We Made a Wish and You Came True

Who doesn’t love babies?  The way they smell, the way they coo, the way their skin feels so impossibly soft.   What I miss most about Emma being a newborn though, is getting up to feed her in the quiet of the night and then sitting with her in the rocking chair; her little body all snuggled up in my arms, her beautiful little face propped up on my shoulder so I could smell the sweetness of her breath and knowing the exactly moment she fell sound asleep because her breathing was so contented.  I would sit there rocking with her for much longer than need be because it just felt so darn perfect.  It’s enough to make any woman’s uterus jump.

 

Before any one gets any bright ideas about me having another child let me say this…  I know my limits which is why Emma is an only child.   Talk to the hand, ok.

 

If you haven’t guessed yet I went to a baby shower today.  Between all the ooohhhing and aaahhhing I took careful note to observe  the planning and attention to detail that goes into having such a party.  A baby shower is not just like any other party – yes, there’s the food and decorations, but then there’s the added element of creating an environment to show the expectant parents how loved they are and how happy you are to celebrate them as a new family.   Who better than to host such a party than the new grandmothers (or another close family member)?  Their love is unconditional and they are way excited about their child’s child.  It’s intoxicating to watch the amount of love that can pour out from them.

 

Not to mention – Simply said, the baby stuff is just too cute.  Today’s shower was for a boy and the theme was a little monkey.  So, of course, there were monkey plates, monkey cups and monkey napkins.  There was also a monkey cake.  My sister-in-law, who also is a baker, was one of the hostesses for this shower.  Actually, ‘baker’ is an understatement.  She is a supreme artist when it comes to cakes and does it as a side business out of her home.  She creates, by far, the best cakes EVER!  I swear she has some magic flavor wand she waves over them to make them so tasty.  But even more so, they truly are edible art.  She has made some of the most amazing cakes I’ve ever seen.  Here’s today’s cake and a couple of others she has made for showers I’ve hosted over the years:

 

Today’s cake.

 

 Baby Shower Crib Cake #1

For my girlfriend’s shower.

 

For my sister’s shower.

 

I told you she rocked!  As if the cake wasn’t enough she also made chocolate lollipops as today’s favors. 

 

Adorable and chocolate! A girl’s dream come true.

 

The last baby shower I hosted was for my sister about 5 years ago.  At the time I found some really cute favor and decor ideas on the web.  I never saved the names of the sites I got the ideas from so, unfortunately, I cannot credit the originators.  I’m sure they are somewhere on Pinterest now, but I don’t feel like looking for them.  Hopefully, these will be helpful if you ever need ideas:

 

The baby clothes line makes an easy decoration/gift. Clothes line, clothes pins, onesies, bibs and socks are all you need. Sorry for the blurry pic. I sucked at taking them then.
 
 

Need an easy, cheap favor? Baby's breath flowerpot. Fill a terra cotta pot with potting soil, add a few seeds of baby's breath, put the saucer on top and tie with a ribbon. Give them to your guests to take home to water & grow the baby's breath. About a $1 each. BOOM!

 
 

Diaper cakes. Necessary so you can make poop seem cute.

 

The diaper cake idea came from my friend, Jacki.  She runs a business where she makes diaper cakes and other interesting favors.  She’s very crafty, highly conscientious and detailed.  And besides, she’s my friend so you know she’s funny and cool as shit.  Here’s her website should you ever want to order something from her:   Chique Simplicity

 

Sorry to be so sappy!  Maybe it’s just all that baby sweetness that washed over me.  I’m sure in my next post I will return to my usual sarcastic, snarky self.  It just didn’t seem appropriate here.    I do want to say this though – In like 20 years, if Emma ever decides to have a child, I will require the baby call me ‘Glammy’.  None of this Nanna or Mom-Mom bullshit for me.  I’m far too young (and vain) for that.

Wha-What?? It’s National Margarita Day. EPIC FAIL

For a girl who writes about parties and professes her love of chocolate and alcohol, you would think I’d have it together when it comes to major holidays, annual events and all things fun.  Apparently, I don’t know as much about the subject as I thought I did because I got a text today from my girlfriend, Michelle, that rocked my world like an earthquake.  It went like this:

 

Michelle:  OMG, today is National Margarita Day!  Blog fodder 🙂  Also time to make a batch.

