When You’re Stomach Starts A Rollin’ And You’re Cleaning Out Your Colon

What could possibly cause a girl, who absolutely loves having a party, to cancel the morning of said party?

2 words:

Explosive

Diarrhea

TMI?  Probably.

But I needed a topic for a new post.

And why not make fun of myself in the process?  I don’t need to give details.  I’m sure you’ve all been there.

Sorry, Tony – we’ll get together again soon!

P.S. – If you knew the title of this post is a reference to the ‘Diarrhea Song’, we can be best friends.

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Ummm, That Is Not What My Hairbrush Is For

(Continued from my previous post, 50 Shades Of A Party.)

So here’s how I would imagine it would go if Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele attended one of my parties…

Me:  “Ana!  I’m so happy you could make it!”

Ana:  “Jen, it’s been too long!  This is my boyfriend, Christian.”

Me:  (Smiling.  I reach out my right hand; he hesitates a second before shaking.  He looks me up and down, cocks his head to the right a degree or two and furrows his brow ever so slightly.  I watch his eyes scan my house and he slowly runs his hand through his hair.  He raises his eyebrows a smidge and acts as though he does not want to be here; like he has something better to do.  I pick up the vibe immediately.  I don’t like him.)  “Nice to meet you, Christian.”  (He gives me a slight smile in return, but says nothing back.  I think that is weird.)

Ana:  “Here, this is for you.”  (She hands me a midnight-blue colored gift bag with a very tasteful gray bow.  I open it to find a slender necked burgundy bottle of wine with a big rounded-head cork.  It is very phallic.  The name on the bottle is Stick It In Pinot Noir.)

Me:  “Ummm, thank you” (trying to be gracious and not allow the questioning tone in my voice to surface).  “You remembered I like Pinot.”

Ann:  “Actually, it was Christian who remembered it.  He saw that picture of us at Happy Hour with the bottle of wine in the background and noticed it was a Pinot Noir.  He’s brilliant like that and retains everything.  Enjoy it.  It’s a $2,000 vintage from an island in the Mediterranean that he owns.  He bought it just for the grapes.  The workers are blind, deaf monks who have adapted their sense of smell so well that they know when the time for picking them is perfect.”

Christian:  “Oh Anastasia, you make it sound like so much more than it is.”

Me:  (What a pretentious fuck.) Smiling – “Why don’t you come inside and have some appetizers.  I have a $9.62 block of Parmesan cheese from Wegmans set out along with some basil and tomatoes I grew in clay pots on my deck.”

Christian:  “Yes we should.  Anastasia needs to eat more.  What did you do with the stems?”

Me:  (Befuddled)  I, uh, put them down the disposal (like a normal person, you freak.  My skin crawls.)

An hour passes and I’ve been a delightful & charming party hostess – greeting my other guests, getting them drinks, making sure they know where to find the food, et cetera, et cetera.  Then, my BFF Heather comes up to me and pulls me aside to a semi-private corner of my living room.  She whispers, “Jen, I think you should know that really good-looking couple are behaving, uhhh, strangely out at ‘Swing Bar’.”  Me: “Oh no, really?  Strange how?”  Heather:  “You just have to go see for yourself.”

Curious, I swiftly head out back to the bar, because Heather would never say this to me if it wasn’t serious.  To my horror, all of my other guests are looking kind of stunned and some people are even shielding their children’s eyes.  For, at one swing, Anna is sitting on a swing with her legs around the outside of the ropes and Christian is standing in front of her, rapidly swinging her back and forth, simulating sex.  Anna’s eyes are closed and her head is thrown back.  Christian staring intently at her and his jaw is clenched.

What. The Fuck?

Me:  (Angrily walking up to these two ASSHOLES who are making a spectacle of themselves and corrupting the kids at MY party.)  “Ummm, that’s not really how you are supposed to sit on those.  In actuality, you are supposed to sit on them like everyone else next to you is sitting on them.  See?  Without their vaginas flapping in the wind.  Little kids are here – what the hell are you thinking?  Besides, the wood isn’t treated and I’m afraid your vaginal cream may stain it.  So if you don’t mind, can you please pull your dress back down and put your panties back in the right position?”

Christian:  “Mmmm …position.”

Me:  (Incredulous, through gritted teeth) “I think it is time for you to leave.  I don’t give a shit how much money you have or about your fucking mute monks or about your penis wine.  You are a douche lord who thinks he can do whatever he wants because you pay people to like you, because that HAS GOT to be the only way anyone would.  And Ana – are so weak for this slime ball that you cannot act like a normal human being in public?”

Ana:  “Jen, I’m so sorry!  We got caught up in the moment.  We will leave as soon as I use your restroom.”

Me:  “Fine.”

I make the rounds for about 20 minutes apologizing to my other guests and trying to make amends.  I’m so embarrassed.  Sure, I’ve humiliated myself a TON of times at a party I was hosting, but this is different.  This is blatant disregard the rest of the people in attendance.  Especially the children.  After all, as Whitney said, the children are our future.

