RETRO POTLUCK
What better way to christen that wedding china than adorning it with the kitschy Sunday meals Mom never used to make? I’m talking artichoke dips and cheese balls, casseroles, gelatin molds, baked Alaska and all manner of loaf. (Banana, olive, meat or mystery? Please Hammer, don’t hurt ’em.) Top it off with some kicky cocktail-wear, cosmos, frilly toothpicks and drunken-giggles-over-fondue etiquette—fon-dos and don’ts, if I may—and aspic, possibly the most ingenious dish since spotted dick. Aspic. Seriously, whoever named that dish deserves handslaps.

KARAOKE THROWDOWN
There are few things classier than a friendly game of duet one-upmanship at your local dive bar. Elton John and Kiki Dee? A fine opening move. Allow us to counter with some Run-D.M.C.-Aerosmith. Ooh, Beyoncé and Jay-Z? Low blow. Unfortunately for you, here’s a little something we like to call the “Up Where We Belong” Experience. That’s right: Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes, suckers! In at least three provinces, that would legally make you our bitches.

FLOOR HOCKEY
There are myriad reasons why joining a rec league with friends is good times: working up a hard-earned sweat, post-game beers and natchos, triumph through teamwork, participating in Canada’s national sport (well, a variation thereof). But, truthfully, it’s all about the old-school nicknames. Some personal favourites to get you started: Boom Boom, Cyclone, Pocket Rocket, Gump and, especially for all you hardwood goons out there, Tiger.

BOARD-PARTY GAME
With due props to Taboo, Loaded Questions and Guesstures, the single biggest independent mover in the adult board-game boom is Cranium, an addictive mash-up of popular favourites like Pictionary and Balderdash, with some plasticine thrown in for good measure. (You might call it the Van Helsing of board games.) I once spent a cottage evening playing Cranium with three other couples. By the end of the night, one person had quit, two weren’t talking to each other and at least one slapfight had almost broken out. Best time, ever.

PIXAR PARTY
Bambi is for diaper babies—any kid will tell you that. The real dizzle: Pixar, or, as some parents call it, Crack for Grade Schoolers. Finding Nemo, the Toy Story flicks, Monsters, Inc.—all infinitely re-watchable classics. Even A Bug’s Life has its moments. Just press “play” in the rec room, rock some white wine and Brie in the living room, and excuse yourself graciously if the tear ducts start gushing when Marlin and little Nemo get reunited. Hey, don’t mock. That’s a poignant scene.

GET YOUR SHOP ON
Not to lend credence to tired stereotypes, but let’s come clean here: The average male would rather hold a scrapbooking party than debate the relative pros and cons of stilettos vs. flats. By the same token, to the average female, comparing camera megapixels sounds like adolescent penis talk, and even less impressive. Share the pain—hitting the mall en masse won’t flip the gender dynamic, but at least you’ll have one pair of sympathetic ears for your kvetching.

DIY TRADING SPACES
Who needs Paige, Ty and Hildi for a weekend of reno-swapping? Just set a budget, a time limit and some basic parameters, and let the good times paint-roll. (Sorry.) You might think the greatest reward will be the tremendous sense of satisfaction you’ll get from flexing your creative muscles and forging a lasting bond of trust. Actually, it’s the look of abject horror on your friends’ faces when they see how you painted their fridge “Pink Corsage 1349.” Oh, you’ll all remember that fondly for years.

SPA WEEKEND
I used to consider spas the exclusive domain of romance until my fiancée walked in on Atom Egoyan and Arsinée Khanjian frolicking in the sauna at Ste. Anne’s in Grafton, Ont. Now I just think, (a) grody and (b) maybe getting your spa on with friends isn’t such a terrible idea, if only to discourage you from pulling an Egoyan yourself. A little tip, though: Tie those white robes snugly. Slippage is nobody’s friend.

CANADIAN IDOL PARTY
Or Oscar party. Or Super Bowl party. Or MTV Video Music Awards party. Or The Bachelor Final Rose Ceremony party. Who cares—let’s load up on the alkie and hurl invectives at the boob tube! Hell, it could be a Crossfire party, just keep the chips and dip flowing, yo.