BUT. GUYS. I have to tell you about an ABOMINABLE PARTY I got roped into attending (on a LIE. I was lied to, zomg!!) and it's just... Wow. I have a poll at the end because I want to know how you would deal with some of these things. I pride myself on my social manners. PRIDE. I have cotillion in my blood. My hemoglobin is the FANCIEST.
That's a southern thing, huh? Cotillion? Y'all up north didn't do that, did you? It was a finishing school/private school thing, right? Why are we talking about this?
OK. So my lovely friend Brainpool is usually who has the shindigs and hootenanies in our neighborhood, as they were the ones with the pool and the not caring about people coming over all the time attitude. I've met many people at their parties, don't always hit it off with them, but am polite in social situations, as you are. She kept telling me about this one couple, I'll call them Rock & Bird, that thinks the Mr. and I are great, and we all need to hang out, blah blah. I have NO IDEA who this couple is, but Brainpool insists we've met on many occasions. Um, okay?
So Rock & Bird had a party on Saturday and were gagging for me to come, like they had mentioned me specifically to Brainpool, emailed them a request for my presence, etc. Um, okay? The Mr. and Emily were camping this weekend, so it was going to be just me, and guys, I'm just not into parties where I've never been before, I'm not sure who people are, bah. I'm an old fogey. Also, I kinda have social issues. I would prefer to be home, in my hot tub, with a book and a glass of wine than forcing small talk amongst strangers.
(Don't get me wrong, I can totally be charming and "On" when I need to be, I just don't CHOOSE that for my entertainment, if you dig.)
I stomp and drag my feet and put on some party clothes and makeup and do my damn hair and grumble and drive and get there and make sure I'm in the right place and that my friends are already there (omg) and go in and find the host. She's this tall bird like woman, staggering about, tipsy already, and talking with a group of people. I wait for a break in the conversation and say, "Hi, I'm Brainpool's friend from the Halloween parties. I'm the Geisha." (I was told this was how she remembered me, from my elaborate costumes of the past few years.)
"The, uh, the geisha? I'm Laura?"
"I'm sorry, I don't know what that means?"
I'm red faced and trying to maintain my cool, everyone around us is looking at us now. "I was the angel statue a year ago? Um... I'm Brainpool's friend. Thank you for the invitation."
"I'm sorry, I'm drawing a blank. But I'm glad Brainpool invited some of her friends."
And she turns back to the others.
OH MY GOD. I storm over to Brainpool and scream-whisper, "She has no idea who I am! I just made a complete ass of myself."
She looked like the cat that caught the lying canary and said, "Oops! I just wanted you to come!"
JESUS EFFING BEE HOLES. No. NO NO NO, that is not how you get someone to come to a party. I was pretty embarrassed and pretty mad and incredibly uncomfortable. Somehow I got into a conversation with Bird Woman Hostess and it turns out that I didn't care that I wasn't really invited, because HOLY MARY MOTHER OF BILL WHO IS A KID I GREW UP WITH, she is the most boring human on earth.
On the whole entire earth. All of it. Maybe even the most boring of all time, I wish I could build a time machine - not to defeat Hitler - but to interview every person EVER and see if indeed Bird Woman is the most boring person that ever lived. That's how I would use that invention. And then I would be vindicated. THEN I COULD REST. (Can we rest now, Buffy? CAN WE REST?!)
Turns out her husband collects minerals. Alrighty. They have curios all over with half-dollar sized nuggets on display. As someone that enjoys the things of the earth, I drifted over and glanced at some of the displays and got cornered by Bird, who proceeded to tell me how they get them. In excruciating (and repetitive) detail.
"We go to shows and there are tables and they have boxes. Not big boxes, but like the lids of boxes. And they're made of wood. The boxes. The boxes that aren't really boxes, but more like lids. You take one of these lid boxes, that are made of wood, and you go to tables where they have lots of these boxes that are really like lids and they're filled with minerals. And you take the ones you want and put them in your lid box and..."
OH MY GOD SHUT UP SHUT UP HOW DO YOU TURN IT OFF?! And she's shit-faced by now. I mean swaying on her feet blasted. And I take a step back, because I really think she's going to fall on me, but she just shambles closer, like some kind of pre-zombie brain eater, except she wants to eat my TIME AND PATIENCE, not my sweet, sweet brain meat. Oh, and she's also an "Interior Artist" because she paints faux finishes (hey-o, 1988 called, they'd like their new decorative ideas back) and she wants to tell me all about how long it took her to learn how to paint a faux brick patch on her wall (are you some horrible strip-mall Sbarro?) and all of the glazes, and all of the OH MY GOD I DON'T CARE.
I managed to escape the retelling of the materials that make up the faux marble on the cabinet fronts she's working on, and drift into the dining room which has a picture of The Narrows, a pretty well known hike in Zion National Park. I point it out to Brainpool and mention that it's where dovil and I are going. Not that particular hike, but the park, and for newbies, I used to live there. I hiked Zion EVERY. WEEKEND. I know that place like the back of my hand.
So Bird drifts over and tells me that I'm wrong, because they bought that picture in the Grand Canyon and it's a place northwest of Freedonia, Arizona (omg, that is ZION NATIONAL PARK, YOU HALF-WIT, LOOK AT A MAP) and they paid some Indian, she thinks they were CHEROKEE (omfg) and they have this amazing red rock that's like sand, what's it called?
AND I AM BITING MY FIST OFF. My left hand is now slowly being digested in my guts, because I couldn't take it. 1) that is the NARROWS, that's a world famous picture, 2) Freedonia is south-west of Zion making the place you went...? And 3) those are NAVA-freaking-JO INDIANS, not Cherokee, and it's NAVAJO SANDSTONE. Which is why you think it's sandy. Because it is made of compressed SAND. And it's named after the Indians that live there. In the NAVAJO RESERVATION that is almost half of the damn state. Gah!!
She starts getting choked up, talking about how much the Cherokee love American Democracy, because so many of the rock formations are named after Presidents and I just excused myself and left. Are you kidding me with this!? Wow.
Horrible, horrible evening. I believe Emily Post is very clear on your need to politely extricate yourself from a social setting when you want to brain someone with a piece of their vacation memorabilia. But if you find yourself braining your hostess, for pity's sake, PINKIES OUT.
And last night I got a friend request on Facebook from her. I do NOT know how she found me, and she left me a message saying how great it was to meet me, blah blah blah.
You just met someone you do not care for.
That previous person has tracked you down on a social networking site.
Laura, you just really need to
Guys, I am still traumatized. TRAUMA. LOL, I like made up white people/First World problems. Wah, wah, my Birkin bag doesn't go with these Louboutins, whatever shall I do? Hahaha, I'm kidding. There's no such thing as a Birkin bag that doesn't match any of the Louboutins, that's crazy talk.
Side note, I took my teens to dinner on Friday night and my son held my chair for me, and the hostess stopped, clutched her chest, claimed it was the most adorable thing ever, and made the manager give us an appetizer for free. SEE? MANNERS ARE AWESOME. ;) (And seriously, my boy is pretty great.)