 

Me:  WTF!!!! How did I not know this?!?!  Goddamnit.  I’m totally behind the 8 ball this week.  MUST GET PARTY RELATED CALENDAR.

 

And so, for the SECOND time this week, I beg for your forgiveness for not being up to speed with a MAJOR, IMPORTANT AND NECESSARY holiday.  I have to admit I was a little thrown at first.  Why on earth would someone make National Margarita Day in the middle of winter???  It’s February 22nd forgodsake!  Visions of me and Michelle petitioning congress to change the date to a Saturday during the summer flashed before my eyes!!  This called for a Google search.  What I found on National Margarita Day.com helped talk me off the ledge and forgo a pointless trip to D.C.  There is some weird puppet explaining the WHY, but it did quell my bewilderment.  Apparently, “in the darkness of winter we NEED the citrus vitality and joyful fellowship of National Margarita Day”.  How could I argue?  Makes perfect sense and I couldn’t agree more.

 

Like every other self-respecting girl, I have known about the frozen concoction since the late 70s.  I have fond memories of singing along with Jimmy Buffett it in the back of my grandmother’s Pinto. 

 

 

 

However, my love affair with the divine cocktail truly began with my first taste at Sr. Week 19XX in Ocean City, Maryland.  I remember it fondly – breaking a sweat as I snuck  the cheapest tequila ever made into this DIVE hotel that was right on the boardwalk, heading back to the boards to try charming any cute guy who might have a knife into giving me the knife so that I could cut up limes, but giving up when I figured out that boys don’t carry knives in their swim trunks (apparently it’s some kind of anatomical hazard.  Go figure.).  Then making the long dejected walk with my girlfriend to the nearest grocery store to buy some pre-bottled greenish mixer and FINALLY getting back to the room to stir it all together over melting ice, sans salt.  Nonetheless, I fell at that very moment.  I fell hard.

 

It was like that famous line from Jerry McGuire – “You had me at hello”.

 

Since that time, my adoration for lime and tequila has grown into a meaningful companionship.  For me, though, the frozen variety just won’t do.  I am a traditional, on-the-rocks-with-salt kind of girl.  Last year, though, I had an experience that renewed my appreciation for the refreshing perfection that is the margarita.  What I am about to describe for you is, by far, the BEST. MARGARITA. EXPERIENCE. EVER.

 

January 2011… me, Charlie and our 2 BFF couples went to Mexico for vacation.  I plan to cover the topic of the destination party at a later date, so for the purposes of this blog I am keeping it to a specific day – our Playa del Carmen day to be precise.  Playa del Carmen is a little tourist trap shopping district near Rivera Maya, Mexico.  On day 2 of our 5 day trip we thought we might want a little change of scenery from the opulence that is the Secrets Maroma Resort and set up a trip into town on day 4.  But when day 4 showed up the girls and I found ourselves wondering if it was possible to go to Playa del Carmen while laying prone in our beach chairs.  Nope, not a chance.  We paid for the trip the guys said; we were going.

 

Boy were we glad we did.  Our van driver was delightful and we had just the loveliest ride to town.  He dropped us off and turned us loose.  It was a little startling at first watching police jacked up with UZIs patrol the street, but once we realized it was for our protection, things were just fine.  We strolled past pushy merchants trying to sell us everything under the sun, watched a teenaged girl roll cigars at a stand on the street and giggled while jokingly discussing whether we should buy the Viagra, Ambien or bevy of other prescription pharmaceuticals that could be had just by pointing at them in a 5 and Dime type store.  Then we stumbled upon Frida’s.

 

Cigars, people, they are cigars.

 

Prescription? You don’t need no stinkin’ prescription!

