brought frozen Tombstone pizza (!), but he had thought of bringing pigs in a blanket. And then he proceeded to make me laugh so hard that I nearly burst my spleen. Typical. Jim arrived unexpectedly from Chicago, and he pontificated from the couch. Tamara showed off her new red shoes and talked with Carlos about the history of the Dominican Republic. And then they figured out that they both just finished the third book in the Proust series, yesterday. Annie, Pattie, and their friend whose name I never caught (but it's something like Jarsheesh? Is that possible?) begged me to tell Pierce Brosnan stories, and Eric was so eager to hear the Grey Owl one again that he nearly begged. Amy and Paul brought over Maui Sweet Onion chips, and we stood in the kitchen talking and reaching and decimated that bag in five minutes flat. My neighbors from downstairs came up, bearing platters filled with homemade bruschetta and this fabulous heap of linguine with fresh mozarella, zucchini, succulent tomatoes, and kalamata olives. (Damn, I live in the right place.) And three people I only barely knew--they were all Tuney's friends, but she's golden with me, so whatever--showed up at 10:45. We practiced trying to balance on my exercise ball, spontaneously. And then we played Apples to Apples (have you played this? genius.) while lying on the floor on our stomachs.
There was much laughter. Of course. And no one got drunk. And they all left at midnight. Perfect party.
Well, of course, except for your absence.
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