dinner party essentials for aging hotties

the butter dish coveter has logged on

our wedding, shot by Alyson Kay Photography

Hi, weenies. I’m feeling composed and elegant as always (pimple patch fell off and went for a little ride on the front of my sweater for several hours).

I’ve been feuding with New York for a few weeks after a series of indignities (rent is half of my income, man is elbowing me on subway, airport transportation from Brooklyn is so bad you might as well be taking a covered wagon). But this week has sucked me right back in—especially yesterday, a perfect New York day. I sold a vintage lamp to some sucker in the West Village for $120. I spent five minutes admiring a turtle in the park with two strangers, each of us loudly remarking on his snatched waist, powerful leg extension, and shiny shell. “My god, that extension!” Then New Yorkers turned out in droves to vote for an optimistic future, and I went to bed with a grin.

Speaking of community:

let’s throw a dinner party

My husband and I got married three weeks ago in a big, beautiful blur of marigolds, beer, s’mores, hugs, and the most perfect little cake I’ve ever seen.

smoochin w/ da cake

The week after the wedding, I felt weirdly bereft. I’d been warned of the post-wedding blues, the inevitable comedown after being Prince and Princess For a Day, but I didn’t expect it to hit with such force. I was so happy to be starting a new chapter with my sick-ass husband. We’d had the perfect wedding weekend with everyone we love. Why was I Eeyore-ing around our newlywed apartment?

I realized it came down to two things: First, I was sad about this big, fun design project coming to an end. I’d spent a year collecting candlestick holders and harassing vintage china rental facilities. It ruled. Second: I wanted to celebrate life again and again with our loved ones, but didn’t see a built-in opportunity to do so, i.e. wedding.

Then, the little devil on my shoulder (he looks like Billy Zane, pre-bald) poked me with his pitchfork as if to say, “Diva, just… throw a dinner party.”

Western isolationist culture shoehorns elaborate group celebrations into a few measly categories: winter holidays, birthdays, weddings, babies. I’m not throwing another wedding. I’m certainly not having a baby. So I’ll have to find my own reasons to gather loved ones and roll out elaborate place settings.

reasons to throw an elaborate dinner party

• it’s your half-birthday

• it’s Billy Zane’s half-birthday

• you had a win at work

• you suffered a crushing blow at work

• your friend is visiting from out of town

• your friend broke up with her evil skinny boyfriend

• we have a hot new mayor

• you have a hot new candle you’re dying to burn

• you want an excuse to dim the lights and put on a record

• it’s cold outside

essential items for your ~*just because*~ dinner party

If you have the means, you can take a spin through Big Night or another fancy party shop. I do not have the means, so here’s what I’ll be using instead:

• Taper candles here, there, everywhere: As discussed in my sconce manifesto, I like to buy a giant box of Yummi tapers (they do! not! drip!) with which to pass the winter. Buy some fun colors! Get nasty with it!

• Thrifted candlestick holders: Do not pay $100 for a tarnished brass candelabra in Greenpoint. Get thyself to eBay, or the thrift shop, or an antique mall off the highway, and buy some real funky ones.

  

  a few from our collection, which I have been hauling around in a potato sack like Old Hag Grimhilde

Party favors: These don’t have to be elaborate or expensive. You could make cookies and tie ‘em up in little bags. You could print a photo of each guest and send them home with scrapbook fodder. You could hire our friend Kees Holterman, who designed our wedding matches, to design some matches for you, too.

they say “hot dog!” inside :-)

Placecards: I have never in my life enjoyed something as much as I enjoyed putting together our wedding seating chart. Leftist organizer next to gay community theater ingenue? Check. Recent Chicago transplant next to longtime resident with similar interests? Check. You, too, can play God by organizing a dinner party between disparate friend groups. Simply seat peope using these charming Mr. Boddington wax seal placecards, or make your own. Your dinner party should feel like this:

Tableware: I saw this fancy, fancy butter dish in India Knight’s newsletter, and it has since been ping-ponging around in my sick, greedy little brain. Erika Veurink also just posted a great secondhand tableware roundup.

In conclusion: Send the invitations. Light the candles. Design the menu. A wedding shouldn’t be our only chance for true, jubilant, extravagant celebration.

anyway, here’s YEAH, BABY, YEAH, our regularly-scheduled roundup of little treats:

Here’s what I love this week:

setting spray for my crusty face: I learned of the glories of setting spray last month, when I taught myself to DIY my own wedding makeup. I used high-end stuff on our wedding day, but I’ve found that Milani’s cheaper version works great for everyday. It doesn’t just lock your makeup in place; it has a mysterious blurring effect, melting your powders and potions together into a luminous goo. I use it most days, even though my everyday routine is very simple (BB cream with SPF, light concealer, cream blush, smudge o’ something on my eyes).

a certain mister boddington: see placecards listed above. I can’t get enough of this guy’s whole deal.

re-organizing my bulletin board: I’m on a quest to construct the home office of my dreams this winter, which started with overhauling the bulletin board that hangs above my desk. I kicked a bunch of yellowing ephemera into my under-bed trinket box and am starting fresh with some collage-style Architectural Digest cutouts, postcards from friends, and other tidbits that make me feel warm and fuzzy.

‘til next week,

Lil