the hostess with the mostess
we went to a party in west cork again this weekend. It was a spur of the moment thing – I called bill to talk about the website and then noah got on the phone to tell us about this party. I didn’t have any funky clothes to wear because I’d sort of given up on the whole idea of packing for any eventuality. But we went anyway, and it was actually quite fun.
We met several sound people, which is nice. One guy who is a sub-editor for the cork newspaper, and another who is a part-time network administrator, part-time shepherd, and he makes music and mixes in his spare time. Cool combination… When we arrived at the party, this girl came right up to me (inches away from my face) and said – “I’m eleanor, this is my place. who are you?” I was impressed that she went around to every person there and introduced herself if she didn’t know you.
Eleanor ended up to be quite the character. I didn’t spend any more time actually talking to her one-on-one, but she talked loud enough to everyone else that I learned quite a bit about her. She was 34, had her first child at 20, and was damn proud to be a mother of three. she was the national kickboxing champion, and went around the party for a while with her medal around her neck. she was wearing silver christmas bows in her hair and press-on sparkles in the corners of her eyes.
At one point in the party, a fellow named Johnny arrived. He was a good-looking guy, obviously popular and well-liked. And all of a sudden, eleanor started SHOUTING – “HOW DARE YOU COME LATE TO MY PARTY?? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, JOHNNY?? AND WHAT ARE YOU WEARING???? DON’T YOU KNOW THAT THERE IS A DRESS CODE FOR MY PARTIES?? I’VE SEEN THAT SHIRT BEFORE!!! THAT SHIRT IS TWO YEARS OLD!!! HOW DARE YOU COME TO MY PARTY WEARING THAT SHIRT???!!!”
Now, she was shouting this really really loudly. and I thought she was really serious for a minute. I thought about my ratty jeans and boring t-shirt in a brief moment of panic. but when she got to the part about his shirt I knew she was taking the piss – maybe the shirt wasn’t new, but it was certainly a good shirt. stylish.
Later on in the party, I saw Johnny on the dancefloor. He had changed his shirt. He was wearing what must have been eleanor’s shirt – a tiny blue and aqua backless number with lots of stringy straps. And he still had every ounce of his dignity and charisma.
I’ve only ever met people like eleanor in ireland… somehow being totally and completely crazy is acceptable here. and yet – she had this power and confidence. her parties are known as good parties – people don’t get totally mashed and wreck stuff. people are people wherever you go, but the edges of the extreme get pushed in different directions.
