Beer Pong Party!

Were you a nerd, headbanger, jock, sorority girl or slacker at College? Or something less definable? There was much discussion of this on Saturday night at our Beer Pong party, a peculiarly American university game steeped in tradition.

Beer Pong Party in our backyard

Beer Pong, also known as Beirut, is a drinking game where players throw a ping pong ball across the table with the intent of landing it in the beer-filled cup on the other side. The loser has to drink. Our rules were much more sophisticated, natch, whereby mixed doubles play ping pong and try to land their ball in the cups on the either side. Because this was a fundraiser, we did not make people drink, decorum is always maintained at our parties.

The winners!

This was a fundraiser party for our kids' school and 25 couples bid $400 to attend. Six hosts, including us, pay for all the food, drink and entertainment. Your head is probably spinning with all our school fundraisers  - the reality of an Oakland public school where parents have to make up for the financial shortfall. (Other themed fundraisers:  New Orleans, James Bond, Mad Men, Vikings, Saturday Night Live and Peace, Love and Green.)

The day begins: loading off five table tennis tables

Me baking 200 cookies for the party

Grog: Our two barmen from Paschal's Events invented the "Peanut Butter and Jelly" and the "Dad I need more money for books" cocktails. The keg of beer was suprisingly popular too.

Aaron makes the "Peanut Butter and Jelly"

Tucker: One of Oakland's most popular taco trucks was parked out the front of our house serving a selection of filled soft tacos. Celeste's family has been in the same spot for 25 years, long before food trucks became part of the roadscape in California. Followed by late night pizza, ice cream bars and cookies.

Celeste serves from her taco truck

Prize: Our co-hosts were MacGyver blokes who can fashion anything from a 2X4 and a No 8 wire, as we Kiwis say. They strung up lights so we could play to midnight and fashioned this trophy.

Handmade trophy

Hosts wear: Party, Sleep, Repeat t-shirts. I had a confused style at Uni which I tried to re-capture.

Your hosts

Random memory...I cleaned a lot of houses to support myself at law school.  I was a brilliant cleaner but a poor to indifferent law student -  if the lecturers knew me at all it was because I had repeated their class or I was always in their office begging for extensions on my assignments.

One day I was called into the Dean Of Law's office. I assumed I'd been found out...was it wrong to "collaborate" with a brainy friend on the "How to Use a Law Library" assignment? Everyone averted their eyes as I walked the aisle of shame to the Dean's office.
Once in his office I recognised the Dean -  I cleaned his house.

Dean Of Law: Would you like to be one of my research assistants for the summer?
I was astounded  - this position was only offered to the brightest and keenest in the class and was immensely prestigous.
Me: I think you've made mistake - have your seen my marks?(grades).
Dean of Law: Yeees...I wouldn't normally offer you the position. But....you're such a good cleaner!
I couldn't even use the library, how could I do this job? I had visions of hiding in the law library loos all day.
Me: I'm so sorry....That's very flattering, but I've already accepted another job.

Friends, that's how I came to be cleaning the toilets in a campground all summer long.

Rough and easy, smooth and hard

This weekend started out with feathers and sparkles - as it should! - and moved into big 'taches - as it should! I've just realised this post sounds a bit porn-y - which it's not!

New Orleans party  in the Oakland hills - slipping mask made me look a bit demonic

 '65 Galaxy leads the parade...

Saturday night we popped into a New Orleans party, another school fundraiser. What a great idea - they'd hired a unicyclist and trumpeteers and led by the King and Queen in their yellow cadillac, the whole fandangle swayed around the block for a couple of hours, briefly stopping in at various friendly homes to freshen their drinks.  Everyone shook their feathers and swung their beads and drank of their coloured goblets. This would be a fun every-Friday night thing with the neighbours, no?

*That same night, our friend held his 50th birthday at Vamp, a funky, funky record store and party space tucked away in Oakland near Lake Merritt.

Vamp owner Fernando spinnin'  

Our friend used to sport a splendid moustache when he was an actor ...these days he works in computers. There was a rocket ship to sip in while the DJ spun (is that how you say it?) everything from Cleo Laine (doobedoobedo) to Satchmo...

