Party like a... PCV?

I'm so sorry for the delay in part two of my wedding story... I've been busy partying.

No, seriously.

To answer a few questions about the previous post, I do not know why the ceremony didn't start until the wee hours of the morning. I don't even know when the checkered flag dropped -- my sense of time, in regards to that night, is waaaaay off. It was pretty typical, though, so the more weddings I go to, the more I'll be able to tell you about this kind of thing.

I will also discuss Berber dress soon. It's really unique something that excites me, and I feel that that post deserves more time and brain power than I'm willing to spend/able to muster up right now.

Last weekend was only the beginning of my party-like-a-Peace-Corps-Volunteer phase of service. This week I was invited to five (5) parties. In the States, I was usually only invited to about four parties per month... so you can only imagine how surprised I was to realize that coming to Morocco and shunning my extravagant lifestyle had actually bolstered my personal life. Let me run down the invites with you:

Wednesday: Party at the grade school across from my apartment (which I move into in four days!), celebrating the end of the school year. I could not attend due to a Peace Corps Site Visit.

Thursday: Same school, different party. I could not attend as I was busy working on a project with another volunteer.

Friday: Party at the local women's club -- called a nedi -- to celebrate the end of the year (when the school closes down, the nedi closes down too). I attended, but left early for personal reasons.
note: someone who was at the nedi for the party, and saw me leave early, cited the death of Michael Jackson as the reason I left early. She told my mom that I left in tears. Whoever you are, thanks a lot.

Friday, after the party at the nedi: I was invited to a party... at my house. I was told of the party before inserting the key into the door of my apartment by three of my most loyal fans (I have a fan club of eight-year-old girls, by the way. More on that later.). The invitation went a little stomething like this:

Three little girls: Nicole, Nicole! There's going to be a party tomorrow! Do you want to come?
Me: That's great, guys! Of course I do. Who's throwing it?
The girls: We are!!!!!!!
Me: Oh, that's wonderful! Where is it going to be?
The girls: At your house!
Me: Um, where is that? I don't have a house yet.
The girls: Right here! At your apartment! Isn't that great?
Me: Girls, I don't live here yet. I still live with my family on the other side of the river.
The Girls: Oh, that's okay. You can just open the door for us and we'll do the rest. Okay? Is that okay? Oh please, Nicole, it'll be great!

Needless to say, I declined.

Bottom line: my house is not a playground.

Saturday: My host dad received a call at 11:30p, as the family and I were sitting down to dinner. He passed the phone along to me (which was super weird) and on the other end was a friend of mine, who started our conversation with "Nicole, do you know where I am right now?" It turns out that he was in front of my house. He invited me to a party a few neighborhoods away, and I was out until 4:00a. If that doesn't get your attention, maybe the fact that this party had security guards will.

Security guards.
Aside from bouncers, I've never been to a party with security guards before.
Weeeeekwakin!


That's all the news that's fit to print right now. This week will bring a bit of traveling, a visit to another host family and a move into my very own apartment (!!!!), so there'll be another post coming at the end of the week, inshaAllah.