Jorge and I had our first real party over the weekend, for Cinco de Mayo. I say “real” because I had a little Mardi Gras party back in February, but it was a weekday, and there was a huge storm, so not many people showed up. So it was really more of a gathering.
Of course, it’s Africa, so everyone showed up about 3 hours late. So I spent the first 2 hours worried that no one would come at all and that I would get a reputation for lame parties. For some reason, my party reputation matters to me very, very much. I have always thrown pretty kick-ass parties, although I’m sure there are a couple duds in there that I’ve blocked from my memory. My wedding was one big 3-day drunken bacchanalia. (And it was awesome, I whisper in hushed, reverent tones).
I think the secret to a good party is this: tight spaces and limited seating. I once held a party in a one-room studio apartment in Washington DC that was so cramped people were actually hanging out in my walk-in closet. At my wedding I had the reception site get rid of 25% of the chairs so people would have to stand and mingle. After all, if you’re already standing, you might as well be dancing, right?
The party had a Latin theme, naturally. Jorge put together a great play list of salsa and merengue music, and you could tell a few people really wanted to dance but were too shy. I got Jorge out on the floor after he’d had a few beers, though. I love dancing with Jorge – he’s exactly the right size for me, and after 6 years, we’ve got each other’s moves down pretty well.
Oh, and the star of the evening? Our one duty-free bottle of tequila, hoarded since March from our last flight through Nairobi . Like Jesus and the fishes, I made that baby last. I think I got about 5 liters of margaritas out of it, and they weren’t weak either. All around it was a really good night.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get any good photos to document the festivities, but here’s a crappy one of Jorge and me on the dance floor:
And these are the roses we bought to decorate. 100 export-quality roses for 7 dollars. Man I love Malawi.
Of course, it’s Africa, so everyone showed up about 3 hours late. So I spent the first 2 hours worried that no one would come at all and that I would get a reputation for lame parties. For some reason, my party reputation matters to me very, very much. I have always thrown pretty kick-ass parties, although I’m sure there are a couple duds in there that I’ve blocked from my memory. My wedding was one big 3-day drunken bacchanalia. (And it was awesome, I whisper in hushed, reverent tones).
I think the secret to a good party is this: tight spaces and limited seating. I once held a party in a one-room studio apartment in Washington DC that was so cramped people were actually hanging out in my walk-in closet. At my wedding I had the reception site get rid of 25% of the chairs so people would have to stand and mingle. After all, if you’re already standing, you might as well be dancing, right?
The party had a Latin theme, naturally. Jorge put together a great play list of salsa and merengue music, and you could tell a few people really wanted to dance but were too shy. I got Jorge out on the floor after he’d had a few beers, though. I love dancing with Jorge – he’s exactly the right size for me, and after 6 years, we’ve got each other’s moves down pretty well.
Oh, and the star of the evening? Our one duty-free bottle of tequila, hoarded since March from our last flight through Nairobi . Like Jesus and the fishes, I made that baby last. I think I got about 5 liters of margaritas out of it, and they weren’t weak either. All around it was a really good night.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get any good photos to document the festivities, but here’s a crappy one of Jorge and me on the dance floor:
And these are the roses we bought to decorate. 100 export-quality roses for 7 dollars. Man I love Malawi.
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The inebriating of the 5000?
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