Vamp

*Big news next day: we realised Teddy, our  2.5lb Maltese puppy, can climb up the stairs. I haven't been that proud since my last child took his first step. Actually I'm prouder, because for short-arse Teddy our stairs are like us ascending Kilimanjaro. (and yes I realise this launches me from my former "dogs? meh"" to fully-fledged Mad Dog Lady.)

Teddy mounts his Kilimanjaro

*How's the cycle "training " for our South of France ride going? Not good. I took off for an hour ride and nearly four hours later was very, very lost on the island of Alameda.  Turns out my bike has electronic gears - you press the rough button to get the easy gears and the smooth button for the harder gears. I always have to repeat instructions to myself (people hate doing ski clinics with me as I call "dive for danger!" all the time). It was a perky me who called out "Rough and slow! Smooth and hard!" as I started. Three hours later, it was a weary, lip wobbling "rough and smooth.... slow and slow..."

"How did it go?" my husband Kevin asked when I finally returned home.
"I can't go up hills" I replied "and it's scary for me coming down...do you think that'll be a problem?"
I could see by his face this was a "Does my bum look big in this?" question (which by the way he answers these days with a "Your first instincts are right on this.")
"Kind of" he replied "We'll be following some of the Tour de France route."

The Tour de France route Image 

Oh bugger.

Me and my Teddy

Our little puppy, Teddy, has arrived. At 2.5 lbs and eight weeks old, he is a Maltese with more joie de vivre and love than bodyweight. For his VIP arrival I donned Old Gold, put on all my jewels and teased my hair into a bouffant. JK! (Just Kidding) as the kids would say -  we had a James Bond party that same night.

Me and Teddy on the back patio

Teddy must be the busiest little creature ever and the most enthusiastic. "Going to put out the garbage? Can I come? Can I come?" Then: "Oh neat! here you are back again! Yay! Yay!" Then: "Oh look: windy day! windy day!Look how it blows hair up your bum!" As a mother with two teens and two teens-in-waiting he is so refreshing.

Teddy and Cy

Jackson, Teddy and Cy

Teddy and Tallulah

I'm exhausted, though. Teddy sleeps 12 hours a night and four hours a day. But as with a baby, I can't leave him. (Yes, I know everyone warned me but I didn't believe them...)

It has to be said my exhaustion might also have had something to do with the James Bond party (a school fundraiser) over the weekend.

Friends Curtis and Lesley - Mrs and Mrs Goldfinger - at the Bond party

Mr Goldfinger, OddJob and me

You know how I said at my 50th birthday I might have finally grown up? I didn't drink too much or embarrass myself or others. Yeah. This weekend not so much...

I decided to wear Old Gold, an ankle-length bridesmaid dress my mother made for me 15 years ago. It was feeling a bit tight this time (too much enjoyment of life) which made me nervous, as it's prone to splitting up the back. It was a two-pair-of-Spanx night for sure.

Whilst dancing at the party I suddenly had a vision. "Let's do the Dirty Dancing lift move!" I yelled to my husband. (You know that move Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey practised in the lake for hours. Also repeated recently by Ryan Gosling in Crazy Stupid Love.)

My husband had not heard. There was the run-up, there was the leap in the air! Aaand - miss.  There were legs and arms flying. And we both landed on the dancefloor.

"Don't worry" my friend reassured me "you couldn't see your two pairs of Spanx...too much. By the way your dress is split up to your butt."

Most husbands would have grabbed their wife and slunk off into the corner. Not mine. "Let's have another go" he said. The second attempt was pathetic rather than triumphant, but no falling over this time. Taking pity on us, friends spontaneously raised me up onto Kevin's shoulders...finally the lift, but no spin. Something to aim for another evening.

Me and Kevin: Old Gold goes out shaken and stirred

Any choreography in your weekend? (which seemed such a good idea at the time...)

My 50th Birthday

This is a piccy of me born exactly 50 years ago.

The day I was born 50 years ago

Three things I'm noticing about the photo (yes, I'm making loads of lists now I'm old.) Firstly: my parents, Madeleine, 23 and Arthur, 25 look so young! Secondly, my mother gave this picture to my elder brother two years ago saying it was him (clearly there was an abundance of sprogs in their lives.) Thirdly, as a bubby, I was so wrinkled with scrunched-up eyes. Things have come a little bit too full circle. On the eyes front.

