My family parties according to the rules of the International Fiesta Organization, the world-governing body of all shindigs, get-togethers and clambakes. My wife takes her role as regional director in the organization seriously and will throw an impromptu party for almost any reason. She is almost like Angelina Jolie and UNICEF except that she doesn’t adopt children - she adopts empty wine bottles.
So, when friends Wes and Heather visited with their family, we had a party. And the party was pretty successful. I know this because at 1 a.m. in the morning, everyone sang a buzzy, impromptu cover of "Call Me Maybe" accompanied by a guitar and ukulele.
According to the rules of the IFO, drunken sing-alongs are allowed and even encouraged if they start out ironic but end full of unabashed love for the song you're singing. We nailed that.
Less successful was my solo 2 a.m. version of Chuck Berry's "My Ding-A-Ling" on ukulele, which I know was unsuccessful mostly because my neighbors won't talk to me.
But that’s okay. IFO rules state that whether a party hosted in your home was successful or not can be judged by three - and only three - criteria:
First, when you woke up, were you appropriately dressed?
Yes - although I can’t explain the strange marks.
Second, is your spouse still talking to you?
Again, yes. Hours later, however, she was still shaking her head and muttering to herself.
Finally, if you had it to do all over again, would you still have the party?
Hell, yes. Are you kidding? There’s a great philosopher who put it best.
“Ripped Jeans. Skin was showing. Hot night. Wind was blowin.”
“I miss it so bad. I miss it so bad. I miss it so, so bad.”