The reason it took me this long to blog the IB Party of the Century is that this all happened the same weekend as the Group 4 Project From Hell (which is redundant), so I had no time to write it down. Now that school’s almost over and I have exams all next week, I suddenly have time to devote to CI.
It’s noon, Sunday, in March. Today is one of the biggest events to hit the universe since Woodstock.
That’s right. It’s the first “International” IB Party. Held at my house. The general idea is to get as many people involved in IB as possible (that would include teachers, students, and parents) to cook food from their country of origin and bring it to my house to RAISE THE ROOF. Obviously, latkes + my counselor + everybody’s moms + warm soda + tabouli + my backyard = party of the century!
I’m sure you can all tell where this is going.
It’s one pm. Roi, Red Dog, Meg, and Geo are over (Goa couldn’t make it), as well as my counselor, a couple of senior IB guys, Ex’s friend’s mom, and some random people (sophomores and their families? I don’t know). We’re all standing around under the olive trees in my backyard drinking warm soda and eating latkes with our fingers. I’m trying to convince the senior guys to try the tabouli. My 14 year old brother is trying to determine his odds of a hot makeout session with Geo or Roi.
Happily fed (and much more worldly for it!) my friends gravitate toward the volleyball net I (was forced to) set up earlier. Badminton is the game of choice, but due to a lack of racquets, a hybrid volleyball/badminton game begins. I’m sitting out because my hand-eye coordination is about the same as that of a drunk toddler, without the cuteness. I am, however, participating in the volley (haha, pun) of “shuttlecock” jokes. In front of my counselor.
“Aw, look at little Minnesota girl soaking up the sun!” my counselor exclaims. (At the risk of disclosing my location, I live in one of the hottest parts of the country.) I look out at Meg, a tiny, pale-skinned, blond Irish girl who moved here from the Midwest a few weeks before school started. I can already see three thousand new freckles appearing on her bare arms.
It’s noon, Sunday, in March. Today is one of the biggest events to hit the universe since Woodstock.
That’s right. It’s the first “International” IB Party. Held at my house. The general idea is to get as many people involved in IB as possible (that would include teachers, students, and parents) to cook food from their country of origin and bring it to my house to RAISE THE ROOF. Obviously, latkes + my counselor + everybody’s moms + warm soda + tabouli + my backyard = party of the century!
I’m sure you can all tell where this is going.
It’s one pm. Roi, Red Dog, Meg, and Geo are over (Goa couldn’t make it), as well as my counselor, a couple of senior IB guys, Ex’s friend’s mom, and some random people (sophomores and their families? I don’t know). We’re all standing around under the olive trees in my backyard drinking warm soda and eating latkes with our fingers. I’m trying to convince the senior guys to try the tabouli. My 14 year old brother is trying to determine his odds of a hot makeout session with Geo or Roi.
Happily fed (and much more worldly for it!) my friends gravitate toward the volleyball net I (was forced to) set up earlier. Badminton is the game of choice, but due to a lack of racquets, a hybrid volleyball/badminton game begins. I’m sitting out because my hand-eye coordination is about the same as that of a drunk toddler, without the cuteness. I am, however, participating in the volley (haha, pun) of “shuttlecock” jokes. In front of my counselor.
“Aw, look at little Minnesota girl soaking up the sun!” my counselor exclaims. (At the risk of disclosing my location, I live in one of the hottest parts of the country.) I look out at Meg, a tiny, pale-skinned, blond Irish girl who moved here from the Midwest a few weeks before school started. I can already see three thousand new freckles appearing on her bare arms.
“Uh, Meg?” I yell. “You’re wearing sunscreen, right?”
“No.” Every mother in attendance suffers a mild cardiac arrest. None of us natives gave any thought to sunscreen since it’s early March, but Meg’s complexion and lack of experience here mean that she’ll fry within fifteen minutes.
“Yeah, that needs to happen.”
Skin cancer narrowly avoided, we move to the pool deck. The girls, all of whom brought suits (or fit into mine) attempt to swim, but discover that although the weather is already scorching, the pool is still the temperature it was in January. The boys throw us into the pool a few times, then get bored. Red Dog and my brother wrestle on the cement. The seniors sit on each other’s laps.
We make a third migration, this time into my bedroom. Geo takes my papasan chair, RD takes one of my desk chairs, I sit on my big desk, my brother and one of the seniors sit on my bed, and everyone else sits on the floor. We call Goa, take photos, and end up playing catch with my stuffed animal from AstroCamp (4th grade overnight, heck yeah!) The innocent game of catch turns quickly into a game of “how many IB kids fit on my twin bed?” (Answer: all of us in attendance, plus my brother).
So when anyone asks how the IB party went, we’ll say there was food, games, scantily clad girls, shirtless wrestling, and a mass of people on a bed. It’s the truth, right? That’s the talent we use to pass exams.
“No.” Every mother in attendance suffers a mild cardiac arrest. None of us natives gave any thought to sunscreen since it’s early March, but Meg’s complexion and lack of experience here mean that she’ll fry within fifteen minutes.
“Yeah, that needs to happen.”
Skin cancer narrowly avoided, we move to the pool deck. The girls, all of whom brought suits (or fit into mine) attempt to swim, but discover that although the weather is already scorching, the pool is still the temperature it was in January. The boys throw us into the pool a few times, then get bored. Red Dog and my brother wrestle on the cement. The seniors sit on each other’s laps.
We make a third migration, this time into my bedroom. Geo takes my papasan chair, RD takes one of my desk chairs, I sit on my big desk, my brother and one of the seniors sit on my bed, and everyone else sits on the floor. We call Goa, take photos, and end up playing catch with my stuffed animal from AstroCamp (4th grade overnight, heck yeah!) The innocent game of catch turns quickly into a game of “how many IB kids fit on my twin bed?” (Answer: all of us in attendance, plus my brother).
So when anyone asks how the IB party went, we’ll say there was food, games, scantily clad girls, shirtless wrestling, and a mass of people on a bed. It’s the truth, right? That’s the talent we use to pass exams.
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