How To Happy New Years?

So, for my first fully-employed-look-Ma-Imma-big-girl-now Park Slope New Year's Eve, I figured I'd take a hint from the habits of my Brownstone Slope neighbors and go big: throw a dinner party. 

A super fucking classy eight person invite-only dinner party, Slope style.  You know, locavore shit, and doing the Maggie thing by purchasing some dirty whore cheese at the Larder.

Let me tell you, my non-Brownstone-owning, non-nanny-having friends: throwing a dinner party in your tiny apartment with about four days to plan is not among the smarter things you can do. 

Three issues with a makeshift swanky soiree:

1) My IKEA kitchen table fits maybe five normal-sized humans.  (Six if you count people my size, seven if we go all TLC "Little People, Big World" Christmas special.)

2) I only own seven chairs.  I went to a fancy college where I learned that eight people don't fit in seven chairs.  Not even in Europe.

3) Uhhhh, shit's EXPENSIVE, and I'm afraid I'll accidentally poison everyone if I try to cut corners and buy produce from Steve's C-Town.

So now with fewer than three days to plan, I either need to a) wake up and magically have turned into Ina Garten b) find me a sugar daddy - AKA divorced Slope lawyer with $$$ - to subsidize (ed note: maybe you should try the divorced Park Slope trader??) or c) covertly move this shit to IKEA Red Hook. 

Maybe all of the above.

Do you have secrets to make Baby's First Dinner Party a rousing success? (skip suggesting "get guests drunk fast enough that they don't notice you aren't actually serving food," since I already thought of that one and have it on my shortlist).

Happy New Year, neighbors.

Meredith is a freelance writer who can often be found yelling at her computer in the Tea Lounge while editing her first novel.  She lives in Park Slope or Windsor Terrace, depending on who you ask (but defends Terrace Bagels to the death, regardless).  She self-indulgently writes about  all of these things on her personal blog, Meredithturits.tumblr.com.