Party Crasher

Do you know who throws the best parties? Restaurant workers throw
the best goddamned parties! They stay up late, they drink like
alcoholic fishes, and they’re great conversationalists. Despite the
fact that it’s a dreary, cold Monday evening, this fancy dress party,
which our host has named Bambi, is no exception to that rule. Employees
from restaurants like Poppy and Sitka & Spruce have brought
delicious food: Someone insists that I eat a little puff pastry called
a “ferret pie,” which I do, and which tastes delightfully like turkey
(later, someone corrects me: It’s pheasant). There are also
succulent venison meatballs and yummy cheese-‘n’-broccoli tarts.

Someone in the kitchen is mixing the best whiskey sours in the
world. Other people are discussing the thematic elements of Bambi,
which include posters of Grace Jones everywhere and a real severed
deer hoof with a telephone cord sticking out of it. Someone who
identifies himself as “the only straight man here” takes shots of
Maker’s Mark like a real butch guy. Someone else gives tips on the best
books to buy if you’re a novice interested in learning about quantum
physics.

A very drunk man shoves his hands down my pants on the dance floor.
Luckily, a gorgeous, energetic lesbian pushes in between us and dances
me away. Later, the party will head to Bush Garden and our host will
own the bar with his version of “Take Me to the River,” but for
right now, the whole house is a sweaty dance floor of straight and gay
men and women who are young and beautiful and happy to be alive.

Want The Stranger to admire the vintage headdress that was
once owned by Hedda Hopper at your house party? E-mail
the
date, place, and party details to
partycrasher@thestranger.com.