 

So unassuming…

 

We really didn’t have any intention on getting food or anything because our resort was all-inclusive and we had just eaten breakfast.  But, the coffee had kicked in by this time and there were no bathrooms on the street.  So in we went.  The sun streamed into the establishment with a soft glow and there was a delicious breeze floating among the tables.  It was quiet and kind of dreamy.  We took a table for 6 near the bar.  The waiter came to take our order and what else would you order when in Mexico but cerveza and margaritas?  They weren’t too busy so the order arrived at our table in no time.  This was the biggest damn drink I had ever seen.  Seriously the size of my head.  And it was magnificent – sweet, tangy, POTENT.  Bravo, Frida’s bartender. Bravo.

 

Look at the size of that glass! Who says alcohol affects people?

 

To make it even more idyllic, 2 older guitarristas approached and sang several songs for us.  We sat sipping the beer and margaritas and swaying along to the gentle tune of our serenaders for only about a half an hour.  Like Cinderella, our ride back was due to arrive any minute.  We got To-Go cups (I swear!) and paid the $20 for 4 margaritas, 4 beers AND the tip.  Reluctantly, we sadly departed the restaurant.  Although I didn’t lose my glass slipper, I did feel an emptiness rushover me as we hurried (drunkenly) down the street away from our quixotic utopia.

 

Ernesto and Juan. I’m just fucking with you; I don’t remember their names.

 

Even if you can’t get to Mexico for the best margarita ever to celebrate this National Margarita Day, you can get the ingredients right here in the U.S.A. for a really good one.  My girlfriend, Kristin, makes one hell of a good margarita and has been kind enough to share it with me.  Fresh orange juice, fresh lime juice, Patron tequila and a little Grand Marnier floated on top.  Make yourself some ceviche and you’ve got yourself a reason to celebrate on February 22nd in the middle of winter.

 

If you do this I expect an invitation.

Mardi Gras is tomorrow?!?!?!

Here’s what I know about Mardi Gras…

 

 

Emma had cash money to spend from her birthday yesterday and it was apparently burning a hole in her pocket.  She was *dying* to single-handedly help the economy.  She kindly reminded me it is both my parental and American duty to aid her in this capacity so… I took her to the mall earlier today.

 

Hollister is her current favorite store.  I, however, cannot stand how LOUD the damn music is in there so I elected to sit outside and save the marginal hearing that I do have.  (Jeez, that makes me sound old!  Ugghh.)  Anyhoo, while sitting beneath the 10×20 posters of half-naked minors I decided to web surf on my phone.  I don’t know how I came across the subject of Mardi Gras, but I did and to my dismay – it is tomorrow!!  My plan was to collate for you all the history and decor ideas and recipes for Mardi Gras so you could plan a fabulous party of your very own.  Unfortunately, it snuck up on me and I got nothing.  Mea culpa.

 

Given my lack of foresight with the date, I decided to just take a funny picture of myself and consult my sister for some advice.  Janice lives in Texas (which is near Louisiana for the geographically challenged) and participates in Mardi Gras every year.  Let me be clear – you will not find my sister here:

 

Girls Gone Wild 2: Mardi Gras [VHS]

This girl looks so happy; bless her heart.

 

Like me, Janice is too smart to have naked pics of herself smeared all over the internet.  Also like me, Janice has small boobs and nobody wants to see that shit.  However, we have both come to the realization in the last several years that they will NEVER be sloppy.  So to those who made fun of us for being members of the IBTC so long ago, we hope you are enjoying your bologna tits today.

 

Sorry, I got carried away.  Back to Fat Tuesday.

 

My sister tells me that, basically, Mardi Gras is a shit fest.  It’s mandatory to have masks, parades, a King cake, beads, booze, music, crawfish, boobs, schlongs, ass, the gays (whom I adore) and a King and Queen.  Now that’s a party!  So if it’s not too late and you are willing to have a party on a Tuesday I hope you have a great time!  Here’s a great site I found with some really useful information – Mardi Gras Day.com.

 

I have already put next years date in my phone calendar so I can make sure to blog something fabulous for you about having a Mardi Gras party.  So until February 12, 2013, my friends, laissez les bon temps rouler (let the good times roll).

 

Side note & totally off topic, but funny:  I can look at my wordpress.com blog stats and stuff to see how many people are viewing the posts and where they are coming from, etc.  Someone accessed my blog while they were searching for… are you ready for this shit… Horse Fisting.  Because I’m a nice girl I didn’t know what that was & immediately had to Google it.  Sure enough, it’s all about bestiality.  True story.  Sick fuck.  Oh well, at least they checked out my blog!  HAHAHAHA!!!

