In preparation for the party I decided that the Christmas tree had to go. Not only was it about to spontaneously combust, it was also shedding at such an alarming rate that even a faint breeze could leave it naked and shivering. Getting it out of the apartment was predictably more difficult and messy that getting it in. It had relaxed enough that the elevator doors wouldn't close around it and so I had to scoot inside with it and press myself against its prickly needles in order to take it downstairs. By the time I had dragged it out of the apartment, forcibly rammed it through the front door, ridden with it in the elevator, and pulled it through the foyer and onto the street, it had lost so many needles it was a wonder the thing wasn't completely bald. Vacuuming was less than fun considering that I had to change the bag three times and unclog it twice as often. And, like Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumbs, I had left a nice trail of evidence scattered through my apartment building which I had to suck up as well.
I then got to break a sweat while rearranging my bedroom into a living room suitable for our upcoming guests. I unceremoniously crammed my mattress, pillows, and comforter into Elze's room, hiding them from view. I then had to rearrange the cushions I use as a makeshift boxspring back into a couch, which was, of course, harder than I remembered it. They have little backs they fit into though "fit" is much more generous than reality. I had to get down on the floor and use both feet and both arms to squeeze the cushions into their tight little homes. After a good amount of huffing, puffing, and sweating, I had finally restored them to their original state without doing too much bodily harm to myself in the process.
With the living room all set up, it was now time for me to go out and get some shopping done. I had been putting this off because of the foul weather and my dislike for getting properly dressed or wearing real shoes. This ended up biting me in the ass for it meant that I had waited long enough for everyone to get off of work and so was running my errands with the populace. This resulted in my having to wait in long line after long line and my chores took three times longer than they should have. But somehow I managed to survive and returned with arms full of food, wine, and champagne ready to be indulged in and help us celebrate the upcoming year.
I laid out the bread, cheese, nuts and olives, stocked the fridge with the multitude of wine and champagne, and was just finishing up when Elze arrived home from a horribly long day at work. She had had to go in at three in the morning and had only gotten off at six. Her whole shopped had been sold out, which was good news for her because if there had been anymore food to prepare, she probably would've missed out on the party. Exhausted and starving, I think she felt a bit regretful that she had invited a decent crowd of people into our home on the same day that she had to work ridiculously long hours and finish moving into her new apartment. Though I tried to feed her and put her in a bath, she was obviously suffering from too much sleep and food deprivation to be rational and continued to jump from one task to the next with about as much direction as a blind cat chasing a lazer pointer. So I finally threw up my hands in defeat and took a quick shower myself. Guests were supposed to be arriving in twenty minutes after all, and I wanted, at the very least, to be dressed and have the fetus sized pimple on my face covered up before any of them got here.
I pulled on a sheer sequins top that I have kept in my closet for years after stealing it from my sister, but which I have never really worn. It was like having new clothes that I didn't have to feel guilty for buying. I forced my Christmas ass into some high waisted pants and subjected the poor buttons to the stress of keeping all of me inside. After layers of foundation and face powder I had managed to conceal the tumor bulging from my cheek with as much success as possible, and was able to drink a glass of wine before the first of the guests arrived.
The evening started out slowly enough and with each newcomer came a new bottle of alcohol until our fridge could not hold anymore. The buzzer for our front door was working overtime as group after group arrived, and eventually our entire apartment was packed with people. Empty bottles littered every table, the floor was getting sticky layer after sticky layer of spilled alcohol applied every half hour or so. And my friends were getting drunker and drunker.
Elze's coworker, Audrey, was adorably french and had brought the fixings for Mojitos, which were some of the best Mojitos I've ever had, or at least I think they were. It could've just been the glasses of wine talking. Poor Luke had "won" the drunk contest and was fumbling around in an inebriated stupor much to the delight of everyone except Christy who, like most girlfriends, was not enjoying her boyfriend's drunken shenanigans.
Midnight came quickly and Paula, who went to pastry school with us and is visiting from Lyon, made it to the the new year before passing out on the orange couch in the kitchen amidst all the raucousness and fun-having. The countdown went as expected, we drank champagne, and the party continued through to four am. Luke passed out on my bed, now formed into a couch, and Christy snagged my comforter, pillow, and the other black couch in the living room. So I went in and joined Suanne in Elze's bed. She's notorious for kicking about in her sleep but I've found from previous experiences that if she's drunk enough she'll lay as still as a corpse.
I awoke this morning to find four of us, Elze, Paula, Suanne and myself, passed out in Elze's bed. Though I was quite comfortable, Elze was pushed up against the wall and Paula was clinging onto the bed for her life. Suanne hopped up and started her journey home, but became distracted by the McDonald's at our Metro and bought us all greasy French style Micky D's to help nurse our hangovers. The smell of their french fries and the thought of consuming those disgusting calories was enough to drag us out of bed to face the day. And boy was it ugly.
The floor was disgusting and coating in a nice, sticky film. Bottles, full and empty, formed a mosaic throughout the apartment. Cigarette butts and gum were disposed of in a few jars in the kitchen. The couches were in disarray and Luke was nowhere to be seen. It smelled like people and alcohol, and rings of red wine littered surfaces to and fro. I put off cleaning as long as possible, but the grossness of it was eating away at me more than my hangover, and I eventually had to start because I was fairly certain I hadn't been good enough for the New Year's clean up elves to come and do the job for me.
Plastic bag after plastic bag was filled with bottles, food remnants, plastic cups, napkins, and other miscellaneous trash. When pouring out a mixture of whisky and tequila I almost passed out but managed to keep my composure and continued with the Cinderella sized task of cleaning up the biohazard that was my apartment. Elze's poor South African friend who is visiting her on holiday spent his second day in Paris aiding us in this task, and with him, Elze, Suanne and myself scrubbing like mad, it went by quickly enough.
I don't exactly know how we know that many people, but it was certainly a fun time. People from fourteen different countries had come and though I hadn't invited a single one, I'll mooch on Elze's charm and generosity if it means a wonderful New Year's bash. I'm especially happy that the photographic evidence from last night came out well and non-incriminating. It mostly shows just how much fun all of us had. I'm not exactly sure if I'm ready to sign up for another party quite yet, but considering Elze's proclivity for fun and excitement, I'm sure it won't be the last one we have. But for now I'm going to enjoy having this bundle of joy that is my new roommate and our freshly cleaned house. And I'm sure I'll enjoy them both even more tomorrow when this hangover is gone.
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