Party Hardy: A Hate-Filled Rant about Planning a Good Time

I love parties. 

I love hosting. 

I hate party planning. 

I’ve been trying this new thing for the last few years where I try to be a good person. Unfortunately, that means thinking of others and being generous. I agree those are good things and wish I naturally had those traits. But no one ever taught me, so I have to make a conscious effort to remember to consider others and practice generosity.  

My mom is a painfully private person and always hated having people in her house. We never had company. My dad’s motto in life is, “I look out for numero uno” with two thumbs pointed at himself. And we all know, U.S. culture as a whole is largely individualistic. I was not raised with a community mindset, so I’m teaching myself. 

My neighbor/landlord/former student/friend, Sara, throws parties for everyone—Welcome! Going away! Congrats! Happy birthday! You bought a loofah!—but nobody throws parties for Sara. When she casually but intentionally dropped it on me that her birthday was coming up, I knew what the right thing to do was. Rather, I knew what the right thing to do wasn’t: I couldn’t leave it up to her boyfriend. I would save his ass for my own personal good-karma gain. I was going to throw a birthday party for Sara at my house.

Parties are fun. I look forward to them. I enjoy them. I even enjoy hosting. It’s fun to go full mother hen, “Please, have some more chips. Would you like another drink? There’s more ice in the cooler. Let me get the bean dip. Of course, we can listen to your shitty playlist,” as I smile and laugh in adorable hostess.

That’s all cool. But the planning and prep leading up to the party flat-out blow and I hate them with every ounce of my self-centered soul. 

It’s beyond my understanding how there are people that do this for fun. And WORSE there are those who made a career out of event planning. Can you wrap your head around the level of masochism? All the logistics and quoting prices, *shudders*. There are even sickos out there that come up with a theme and decorate! What a world we live in. I blame that wedding planner movie where Jennifer Lopez looked cute and official in a headset. Romantic comedies screw up everybody’s perspective on everything.

I hate party planning so much that I’ve taken the time to sit down here and write about it. And get this, Sara’s birthday party wasn’t even this big blowout, ballroom thing. It wasn’t even a party by most conventional standards. I’m not griping about being Gatsby’s assistant, I’m griping about doing the bare minimum: BBQ, drinks, and cake at my own house. That’s how afflicted I am. I can’t even embrace the simplest of to-do lists. I can’t be bothered with a 7-people guest list and heating up a little meat.  

I mean, come on, for starters, I have to tidy up the house. Woof. This requires looking at your house from another person’s perspective. Is it gonna smell like dog? Are they going to laugh at my yellow, dying plants? What if they look inside my kitchen drawers and those are dirty?! Do I have to wipe down the whole fridge? Do I really need to look like I have my life together? Is it too late to call this whole thing off? 

Then I have to invite people… which is this weird, delicate social game akin to navigating the Indian Ocean using only the stars. Would Sara want Valentina at her bday party? I usually shrug and say, “Who gives a crap? Valentina is my friend and I’m the one throwing the party. If I invite Valentina, that counts as hang-out time with Valentina which buys me a few more weeks until I have to plan something with her, again.” But then on my other shoulder, the little angel Caitlan (who is just as socially inept as I am) whispers in my ear, “Is that messed up? Shouldn’t this be about Sara?” You see what I mean? A party is a social-pressure mindfuck.

And then the people that are invited are all, “What should I briiiiiiiiiiinnnnng?” GROSS. I cannot stress this enough… Don’t ask me that question because I don’t care. In my world, the perfect friend just tells you what they are bringing. When I get this question, I usually respond, “Just bring whatever you’re gonna drink” because I would rather spend a god-awful amount of dollars on the party than waste brain space thinking about what finger food to assign you. 

Next, I gotta make a special shopping trip. The cool thing about that is that supermarkets give me sensory overload and anxiety. And the whole time I’m shopping, I’m like, “How many bags of tortilla chips do I need for 7 people? Will 23 be enough? God, I better buy 58 because too much is better than too little.” And I’ll always forget something anyway. Probably the ice. 

Now, you might be asking, “Caitlan, why don’t you just order pizza?” Great question. The thing is, the less thought and work you put into it, the less it means… And I ordered pizza last time. 

Despite my inhuman distaste for party planning, once all the preparation is finished and my friends are at my house, and we are having a good time, I couldn’t be happier. It feels good to have the people you care about under your roof. It feels good to open your doors and offer them whatever you can offer them: Your time, your attention, a hot meal, a shot, a seat, and goofy stories they’ve probably already heard. I get that warm fuzzy feeling of community and togetherness. It felt amazing to bust out a cake on Sara’s birthday and make the evening a celebration of her. It felt amazing to say with our actions, “Here you go, friend. We care about you.” There’s that moment of, “This is what life is all about.” There’s the realization that making ourselves do the things that are hard to do offers us the greatest rewards.  

I don’t mind the clean-up. 

I don’t mind the recycling collector thinking I’m an alcoholic. 

I just hate the planning stage. 

But I guess I’ll keep doing it.