Party Pooper

Either I'm getting old or I'm just a huge party pooper. It could be a combination of both -- I'm not sure.

Our housewarming party was Friday night. Thanks to the flex schedule (yay Federal Government!), it was my day off. I finally put books on shelves and nails in walls, but I had to run to my optometrist in Chinatown at nooner.

My eye hadn't cleared up completely, but she knew that I was impatient to get my new contacts, so she sent me home with one new pair. AWE. SOME. I have to wear them sparingly, but I was SO HAPPY to ditch the glasses that it just didn't matter.

I then hauled ass to the old apartment, packed up some random shit, drove to the ghetto Safeway for groceries, returned to the new apartment, and started on the food.

Here's where I'm questioning the age thing. I've always enjoyed being a hostess. I hold Thanksgiving each year, I love having movie nights, and my philosophy has always been, "the more the merrier." But when my roommate added her invites to the evite, I almost had a stroke. Fifty people?

Yikes.

I made several hors d'oeuvres for the housewarming: crackers with cucumber, the Lady's dill dip, and grape tomatoes; edamame; bruschetta and toast; and grilled citrus shrimp.

My roommate listened to my planned menu and said, "Huh. Sounds good."

(I should mention that she's four years younger than me. When I was her age, I was finishing up grad school. She works on the Hill and has a built-in clique.)

I wanted to serve wine and good beer and maybe one special mixed drink. She bought cans of Bud Light and the largest bottle of vodka I've ever seen (1.75 liters).

My friends showed up on time. Her friends arrived fashionably late. Two fashionable hours.

My friends left at midnight. Her friends were still showing up at midnight.

I was ready for bed at 11:00. Her friends were still going strong at 2:00.

I woke up sore and with a headache from two glasses of wine. She woke up early to go to a Kentucky Derby party and had no trace of a green face, even after waaaaay more alcohol and less sleep.

It's not so much that I'm a party pooper (though I constantly worried that we were being too loud), I just think that four years is a HUGE difference at this point in our lives. I'm far enough removed from my college experience that I don't consider myself a loser for staying in on a Saturday night, and to be completely honest, I was never much of a partier in college anyway.

(P.S. I love my roommate. She's awesome. I envy her ability to juggle a million things, drink like a rockstar, and pick up her friends drunk at a bar on a Sunday night.)