Course the best thing over the weekend was my mother arrived from New Zealand and calm descended immediately.

50 years later, me and Mum at my birthday bash. Theme: 1962

My birthday bash on Saturday was themed 1962 and I had bought a vintage frock from local store Bella Vita.  As we'd already done a Mad Men party two years ago, we opted not to go with the iceberg wedge with goop dressing and onion dip this time. And, as there was 100 people coming we decided to hire caterers.

We've never had a big catered affair or a wedding so this was my first experience of that big-bunfight-meltdown-madness. The tablecloths for the bar arrived and they were grey, not white.

"Don't let one grey tablecloth ruin your party" said my mother sagely.

Another first: Mum and I got our make-up done professionally. I was hoping against hope to be transformed into the soft kittenish Betty Draper. I got the authentic matt red lips, chalky matt foundation, huge lashes and big black brows.

Before: me being made-up by lovely Rachel at MAC

All okay in the light of day, but as soon as night fell, every wrinkle on my face showed. I became that episode of Seinfeld where his date looks weirdly scary and ugly in a certain light. Friends, Betty Draper became Bette Davis from Whatever Happened To Baby Jane (don't enlarge this photo below)

Baby Jane: no lollipops for you Blanche, you didn't eat your din-dins

My scary Baby Jane black brows aside, we all had a good chortle...

Curtis and Sandy

Men in hats

Me and my bookclub

Hits of the night:
* Lychee cocktails and "The Joannie" (vodka, Poma liquer, lime and cranberry juice). Noodles in mini Chinese take-out cartons eaten with chopsticks. And freshly BBQ-ed chicken skewers - perfect if you have 100 guests.

Wendy and Fredi tasting the Joannie

Caterers cooking the chicken skewers fresh in the backyard

Laura and Vicki: cocktails and chopsticks chic

*We hired a vintage photobooth - everyone looks fabulous in photobooth photos. Two copies came out and guests pasted the second copy into a scrapbook for me.

All the characters from the night including Sgt Pepper

*Kevin and my friend Lesley made a slideshow of my life. Even if you feel rubbish about your life, it turns out you have done stuff after all.

Me and Lesley jumping (just because we still can)

* All the guests had to answer a two page quiz about me, most of which I didn't know most of the answers to. My bookclub won -  to hisses of cheating (they talked to my mother and Google apparently.)

Sixties kissy cool...

* The Conga line (very early Sixties) that gets everyone into the dance room...

Conga line into the dance room!

* The "50 sucks" lollipop sculpture made by my friend Lisa

Made by Lisa

And did Don Draper appear as expected? Well I went down to the garage looking for him or rather the life-size cardboard cut-out of him. He was last seen with Joan at our Mad Men party two years ago.  Spoiler alert! I can only assume he ran off with Joan. Or the Christmas lights in the next box.

And finally...

I did not blow my arse on the night. Or get mulleted or dusted. I only had two drinks. I busted my moves on the dance floor until 2am. I did not embarrass myself or others by falling over or cause others to fall over or show my underpinnings. Too much.

Peter, me and husband Kevin busting our best moves

And I did not feel at all fragile (hungover) the next day.

Have I finally grown-up? Gosh it only took 50 years. 

Don Draper Lives In My Garage

Today, my job is to go down into our garage to fetch Don Draper. (You know Don, the tasty bloke on Mad Men, master of lip-curling distain.) He's been down there for a while and I expect he will be chuffed to be out and about. (Me, husband Kevin and Don below)

I know Don's making an appearance for his new series on Monday but more importantly, tomorrow night he's expected at my 50th birthday party... Theme: 1962.

Oh some say he's just a cardboard cut-out. But to me he will always be my Don - as good as the real thing. He doesn't say much but I know he's always down there amongst the old Christmas lights. We got him for our Man Men party two years ago, seen here;  prep and night of.

I'm actually kind of surprised he's all in one piece. At our Mad Men party two years ago, the mere site of Don threw the women - including moi - into frenzy. I seem to remember cupping, kissing, some leg-over stuff and all manner of skylarking around.

Partygoers at our house getting in the Mad Men mood two years ago

Another of our partygoers channelling the 60's

There are two other goals (besides finding Don) for this weekend.

