Twenty Something Syndrome: An Evening of Beverage Consumption

This past weekend we finally had our flatwarming to celebrate the fact that we had triumphed over the evil that is the Auckland renting market...two months after we moved in. The reason why it took so long? Coordinating four, twenty something's schedules.

Turns out that finding a night in the weekend when we were all, a) in town, b) free of plans or, c) not on an alcohol free stint (an excuse I can't claim unfortunately) is bloody difficult. When you're a student this isn't so much of an issue. For one, parties/drinking/debauchery are not limited to the weekend. Oh how I miss every day being a Saturday...

Anyway we had chosen a date and were all attending. Well most of us. One of the flatmates was still a “Maybe” on Facebook right up to the date of (just incase something better came along ofcourse). She's only twenty so her sense of spontaneity is more fine tuned than us older specimens.

Speaking of, that happens to be one of the reasons I love Facebook – it's brought back the good ole RSVP system. A few years back, asking people to RSVP to a party would render memories of primary school where you hand out the invites on My Little Pony paper. Actually BFB (before Facebook), invitations were only given for twenty first's , engagements and other 'milestone' events. A group text more than sufficed for your usual get together.

Now you can give your event an appropriate google image, ridiculous title and (the useful bit) see who's attending, not attending and maybe attending. You can even spam the entire guest list to remind them of their attendance status at the click of a button. Genius.

But I digress. This blog is about how as a twenty something, I (and my flatties) have matured when it comes to hosting a party. For one thing, it would hardly be deemed as 'hosting' in your teens. It's either a secret gathering while the parents are away or a group of students doing keg stands in a flat that has less chance at passing a hygiene test than the KFC in Masterton.

I think we can call ourselves hosts because the event was actually planned. We thought about the date, the guest list, even the menu. Well I guess sausy rolls, garlic bread, chips and dip hardly constitues a menu but still, we were responsible enough to provide food that would sort out any guests that had had one drink too many.

We also cleaned. Before and after. Infact our flat has never been as clean as it was by the time Sunday afternoon rolled around. Sunday morning...well it doesn't bear thinking about really. Let's just say I regretted the garlic bread decision.

The moral of the story is that the party was actually a success and now at least I can safely say that I'm on the road to being a responsible host. If only I could have remembered to turn off the oven before leaving for town at 4am...just one step away from a five star dinner party right? Well, if the fantastic British reality show Come Dine With Me is anything to go by then yes, yes I am.

So as the long weekend is upon us and we get ready to do it all again, here's a toast to flatwarmings, sausy rolls and clean toilets.