It's Parrrty Time!

The get-together on Friday night was just like this.  Obviously, except for the party hats...

I'm writing this with the assumption that no one from my neighborhood will ever find this blog.  Now let's begin.

On Friday Matt and I attended our first neighborhood get-together.  They hold these little shindigs from October to June and yearly an invite is placed in our mailbox.  And yearly we decline to participate.  Well, until this year.  I figured we can't be hermits any longer, and heck, maybe I'll meet someone and they'll be my new link to a fabulous job.  Or willing to watch our dog when we're away.  Not that I'm all selfish: I was also curious.  I wanted to get the "what's what" on folks in this neighborhood.

Matt and I are both introverts.  I don't particularly like large groups, and often just sit back and observe.  When at work functions or anything else that is, well, forced, I can put on a great extrovert show.  Especially when three-plus glasses of wine are involved. 

First things first: we were, on average, 35 years younger than the other party-goers.  To be fair, a number of young families with small kids couldn't make it, so that skewed the numbers a bit.  Next thing: someone made a buffalo chicken cheese dip, and so help me god, it was the most delicious bowl of globbity goop I ever ate.  Third: only a handful of women ate my damn dip, so you bet I'm not pleased.  Fourth: the man who hosted collects penguins.  In stuffed form, plastic form, metal form: you name it.  I'm still determining what to make of this knowledge.  And lastly, do you recall when I mentioned our beyotchy neighbor?  Oh yes...she was there.  And I sat next to her.

During the course of the night, through this testy neighbor, I learned several of our neighbors had PhD's, she countered my comment that Matt was a programmer with that her son-in-law is the director of IT at a very large, well-known company, and she stated for the fifth time that "you have quite the yard to take care of....".  I pretty much determined she was the matriarch of this bunch, and ruled with snide comments and a fabulously-manicured lawn.  Matt doesn't think ill of anyone, but even he admitted: Pat is one sneaky biznitch (fine, my words, but the lad really did say, "She's nice but with undercurrents of insincerity."  He has a way with words, doesn't he?)  But this is what Pat doesn't know: two of us can play that game.

I know what you're thinking: I'm pathetic.  I mean, Pat is in her twilight years and I should leave her and her velvet track-suited self alone.  But as she started bragging about her daughter's African safari and detailing her house in the Outer Banks, I thought one thing: Game's on, Pat!!!

Then I spoke with Harriott.  Harriott is even older than Pat and was the sweetest thing ever: she talked about her cat and gave me dish on an old pedophile neighbor who moved away.  When the host asked if I wanted more wine and I politely declined, Harriott piped up and said, "Kathryn is loaded!" and chuckled.  I never heard an 80-year-old talk like that - and I liked it!

Then there was Donna.  Donna is crazy.  There is really no getting around it.  She bounced around the room like a kangaroo on methamphetamine.  She's probably fifty but dresses twenty years younger.  Pat said she was the "character" of the group.  But I love her because she said I remind her of Jennifer Garner.  Now, I don't look a lick like Jennifer Garner, but boy do I love me some Donna.

Our hosts, Bob and Eileen, were very, very kind.  Bob, like several of the men, sat in the same area.  Come to think of it, the room was segregated with the women on one side, and the men watching the Phillies game on the other.  Except Matt; he sat with us lady folk.

I'm intrigued with Bob and Eileen because Eileen has about six inches and 75 pounds on Bob.  Now, I'm not one to talk: I've got more poundage than Matt, but they were taking this to new heights!  I loved it and thought it was a success for all us larger ladies.  Just as I was digging this, I noticed about 50 sets of penguin eyes staring at me.  Bob is obsessed with penguins.  Because I'm nosy, I asked why but he didn't really have an answer.  I guess he and the birds just connect.  

Now let's get this straight: I'm sure they had their fair share to say about us after we left.  Something along the lines of "those two big dopes sitting in the corner" sounds just about right.  We're hosting in February.  You bet your behind I'm already thinking about recipes.  Someone's gotta blow Pat outta the water.