P.S. – Go back and read my previous post ‘Giving Credit Where Credit Is Due’ if you don’t know why someone would come across my blog while looking for Horse Fisting. 

OMIGOD OMIGOD OMIGOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m having a party at my house right now.  Well, more like sponsoring a party.

 

Emma has 6 friends over for her 13th birthday.  6 because that is as many as I can handle.  Life is a compromise.

 

Don’t get me wrong, Emma has great friends.  I know… you think I’ve got my head in the sand.  But hear me out – they aren’t a bunch of fucktards who grunt at you when you ask them if they prefer lemonade or iced tea.  These really are good kids who are sweet and polite and whose parents are involved with their lives.   That said, put the 7 of them in a room together and one may find oneself wishing to lose themselves in luxury with Calgon.

  

 

What was I thinking?

 

 

 

How many hours left???

 

 

 

Fuck my life.

 

 

Just imagine.  Seven 13-year-old girls for 18 hours.  Buzzing about at hypersonic speed at the pitch of a rabid mosquito.  On crack.  Or, at the very least, Ritalin.   You want to know what that is like?  Well, because you mean so much to me and because I knew you would take comfort in my suffering  devotion to my child, here’s a little sample:

 

“OMIGODlikeshe’sbeenmeantomebeforeOMIGODhewasalllikeyellingatmeoutthebuswindow

OMIGODdon’tevengothereOMIGODitsmellsallfruity

OMIGODisaidboyyouneedtotalktomeorthisisn’tgonnaworkoutOMIGODtheytalkaboutweirdthings

OMIGODdidireallyjustsayglowup?OMIGODilovethissong!OMIGODthiswassofunny(said with jazz hands)

OMIGODhaveyoueverseenthosestupidcommercialswiththestupidoldlady?OMIGODdiditellyouthey’vebeengoingoutfortwoweeks”

 

And the coup de grâce that can cause any mother to

 

LOSE.

 

 HER.

 

SHIT.

 

OMIGODSodamakesmesoooooooooooohyper!!!!!

you can’t hear this because it’s all happening at my dumb-ass house

 

While all of this was going on my husband turned to me and said, “How do they even hear each other?”

 

I’m not going to list all the food we had for the kids because that is boring, but I will mention that we got them Chick-fil-A.  Believe me when I say I did this because I’m a loving mom.  It has nothing to do with the fact that it’s Friday, I worked all week and 13-year-old palates are not fully developed.

 

And yet, lo and behold, as I sit here at the computer, I have been humbled tonight from the realization that I have learned something new about parties.  I thought I was so skilled at it.  I mean, that’s why I started writing this blog.  I followed all of my own fabulous advice – with my husband’s help the house was cleaned Thursday night, we planned an activity for a few hours (the Roller Rink is a true blessing) and I knew my audience so I catered to their likes.  So what is it, you ask?  What could a woman, who is so pretentious that she thinks she can write an entire blog about throwing parties, learn from 13-year-olds?

 

  1. Never order Chick-fil-A fries for a party because they SUCK when reheated two-and-a-half hours later.  Bleeccckkkhhh.
  2. Never thaw a Dairy Queen ice cream cake on the counter for 45 minutes when the directions clearly say 20.
  3. Sometimes, just sometimes, you love someone so much you would do anything to make them happy.  Including throwing a party that has absolutely nothing to do with you.

 

She better remember this when I’m old & need a place to stay.

 

All identities are protected because I believe the children are our future. And because I'm not enough of an asshole to post pics of minors on the internet.

Pretzel Logic

I’ve been with my current company for only a few months.  Over the holidays, there was a get-together to celebrate.  You will always find someone grumbling at these work parties because “this is lame, that was weird, blah-blah-blah”.  I happen to think it’s pretty nice whenever a company provides a bonus like this and usually end up punching the complainer right in the face.

 

Ok, well, maybe that doesn’t actually happen, but it is my work-place fantasy sequence of events.

