"So, where do we put our coats?"

Parties can be nasty things--sweaty, dark, spilled sticky drinks--how do you protect an expensive and difficult to replace wool garment?

When my blockmates and I helped host a party earlier this year, we knew one of the hosts well and just put our coats in his bedroom. But this was just one of the obstacles we encountered while making our way form the Quad through the tepid River party scene and back home again in one piece.

We were lucky on this particular occasion, because we knew the party hosts--which definitely makes a difference in party etiquette. In general, I try to follow the "two degrees of separation rule": if I know the people throwing the party or I know someone who does, then my friends and I can come on the scene with confidence.

If not I feel kind of like we're crashing the party. Our coats--left haphazardly on some inconspicuous couch--would be glaring evidence of our outsider status.

In the past, the coat problem has been particularly embarrassing for at the end of the evening because I sport the gray. J. Crew pea coat model that everyone seems to have. Finding my own coat can be a critical yet often tricky task in badly lit and crowded common rooms.

But coats are only the first challenge of an evening on the party scene. Dancing is one of those issues. At a big party, the question "where to dance?" is front and center. At the Leverett 80s dances, for example, some of my friends want to dance at the front near the DJ, while other want to stand on the side and scope the crowd.

The question is whether to participate or observe. But are the people you're observing really that exciting, I ask you?

Some people go to parties and don't like to dance. Which is something I have never really understood. There is little else that makes a party interesting. It's hot, it's sweaty, there's probably some form of bad alcohol and there's music. So why not dance? If you're not going to dance, go home and watch a movie for crying out loud. Oh well, maybe the bad alcohol will take effect before the party, inevitably, ends at 1 a.m.

But back to the point at hand, which is that often, if people don't like to dance, they like to dance near the front of a room even less, so the group inevitably splits between the floor and the stage. You'll be at the Masquerade, dancing on the stage, and the next thing you know, the people you came have gone to Tommy's

But the nightmare of all party nightmares is trying to meet people who arrived earlier. It's dark and crowded, not the ideal situation for finding even people you know well. There are other obstacle, though, that can hinder a rendezvous.

First, the people could flake (or come super late, which is equally annoying). This prevents those waiting from going anywhere else if the party is dead. The party is also less enjoyable because while you wait, you look around, thinking, "Did I just miss them? Could they be on the other side of that pillar/tall man/other largely immovable and wholly non-transparent object?"

Then there's the possibility that the friend got to the party and wasn't able to get in. I have been that person, and it's possibly one of the most frustrating things ever.

Last year, some of my friends went to a party and I ended up coming later. When I arrived, there were people spilling out of the room, and I couldn't get in. The guy at the door was like, "It's too crowded, Miss." First of all, I was thinking, "Dude, this isn't a club. You're not a bouncer. You're just a self-important 18-year old that's actually kind of small."

But of course, not having the nerve to say any of that out loud--my internal bravado is always so much wittier than my generally pacifist exterior--I was forced to say, "Please, my friends are in there. I just need to tell them I'm here. I'll come right back out." But he was not convinced. Later, I was accused of ditching my friends. What's up with that?