The First Party

  While still living in my apt with my bachelorette roommate, Mary, my husband and I purchased our first NY apartment.  I have a knack for finding the best thing in my price range (petite) and this qualified: herringbone parquet floors, two bedrooms, enclosed kitchen with large dining area, doormen, good address.  Why was this a bargain you might wonder?  It could be because it was in "as is" condition with cupboards made of cigar boxes and the sweet odor of dead, old person - he died on site.  This could not stop me, so work got under way and we watched as Smith-Miller/Hawkinson transformed the space into a contemporary and chic crib for three babies, two of them over twenty-five.
   As a first time home renovator I did not know the rule that it will take twice as long as they say and cost twice as much.  Sooo, my genius idea was to have a party that combined the house warming with the christening and the first birthday party.  Clever, right?  Three occasions rolled into one, with maximum attendance by godparents from afar, grandparents, crazy friends.
   The first problem: the apartment wasn't finished by the party date.  It was close, but there were dunes of saw dust and treacherous piles of wood in many places.  Light fixtures?  Who needs those? 
   The second problem:  Pinky's birthday falls in the middle of Lent and no church we were acquainted with would do the ceremony.
   The third problem:  the christening breakfast would have to be over in ten seconds in order to prep for the party.
   The fourth problem:  I read in Cosmopolitan magazine that you should microwave your underpants for germ free cleanliness.  I decided to do this to all my underwear while still in my p.j.s.  They didn't give a time so I randomly chose seven minutes.  Yes, I burned them all up.

  The first problem didn't seem too hard - hide everything in the space that was called "office" then pray that no one would find it.
    The second problem was fixed after about a thousand phone calls, a generous donation, and, dare I say it, the intervention of GOD himself.

10 a.m. Looks Like Midnight at Dorrian's

   Here's how I solved the third problem;  I luckily remembered  (through a St Patrick's Day haze) that Dorrian's Red Hand was a handsome, wood-paneled, steak-centric restaurant just a few blocks from the church and the new apartment.  I booked a brunch party of twelve, and we headed there as soon as the service (touching and beautiful) was completed.  My solution, predictably, led to another problem.  It had been a year since I'd celebrated St. Patrick's Day and the manly and elegant restaurant had been transformed into a black hole of a hook up bar for UES preppies (later the preppy murderer found his victim there - good call).  We made our way across the floor, sticky with the previous night's spillage, and avoided looking up at the raw ceiling ducts sprayed matte black for extra sexy atmosphere.  We were very witty, hoping the very polite older generation would not notice - glaucoma, bifocals, disorientation.... I feel pretty certain they noticed, but once the Bloody Marys came no one cared.

   We loped back to the apartment arriving at the same time as the nonenglishspeaking bartender (handy-man for our cousins).  We showed him the wine/beer/champagne we had ready for the celebration and hid the full box of hard liquor my husband's parents brought as a house warming present - a fabulous gift for a young couple.  I no longer remember the hors d'oeuvres served (I'm guessing Cheetos was one), but we did splurge on a beautiful cake from San Ambroeus, a very chic Italian trattoria on Madison Avenue.  Everything looked as good as it could and we awaited the three o'clock arrival of the invitees.  We had tricked a chronically late cousin by telling him a start date that was an hour early, he arrived on time, was horrified and left immediately to return at four o'clock.  Clearly there were intense psychological issues at work.

Vehicle

   People arrived, Pinky motored around in her birthday present, a stacked inner tube wheeled baby vehicle, cake was cut and bob's your uncle.  But then people started leaving bizarrely early, particularly our best friends who we counted on to stay late for the post party recap.  What the heck?  As we looked at the dwindling revelers the phone rang, it was Alex & Geoff, the earliest to depart.  Through peals of laughter Alex said he was outside, too drunk to take the subway and stunned that the sun was still high in the sky.  Were they crazy? no, the bartender had failed to understand our directions and had opened the secret liquor stash and served our friends ENORMOUS unmixed glasses of spirits.  He was not a drinker, so he simply filled the cup to the top.  Ever game, our friends drank enthusiastically and this lead to the mass exiting.  They all thought it was the middle of the night and time to go home.
  The fourth problem was solved but how I did it will remain a secret.

Danish Mary's :  a delicious alternative to the vodka version where you use Aquavit as its replacement.  This will be helpful if you have that especially generous barman.  This link is to Martha Stewart's version, yum.  http://www.marthastewart.com/346108/danish-mary-with-celery-ice
Hors d'Oeuvres I would serve now:  quarter sandwiches of smoked salmon, butter, pepper & brown bread, mini grilled cheese, and a resurrection of that 60's favorite - onion dip and chips. I know, you've forgotten how good that is.  AND instead of egg salad make deviled eggs, a perfect finger food - who does not love them?  Of course, keep the Cheetos.
Important:  Flowers make everything better.