 

Anyhoo…During this get-together I went through the buffet line, got a salad and seafood pasta and went back to back to my table to eat and chat.  I was a little thrown when the person sitting next to me felt compelled to comment on my buffet choices.  He pointed to my plate and said (and I quote), “I thought you would be a meat and potatoes girl”.  My brain automatically went into self-conscious overload … IS HE IMPLYING I’M FAT?  DOES THIS OUTFIT MAKE ME LOOK FRUMPY?  I KNEW I SHOULDN’T HAVE EATEN THAT MUCH CHILI LAST NIGHT!  

 

Usually, I think of an amazing comeback 15 minutes past the fact and can’t possibly retort then because I would just look like a complete ass.  Strangely though, for once, my neurons and synapses cooperated and in a split second I thought of the best possible rebuttal any girl could ever hope for.  I said…..

 

“NOPE.  I’M A CHOCOLATE AND ALCOHOL KIND OF GIRL”.

 

It was so easy because it is so true.

 

Keeping in line with my adoration of all things cocoa, around this time a friend of mine posted something beyond fabulous on her Facebook page (I’m forever indebted to you, Des!).  It was so fabulous, it made me do the *gay gasp* while sitting in front of my computer.  Are you ready? … Chocolate Covered Pretzel Shots.  That’s right, bitches.

 

Now, since today is Valentine’s Day it got me to thinking.  What is important about Valentine’s Day that relates to parties??  The simplicity of the answer floated down to me from the heavens and landed softly in my lap.  Chocolate.  Chocolate is appropriate for any party.  So without further adeiu, here are a few recipes that combine chocolate and pretzels:

 

Chocolate Pretzel M&Ms

Preheat oven to 250°.  Line cookie sheet with parchment paper.   Cover cookie sheet with Rold Gold mini-pretzels (they are the best).  Add a Hershey’s kiss to each one.  Bake for 3 minutes.  Immediately smush a peanut M&M into the kiss.  Cool in the refrigerator for 10 minutes until chocolate is hardened.

 

 

Before heating...

 

 

Fuck you, Martha Stewart. I haven't seen THESE on your blog.

                                                     

Way Easy Turtles 

Preheat oven to 250°.  Line cookie sheet with parchment paper.   Cover cookie sheet with Rold Gold mini-pretzels.  Add a Rolo to each one.  Bake for 4 minutes.  Immediately smush a pecan half into the Rolo.  Cool in the refrigerator for 10 minutes until chocolate is hardened.  

  

 

Before...

 

 

 

I never realized until now how much a pecan half looks like a vagina.

 

 

 Chocolate Covered Pretzel Shots 

1 shot Frangelico Liqueur.  1 shot Pinnacle Whipped Vodka.  Salt.  Girlfriends.  

 

 

Kosher Salt. Because I'm not anti-Semitic.

 

 

You’re welcome.

 

Be Our Guest

R.S.V.P. –  Répondez s’il vous plaît

 

Translation:  Don’t be a douche bag.

 

At the risk of sounding preachy and holier-than-thou, I’d like to address my biggest pet peeve with having a party.  I’ve heard that people do not know what it means to R.S.V.P. so hopefully this will clear it up. 

 

Basically when you receive an invitation, be it via email, snailmail, Facebook, Evite or word of mouth, it is then your responsibility to let the host know whether or not you will attend.  Here’s why… the host has to plan for the amount of people he/she will be entertaining.  That means buying food and drinks, which means spending money.  Since I like money and hate to waste it I am going to go out on a limb and say that 99% of other people do too.  When you completely ignore an invitation you have compromised the hosts ability to plan accordingly.  True, any savvy host will round-up their estimates.  However, if 20 unexpected guests show up that puts the host in a very precarious situation.  Think about it.  How do you graciously say, “Sorry, since I didn’t know you were coming you will have to wait to eat until everyone else who RSVP’d is finished.”?

 

I admit I am a planner and unless there is a life-threatening emergency I will be where I said I will be when I am supposed to be there.  Of course, I realize there are many people who are more spontaneous than this and that is completely understandable.  Sometimes the best parties are those that happen on a whim.  However if someone has gone to the trouble to send an invitation to you for a baby shower, Memorial Day picnic or whatever, is it really that difficult to look at a calendar and then let the host know if you can make it to said event? 

