How good are house parties?
Don’t answer that question, dickface. It was rhetorical.
House parties are obviously the best thing ever.
When I lived in London, I used to have enough friends to be able to throw the odd house party.
Okay, so, often I had to get my blonde, Aussie flatmate to stand up in the middle of the nightbus and declare a bus-wide invitation to our place on the way back from the pub. Generally, however, we always ended up with a full house. Plus, Izzy’s way of doing things was a great way to make new friends (and get robbed).
Since I’ve moved to New Zealand, however… let’s just say I’m not rolling in friendships.
It can be pretty lonely, moving to a new country. At my age, everybody has already more or less fulfilled their quota of friends, and it can be pretty tough to break into a pre-formed friendship group.
Now, I like to think that I’m a pretty easy person to get along with, but, I have to admit that there have been times in the past few months that I have felt WOE. Yes, I said it. WOE.
Loneliness is shit. I hate loneliness.
Being ALONE is great sometimes. Hell, almost every day at work I find myself wishing that customers would just back the eff off and leave me be in my reclusive cave that is the department store changing rooms. However, there really is nothing worse than wanting to go out for a drink at the weekend, and having nobody to go with. WOE.
Luckily for me, I work with awesome people. They’re all completely mad, which helps, but they’re also actually likeable. In fact, during the last few months, I have grown friendly enough with some of them that I actually find myself (dare I say it) enjoying coming to work. Sometimes.
Sometimes, lately, we even socialise outside of work. That’s fun.
Last night one of my work buddies, Sam, invited Callum and I to a party at his house. Win. I love house parties. I may have already mentioned something about that.
I got home from work, internetted for a while, then popped on a pair of jeans and headed into town (stopping to pick up wine along the way, obviously).
The party was already nearing full swing when we arrived.
Sam’s house is awesome for parties. It’s this rickety old thing with lots of little rooms and cubby holes, and one billion photographs of cats randomly dotted around the walls.
- Plus groudon in cabinet. Win.
- Oh, nothing much. Just a casual rabbit made out of post-it notes.
I love it.
The best thing about Sam’s house, though, is Sam and his flatmates. As a whole, I don’t really like the human race, but these people are genuinely cool. They play music, drink heavily, and are friendly to everyone they meet (even random near-strangers turning up on their doorstep with a bottle of cheap red wine). What I am trying to say, is, they are the perfect party hosts.
And it was a perfect party, due to an array of different factors:
1. There was a cardboard box fort in the hallway.
- Defending the fort
2. They have a mad cat named Sushi, and I love cats. (Especially mad ones.)
- Sushi, also defending the fort.
3. There were chips and hummus.
4. The playlist was awesome, and included a brief live performance by one of the flatties on his fiddle.
5. One of the other flatties performed a full length version of the rap part of Nikki Minaj’s ‘Super Bass’ (for the second time since I’ve known her). This is my new favourite thing in the world to listen to.
6. There were some absolutely stellar outfits. Guy wearing blue suit, girl wearing PVC corset, and girl wearing gold runners were particular highlights. Everyone looked awesome.
- The shoes at this party were particularly wonderful.
- Particularly Sam’s slippers
7. Everyone was just having a good time, and getting blind drunk in the process.
Sadly, Callum and I couldn’t stay too long due to us both having work in the morning, but we stuck around long enough to sink a bottle of wine, hang out in the box fort (poking unsuspecting passers by with a broom) and admire the Japanese porn in the bathroom.
Sam, Clem, Eleanor, and Oscar; Thanks for an awesome party.