Confessions of a party crasher

No party pass? No problem. Kristen Lem tells us how to charm your way behind the velvet rope.

She awakens. A name and phone number are scribbled on her left hand. A young man is beside her, asleep. They are both fully clothed. He has a thumping headache, she does not because of Rule #1: consume drinks with one-to-one tonic water to alcohol ratio. So begins another day in the life of a party crasher.

RomeFilmFest will pack some of the biggest, baddest parties of the year. The nine-day glamfest make most weak with anticipation in hope of a wild alcohol-induced evening, followed by a week’s worth of inside jokes and provocative photos on Flickr.

Smile, as she’s known to friends, has a 24-year-old heart that beats a little faster than most due to Rule #2: engage in cardiovascular activity six to eight hours before party to release confidence-boosting endorphins and pheremones. With the film fest in full swing, she puts in an extra ten minutes on the treadmill.

*Smile, an American student, lives in an apartment in Rome with two other Americans, Metro and Diva, also in their early 20s.

Metro yells from the bathroom, “does my hair look messy or messed up?” She assures him that it looks messy, and, is in accordance with Rule #3: must look good without evidence of effort. Smile peers at the mirror to decide on her own appearance for tonight. She goes with fire-engine red lips, making her already large teeth look like pieces of Dentyne Ice gum, but a perfect example of Rule #4: accentuate unique flaw.

Dressed to crash, Smile and Diva negotiate their platform heels against the unforgiving cobblestones as they trail behind Metro, who leads the way towards neon lights and a pulsing atrium. Girls built like gazelles are ogled by stallions who craft the words “ciao, bella” into poetry. The entrance price for this Borghese garden of flesh is 300 euros. Smile, Metro, and Diva have considerably less pocket money, but are richly determined.

The only thing big about Smile is her teeth. She squeezes her petite frame past modelesque party-goers and over the brocade rope separating the crashers from the party. She is met by a large bouncer, but acts as if his presence is unexpected. He is angry, twice her size, and demanding an explanation for her brazen behavior. Smile points past the bouncer, saying in English that Alfredo let her in --"Alfredo" being a favorite dish of creamy pasta she regularly orders at Il Conti.

The bouncer shakes his head “no.” Smile’s face saddens, but she persists, “solo tre persone, per favore.” She flashes her best grin and points to Diva, who has already taken cue to start dancing provocatively with Metro. Diva’s moves are equal parts serpent, stripper, and Shakira. Having hypnotized the bouncer, the dancer unhooks the rope and the three crashers march in to the beat of their own success. Surrounded by pages of a Vogue magazine come to life, Metro, Diva, and Smile go to work.

It's now 6 a.m. Buzzed off hip-hop and free vodka tonics, Smile and a young man stumble through her apartment door. She reaches for the light and he reaches for her. Remembering Rule #5: a party crasher never sacrifices her integrity, Smile whispers, “I’ve just had a Brazilian. My waxer says no sex for three days.” Aroused and disappointed, he backs away. She breathes a sigh of relief and wonders just how painful a Brazilian is, if she will never get one, and where the next party will be.

*Rome-ing the CinemaFest decided not to use the real identities of the student gate-crashers mentioned in the story, but instead opted to go with their nicknames so as not to blow the cover of these truly intrepid party crashers.