 

It’s also shitty to R.S.V.P. and then not show up.  I mean, c’mon, you don’t even have to interface with the host anymore.  Texting makes it easy to hide behind the fact that you found something better to do.  Even if you come down with explosive diarrhea 5 minutes before leaving for the party, it is just common courtesy to let the host know you can’t make it.  Shame on you if you don’t.

 

 

I have had parties at my house with over 100 people in attendance.  Why would I do that to myself?  Because I’m very popular.  Typically though I have gotten a response from approximately 75-80 guests.  Granted, if you are going to have even 80 people at your house you need to plan for a butt-load of food.  So, I would buy and make enough for about 120.  I bought double the amount of paper plates, cups and utensils because people throw that stuff away and get another one.  However, when an extra 30 people showed up and I ran out of plates, cups and utensils I was totally embarrassed.  I hate to say this because parties are supposed to be about having fun, but I was pissed when those extra 30 people came up to me asking for those items.  How the fuck was I suppose to know I needed 3 times the amount when (and here’s my point) I didn’t know you were going to be here????? 

 

Bottom line is shit happens at parties.  Drunken fights, puking, even sexual advances can be excused and forgiven.   But if someone enjoys your company and is kind enough to invite you to their event, just let them know whether or not you will be there.  They’ve invited you because they like you and want you there.  Wouldn’t it be nice to keep it that way?

 

 

Caveat:  Some hosts get tricky and ask for a ‘Regrets Only R.S.V.P.’.  As if you needed a monkey wrench thrown into the mix.  This means your host expects you to attend their event.  If you cannot THEN you have to let them know you won’t be there.  Otherwise, you’re going.  Yes, these people are cunning knaves.  You may want to cut all ties with them.

Party of 1

I have a terrible habit.  It’s the kind of habit that, when I do it, other people don’t want to be around me.  Admittedly, it’s annoying at best; infuriating at worst.  What is this rogue habit?  Keep in mind I’m a middle-aged suburban white woman.  No, it’s not meth.

When driving in the car I flip through the radio stations incessantly at lightening speed desperately looking for something good to listen to.  To make matters worse I have a car with radio controls on the steering wheel – I don’t even have to reach for the dials.  I know, I know… not exactly the Ty Pennington “MOVE THAT BUS!” reveal you were hoping for.  It’s not even remotely salacious and is downright boring for those who are hooked on meth.  But between the commercials and the bad songs (i.e., Culture Club or America) I can’t help myself to keep searching for something, anything I can sing along with.  And that is the really important part of this story – sing along with.

Oh how I envy those people who can sing well.

Or carry a tune.

Or not send dogs into a howling frenzy all over the tri-state area.

They can go anywhere, singing along with the Beatles or Lady Gaga or James Taylor and not embarrass the hell out of themselves when the sound comes out.  They are blessed with vocal cords kissed by the gods and a diaphragm that allows for the expansion capacity of an accordion.  Sadly, even though I love to sing and it makes me happy to do it, I am the Singing Anti-Christ (SAC for short).  As a SAC, my voice is weak and I can’t carry a tune to save my life.  It doesn’t matter what I do – I’ve even read I could condition my voice with certain foods, such as honey or peanut oil (thus, making me either a sweet SAC or nut SAC), but to no avail.  Yeah, I went with the obvious joke.  So what?

However, none of this matters while I am alone in my car blitzing through the radio stations.  If/when I am able to find a great song on the radio – it’s go time.  I sing at the top of my lungs and dance in my seat like my life depends on it.  Thankfully, genetics took pity on me and gave me the ability to shake my ass like a champ to counter balance the pathetic vibrations that squeak out of my face.  Pretty much, I give other commuters something to laugh their heads off at while riding along side me.

So at this point I’m sure you’re asking “What does this have to do with parties?”.   Bear with me.

