Party Crasher

It’s snowing, my wet shoes are threatening to freeze, and my Plus
One is already drunk. I dial the wrong call-box number but she lets us
up anyway (Ballardites are friendly in the cold), and we arrive at the
“Cheesy Sweater Christmas Party” promised by our Evite.

Introductions turn the unwelcoming glares into smiles, and I quickly
learn that bad-sweater wearers from Ballard love The Stranger:
“It has just the right amount of news!” It won’t be easy to fly
below the radar here. My Plus One understands that’s not the point and
commences yelling loudly and eating all the dip.

Our hostess gives us a tour set to *NSYNC Christmas music. She
explains that we’re too late to witness the cheesy-sweater contest but
proudly shows off the winner’s ingenuity: a red V-neck with the
decapitated head of a Rudolph plush toy brazenly mounted on it. “Samta”
is in a red bathrobe and has drunkenly knocked two drinks to the
ground in the 10 minutes since we’ve arrived.

I befriend Mark, who is tall and covered in tattoos of dragons. Two
conversations later, it becomes clear that Mark’s days as a marine
didn’t include plaid pants and women’s sweaters, but I can see
he loves Seattle. His wife, Heather, hangs candy canes from her gauged
ears, and we all share the cheer of the Yule-log DVD late into the
evening.

The parting words of our gracious hosts, surrounded by friends,
booze, a plastic tree, and the gusting ice of the night: “It finally
feels like Christmas.” Our hearts warm as we venture into the bleak
Norwegian wilderness.

Want The Stranger to discuss the finer points of
film—including the balloon-sex entry at HUMP!—at your
house party?
E-mail the date, place, and party details to
partycrasher@thestranger.com.