An OCD Birthday

I've got me a posse of girls. I've known them forever--most going on ten years. They are from all different stages of my life: college, post-college, neighbors, Dead travelmates, the woodworking magazine owned by the porn company... Anyway, I love putting all of these disparate groups together, as new friends are always made, and a damn good time is always had by all.

Two years ago, for a big birthday, my two bestest friends of them all threw me a kickass, wine-infused fete, complete with boas, goodie bags and fake Botox. Rock Creek Restaurant, one of my faves, wasn't the same after that night (their fault for picking up the wine tab).

Last year, same BFFs threw a fete at one of their uber-cool, retro-modern houses, and it rocked. The fall of last year was also really, really busy, so as a thanks to them and the rest, I cooked the dinner (I cooked the only thing I know how: lasagna).

This year, house addition done, and this event season even busier than last (when did I last post? An effing month ago??), I threw the party at my casa. And as I a.) throw events for a living and b.) am a weeee bit of a control freak, it all got out of control really, really fast.

It all started at Home Goods, when BFF E and I walked right into a table of dress forms like the one you see above. I knew they had to be incorporated somehow.

Then I remembered the SEVENTEEN stolen Pucci seat cushions in my attic, which immediately turned the event from a "sit around my living room eating lasagna" to "Must get Chavari chairs NOWNOWNOW and should the linens be twill or lame and does anyone have silver for 18?"

Then I called my sister, who happened to be throwing a brunch for Pucc during Art Basel, who Fedexed me an early Christmas present (Pucci dress!) along with 18 brunch invitations (which, with the click of a mouse and a flicker of spray glue, became menu cards).

Then I remembered that I had Laura Mercier Creme Brulee bath honey that would make the perfect snobby handsoap...(an hour and a roomful of bubbles later, let me offer this advice: it's a bit thick for handsoap. Add water to it. CAREFULLY).

By 3p.m., the lasagna hadn't been started yet but I was convinced I could do that AND prime over walls in the new guest bathroom (that were test painted Hermes orange to match this killer 1925 French newspaper ad I just had matted and framed). Another note of advice: Hermes orange is a wee bit bright for a teeny tiny powder room. Just a wee bit.

E and friend S came early, E with the most amazing cake EVER in tow (note to all: Just Cakes in Bethesda is amazing, and even moreso is E. If you don't already have one, go out and get yourself a BFF like her if you can, though she really is one of a kind and you can't have her), L polished the silver (borrowed and all monogrammed with B's), grandmother's prewar China was finally pulled out of storage, my dear husband, with nary a word of complaint (okay, lots of words, but he still did it, bless him), moved our ENTIRE living room into our basement for the night, and the guests started to arrive.

First, a few shots of the decor:

When I walked into the florist with these, she literally hugged me for saving her from having to make her 400th "Holiday Joy!" FTD Bouquet that day.


Three hours earlier, there was an entire living room in here. Husband = NOT amused.


Yes, I stole 17 of these cushions in full view of Olivia Chantecaille and friends. Those invites/menu cards: thick as tiles. Awesome.


Seating arrangements were, for the most part, perfect. The fact that we switched the eggplant and turkey lasagnas while serving, thus giving my vegan friend D her second bite of meat in about fifteen years? Not so much.


While the night started out as a lovely fete, it ended up, per usual, with drinking the Veuve under the table.

Next year: I'm figuring out how to squeeze in 40 girls. You're all invited.

xo