Last week as I was sitting in a dreadful traffic jam on my drive home from work I came across a new dance-y, pop song.  Now, I love all music (well, most music – Lover Boy really sucked.), but because I suck at singing and am good at dancing I am partial to pop songs.  This song has it all … fun beat, catchy tune, easy lyrics for me to sing along with when I’m by myself in the car.  It’s the trifecta of pop songs.  As soon as I got home I sprinted into the house and Googled the lyrics.  Behold!  Domino by Jessie J (co-written by Katy Perry, so you know its fabulous).

I immediately downloaded it to my iTunes and put it on my phone.  At this point I was obsessed with it and had to check the video on YouTube.  The video is stupid and she kinda reminds me of a transvestite Egyptian queen, but I freakin’ LOVE this song.  Since I was home all by myself like a big girl (something that doesn’t happen very often) I hooked my phone into the stereo and began playing the song over and over and over at a VERY LOUD volume.  The whole time I was dancing around my living room like this:

Then it struck me like a thunderbolt!  I’m enjoying the company I’m with and having a great time.  Hell, I’m having my own little party of 1!  I quickly reached for the vodka and took a shot.  Ok, maybe two.

Moral of the story:  I am awesome.  Why not enjoy your own awesomeness and do what makes you happiest in life whether or not someone else is looking?  Having a party of 1 isn’t pathetic.  It’s liberating and fun and helps you feel good about yourself.  And it gives you an excuse to drink vodka.

Giving Credit Where Credit Is Due

Had enough of reading my posts about the game yet?  I get it.  I won’t mention it again.  Of course, if I have to mention it again I’ll just say, “The event that rhymes with pooper hole”.

MOVING ON…

More often than not, when people think of parties visions of brightly colored balloons, princesses and screaming 5-year-olds come to mind.  Yes, I have organized great parties for my (almost) 13-year-old daughter, Emma.  She is the love of my life, after all, and I will do anything for her.  However, the kids party is generally not my forte.  My thing is adult parties.  And no, I don’t mean cockrings and fisting.  That’s what youporn is for.  Sorry, no pictures embedded from that site here.  You’ll have to settle for this…

Not youporn

But I digress.

Ideas for kid’s birthday parties are ubiquitous on the web.  You might even say they are wubiquitous (Suck it, Perez Hilton).  They give great advice and share creative ideas for little Johnny’s 6th birthday celebration.  You will find many of them on Pinterest because that is the place to be these days.  These parents (I’m being politically correct ok; we know it’s really the moms) have far more patience and talent than I.   They can take 2 bolts, some string, popsicle sticks, a glue gun and a wire and turn it into a craft that will occupy the little darlings for an hour-and-a-half and end up looking like the Taj Mahal.  Hats off to them.

Sometimes I fantasize how I too would like to be cutesy when it comes to parties.  Unfortunately, cutesy usually doesn’t involve vodka.  And vodka is necessary for my existence.  Besides, hosting a party for kids is EXHAUSTING!  You do all the normal things you would do for a grown-up party – the planning, the cooking, the cleaning, but then you have to babysit instead of getting to relax with your friends and a cocktail.  AND it’s a lot of pressure!  Food that looks like Barney or Mickey Mouse is a must.  And that shit better look exactly like Mickey or you’re gonna hear about it from some little prick who has no filter for all things polite.

3D Mickey Mouse Face

Is one ear bigger than the other?

Then there’s the entertaining piece.  You have to provide a craft, a physical activity, games, scavenger hunts, some woman who blows up animal shaped balloons, tight-rope walkers and a unicorn.  A real unicorn.  Yeah, screw cutesy.

 

Therefore I’ve decided to leave the kid’s birthday party ideas to the professionals.  I’ve combed the web for great sites and have compiled a few here for you:

 

Martha Stewart.com (just so you feel completely inadequate as a human being)

Birthday Party Ideas.com

Birthday Express.com

Disney Family Fun

Moms Who Think.com (picture of a creepy birthday clown included as a bonus on this website)

Pinterest Kid’s Birthdays

 

Of course, your other option is to rent out your local bowling alley or batting cages or whatever.  All your problems will be solved AND you can hide the vodka in a Gatorade bottle.

 

Does it bother anyone that I put a link to youporn in a post about kids parties?  Oh well, that’s how I roll.  I was only trying to make a point.  Don’t be so fucking sensitive.  You know when I said ‘adult’ your mind went there.

