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Senior Correspondent

I am simply pooped from partying in and out of my home. I have attended or hosted so many events and was guilt-fed so much food that I was contacted by three separate weight loss organizations to be their before example in a new advertising pitch. I am not weighing their options or anything else.


Granted, a few of the bashes were bombastic.

At the B party, there were the Baklavas who were sweet, Bill Blasé who came alone but didn't seem to care and Boobs Burkewitz who arrived with a couple.

The A party had the Aesop’s (she wore Sable), Al and Alice Alonzo from Albany who sold Apples and Absent-Minded Albert who forgot his pants. All in all, the A’s were amiable. Others were simply hell.

At this point I now owe so many reciprocal invites, which will then lead to more invitations till infinity, that I had to find a way to end the cycle. I have created sure-to-discourage themes guaranteeing nobody will ever want to return a second time. From my recent experiences you too, can learn how to make sure you are left alone, if that is your wish.


Hide 10 people in a closet when the evening is warm and sticky ( if only this week). Make everyone whisper for an hour, drinks in hand. When the honoree arrives, everyone will be so zonked they will ignore him. He’ll leave thinking he is in the wrong house. Who cares?


Place small throw pillows on the floor for guests to sit on so they must balance their plates on their laps or someone else’s. Serve cracked crab with drippy hollandaise sauce, corn on the cob and huge Margaritas. Make an obscene remark which will embarrass the most sophisticated guest, who will then spit and splatter everyone. Do not worry about being asked to their home.


“Hi Mona, can you believe it’s already been a whole year since we celebrated my mother-in-law's hip replacement? And guess what! A famous hip-hop group all whom have had the same surgery, all of them from a nearby nursing home, will entertain and then immediately thereafter, (sh! don't tell mom) our seven layer kale anniversary cake will be presented. Oh…you can't make it? So sorry. Perhaps next year, sweetie.

For the future, unless it is a small dinner party (you can still count on me for the wine), or we can meet in a restaurant, leave me alone and I sure won't bother you.

My guarantee — as an ole country song might have said,  “If the phone don't ring, you'll know it’s me.”

Happy 2014 or whatever! 

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