Goal 1: Don't blow my arse at the party. I am on strict instructions not to have six swifty glasses of champers at 6.30pm (just get so excited at parties!) thereby, in Kiwi parlance, "blowing my arse."

Goal 1. Buggerit. Expect more cussing on my blog now I'm into my second century.  A friend emailed me today "Do not fade..." I take it that means your language gets even saltier when you're an old bird.

Goal 3. I shall be spending rather a lot of time mastering Don's enigmatic "What?" seen today on Jo's blog. I am hopeful this will establish me as the top scary dog in our household thereby deterring any extraneous whining from the small people and similtaneously blowing off all those big people who are always conspiring to annoy me. And of course achieving Zen mastery.

So..... don't blow my arse, don't blow my arse....What?

Today I'm over the pond venting (yes, again). Lynn of All Fooked Up is featuring my WTF Fun In The Sun post about vacationing in Hawaii with the kids.  Lynn's hilarious blog is always honest and as she says "not for the easily offended." Thanks for having me over Lynn!

How To Tie A Bow Tie

As our battered, rust and silver 10 year-old Dodge minivan pulled up to the old-world grandness of the Fairmont on San Francisco's Nob Hill I could already see the blank expression on the bellhops' faces. Tourists asking directions, must be, their faces say. No! I feel like calling and waving: Yoohoo, it's us. Here we are - we're staying with you guys.

Fairmont Hotel, San Francisco

"I wonder if they'll park the Grey Ghost out the front?" Kevin mused as we bumped up to the entrance. I opened the car door and out rolled: a handful of parking receipts, half a bagel, one month of marked homework and Cy's old SpongeBob underwear.

To their credit, the staff stepped up courteously: "Can we help you with your dress?" one offered as my cocktail frock fell off the wire hanger while I dived for Cy's undies. I looked up from the ground to see a pair of black CC-ed boots and a bag of multi-coloured V's giving us a very wide berth.

Some poor valet climbed in our smelly Dodge to park it in the garage and Kevin murmured: "Lucky guy, sweet ride."

We scrambled through the pretty Alphabet-laden people and up to our room. There was a view of the stairwell and a $8.86 bottle of Evian. Yay! We're in a posh hotel.

Tonight is the benefit ball for HRC which lobbies for equal rights for gay men and women and campaigns against bullying. The Fairmont has generously donated three ballrooms for the event and has discounted room rates.

At this stage I'm exhausted after hussling all day to leave the house by 3pm and I'm ready to slip under the covers and watch a $24 B-movie staring Jennifer Aniston. But we put on our duds and join the others. Well, not as quick as that. Kevin left his shirt at home so there is a fair amount of faffing around with some store in the hotel and me readying the iron.

And finally, Kevin must watch the YouTube video on How To Tie A Bow Tie. Again and again and again. This is a "favourite" on every electronic device in our household. Which might give you the impression he is constantly wearing his tuxedo. No, but it is a confirmed obsession. Let's just say while driving to the kids' soccer games on Saturdays he is keeping out a vigilant watch for tuxedo stores where he can buy more bow ties to not know how to tie.

Up and down and around and through...

We head to the ballroom which is chocka full of people having a good time. Among the most beautiful in the room are sisters Rachel and Amber, college friends of Kevin from Penn State. (You've met Amber before, she's writing a book about her dating adventures.)

Belles of the Ball, sisters Rachel and Amber

Amber

Last year my friend Lisa and I joined some shenanigans in the hallway, dancing and having splits competitions with our BFF of the moment, the "smokin' yogi." This year I stayed seated and listened to all the speeches, from Senator Dianne Feinstein to Brit rugby star Ben Cohen. It occurred to me that this hotel was a wonderful oasis of acceptance. Outside not so much.

In more than 30 states there are no laws to protect gay people from being denied housing or rejected for a job because of who they are.

Our friends Kenny and Mike have been together for nearly 19 years and married - in that short window before the laws were reversed - for three years. They have a house and a life together. But if Mike died, their home and all his possessions would be a taxable item for Kenny - not so for a straight couple. And though many companies offer health benefits to same sex couples, again they are taxable. 

Mike and Kenny

So it seems this post is not about How To Tie a Bow Tie. The title is as nonsensical as not giving the same rights to all people. Not special rights, just equal...