Don’t Penalize Yourself After The Super Bowl

Have you ever watched people eat?  Some are dainty with their food, being careful not spill anything.  These people use napkins and throw their trash away all by themselves.  They are conscientious of your furniture and appreciative that you have opened your home to them so that you can both enjoy each others’ company.  Usually this person is Type A and very clean, neat and organized.  Maybe you call this person your mother, your best friend or your favorite party blogger.

Then there’s the other 90% of the population who are just goddamn slobs.  You know who they are.  These people spill beer on your carpeting, knock the taco dip over sending all 7 layers spraying across your walls and are not cognizant enough to realize they have a gob of marinara sauce on the back of their hand as they smear it across your beige sofa.  They are also the best people to have at any party.  They are loud, obnoxious and funny as shit.  You should consider yourself lucky to have them as friends.  They may not be fastidious, but they sure know how to have a good time.  Thankfully, this is America and there are great cleaning products readily available at any Target or Wal-Mart to restore your home to its’ pristine, pre-party condition.

So how does this affect your Super Bowl party?  Well, since mishaps are inevitable there are some things you can do to prevent clean-up from being a nightmare.  I know, I know, you’re thinking, “WTF?!?  Why on earth is she writing about cleaning up BEFORE the party has even started?”.  Stay with me.  There’s a method to my madness.

Do you remember that scene from Sixteen Candles where Jake Ryan is surveying the damage that insensitive bitch, Carolyn, unleashed on his parent’s house by inviting the entire high school to a party?  This one (thanks AnyClip!)…

http://www.anyclip.com/movies/sixteen-candles/J8tF2b7mmhtmb/

Did you see all the pretzels and cans covering the glass coffee table??  Ugghh.  You do not want to have to clean this shit up.

Planning a party is fun.  The anticipation of entertaining gives you something to focus on, especially during the winter when there isn’t a whole lot to do otherwise.  Having a party and spending time with your friends while watching the Super Bowl is a blast!  People are laughing and having a great time and building memories for lasting friendships.  Cleaning up after a party fucking blows.  You’re tired and grumbling and your buzz has worn off.  You just want to go to bed, but you have to get the trash out.  So if you’re not 17 and actually care about the belongings you’ve worked so hard to acquire, here’s a few pre-party pointers to keep you sane when cleaning up after your guests have left:

  • Be organized.  Have a few appetizers or chips and dip in the room where you will be watching the game.  The rest of the food can be set up in the dining room or kitchen or some other central location.  That way when you finally clean everything up at 1 a.m. it will all be in one place and you won’t be running breathlessly from room to room gathering dishes.
  • Use bowls.  Don’t just throw a bag of chips on the coffee table.  Not only is it gauche it is also a breeding ground for crumbs.  Crumbs mean bugs.  Bugs mean getting the heebie-jeebies which leads to A LOT of extra cleaning on your part.  Or even worse, exterminator fees.  Your life will be so much easier if you just put the food in a damn container.  HomeGoods always has cute stuff for cheap.  It’s actually where I’ve gotten most of my dishes for entertaining.  Like these:

My bomb ass serving dishes
  • Trash cans are your friends.  Find every trash receptacle in your house and put a big black trash bag in it.  Then place them in highly visible areas near the food – in the room with the TV, in the dining room and kitchen and near the keg on the deck too. Here’s why – Disneyland.  When Walt Disney opened Disneyland people trashed the place on the first day.  Why?  Because people are pigs.  They wouldn’t walk to find a trashcan to throw their garbage away and just ended up pitching it on the ground.  So what did Uncle Walt do?  He had park employees hand out candy at the entrance and then watched the patrons for patterns.  He found that people would throw the candy wrappers on the ground after about 15 or 20 feet.  This is why there are trash cans every 20 feet in Disney World.  Implementing this strategy at your party will help you avoid cleaning up 50,000 of those red solo cups after the Lombardi trophy has been handed out.

 

So if you don’t want to look like this once your guests have left

organize yourself and your house a little before your guests arrive.

Wasn’t Jake Ryan just the dreamiest?

RIP John Hughes.