As the pink sunset faded into a dark sky, we swooned over Maggie's ohmuhgawd juicy jerk chicken, nibbled bits of warm naan and licked our spicy fingers clean. We forwent all manner of plates and civility, passing big bowls of couscous and banana creme pudding from person to person, opting to savagely nibble off the shared serving spoons. Max and Kaitlin busily smeared hunks of baguette with cheese, creating the perfect vehicle for slices of smoky grilled eggplant and green peppers snapped off the grill. Creighton had to hide his mother's oatmeal chocolate chip cookies in the back of Yoko's closet in order to make them last the entire evening.
It was one of those parties where you don't take any pictures. When you're too busy making ridiculous conversation about inappropriate things til your face hurts from laughing. When you get a little buzzed and say silly sentimental things like "I am honey drippingly happy right now" and your friends tell you you're smiling like a loon and take your picture to prove it. It was one of those parties where you are aware you had some sad times, some lonely times, some frustrating times this past year, but all that really matters is now: that rooftop, that pudding and those people.
It's the kind of party that makes you think "Damn, I should really have more rooftop parties."
