A house party with a $20 cover? Well, yes. The proceeds will go to a friend and coworker of one of the hosts, who will be having surgery on December 26—"because she didn't want to upstage the Little Baby Jesus." The friend, who we'll call "Rose," isn't in attendance and doesn't know about the gathering of friends, coworkers, and complete strangers in her honor because "she'd be mortified."

With the help of many strong drinks at a buck a pop, things get underway. Someone starts singing "Silent Night," and someone else snaps: "Stop that shit! I hate Christian music." There's a bit of a tug of war over the CD player—when the music changes to something ambient and Circle of Life-y, the woman I'm talking to rears back in disgust. "I know who put this on," she says, and sniffs the air, "It was Sherpa Boy." She then rushes away to confront her foe. This house is more of a gorgeous mansion, with 10 roommates (!?), one of whom has a pet parrot (?!). Turns out that a parrot is a perfect party guest: chatty but aware that brevity is the soul of wit, willing to defend its personal space, and a light but adventurous eater.

People at the party are sweet, drunk, and sweetly drunk, and it looks like everything is working out: A thousand dollars will have been raised by the time the gift is given to an overwhelmed and grateful Rose, and her surgery—the removal of a baseball-sized tumor from Mind-Your-Own-Beeswax-Ville—is a success. Little Baby Jesus, consider yourself upstaged.

Want The Stranger to overhear someone asking "Does it creep you out that I made out with your parrot?" at your house party? E-mail the date, place, time, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.