My other BFF, Kristin hustles up to me.  “Hon, you need to get into your bathroom.  Right now!”

Me:  “Fuck my life.”

I walk into the house and nearly stomp down the hallway to the bathroom.  I am stopped in my tracks by the noises on the other side of the door – guttural groaning and moaning.  Annoyed, I knock loudly.  I shout, “You are in my goddamn house; I’m coming in!”  I throw open the door and find Anna bent over my porcelain claw-foot tub with her dress around her shoulders and Christian behind her, holding the handle of my hairbrush.  The actual ‘brush’ part of it is ‘where-the-sun-don’t-shine’.  To make matters worse, my cute shot glass (a gift from Charlie while we were on vacay in Myrtle Beach) is stuck in Ana’s poop hole.

Me:  (Blinking, mouth agape.  I don’t even know what to say.  They are obviously deranged.)  Finally I muster the first irrational words that come to mind, “I’m calling the police.”

Ana: “Oh Jen, don’t be such a prude.  What are the police going to do?  You invited us here.”

Me:  “And I un-invited you 20 minutes ago.  This has to be illegal.”

Christian: (Laughing, mockingly)  “It is definitely not illegal.”

I run to get a pair of scissors to cut his dick off, Lorena Bobbit style.  By the time I get back with scissors in hand, they have heeded my warning and the brush and glass are in the sink, as if I am supposed to wash them or something.

Me:  “If I ever see either of you again, I will punch you in the throat and gouge your eyes out.  I’m gonna say this one more time, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

They motion toward the door.  Dickhead has a smirk on his face.  Ana is seemingly clueless.  Just walks out the door past the others without a care in the world.  Maybe she’s on drugs?  Maybe he is her drug?  I really don’t care.  I just want them gone.

He summons his helicopter to my backyard.  The wind generated from the propellers blow everything over in the vicinity, including the shed.  They get in and close the doors.  As the chopper rises off the ground (further destroying the property), I fleetingly wish I knew a member of al-qaeda so I could get him to fire a RPG at the damn aircraft.  But in reality, I’m just relieved they are finally gone.  I breathe a sigh of relief and turn to my normal guests. 

Sheepishly I say, “Well, that’ll be one heck of a story for the rest of our lives!  Anyone wanna do a shot?” 

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NOT a butt plug.

50 Shades Of A Party

I think I’m the only one.

The only woman on Earth who HATED 50 Shades of Grey.

I found it poorly written and unimaginative.  Found it torturous (pun intended) to sit down and plod through page after vapid page.  I only read the whole first book because I paid for it and it really chaps my ass to pay for something and never use it.  And for a book promoted as being about S & M I found it mundane, if not downright boring.    For I was expecting:

Vibrators 

Cockrings 

Hair pulling 

Mutual masturbation

Lap dances 

Nipple clamps 

Inverted Ys 

Rim jobs 

Bondage tape

Cat o’ nine tails 

Hog ties 

Strap-ons

and

Fetish boots.

Not that I know anything about this stuff.  I’m a nice girl.  That’s why I was reading the damn book in the first place. 

Because I’m a life-long learner.

What I got instead was semi-developed characters who had a lot of missionary sex with a few errant blow jobs, some ill-described munching, a blindfold once or twice, some Ben Wa Beads and a couple of spankings thrown in for good measure.  That isn’t “spicy” – that’s marriage.  Oh and a 21-year-old wishy-washy protagonist who was somehow good-looking and a virgin who gave a perfect BJ the very first time she ever attempted it and who continually referred to her vagina as her “sex”.  Whoop-Dee-Doo.  (Feel free to join me in eye rolling and heavy sighing.)

Go fuck yourself E.L. James (that’s the author).  “Oh my.”

(For those who haven’t read it, the lead character kept saying “Oh my” throughout the book and I wanted to punch her right in the tits after about the 5 gazillionth time she said it.)

Maybe books 2 and 3 get to the “good stuff”.  I’ll never know.  Don’t tell me the series gets soooo much better.  I’ll never read them – won’t waste my time.  I’d rather condense it all into a half hour and watch Cat House on HBO.  Now that’s interesting. 

So imagine my agitation the other day while browsing the magazine racks in Barnes & Noble when I saw this:

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I can’t say I fumed internally.  It was more like stunned curiousity; I was truly perplexed.  How did a woman who used to write Twilight fan fiction (my skin is crawling and I’m making a really ugly, gagging face) turn this dribble into an empire where an entire periodical is devoted to the topic?  Usually I am all for people making as much money as they can – ‘Good For Them!’ I’ve been known to proclaim.  Not this time; this shit boggles my mind. 

But this isn’t a book review.  Rather when you write a blog about parties you are always looking for content ideas.  And while on a flight recently, seated next to someone reading one of the 3 books, I got one. 

You may not have picked up on this, but I like to be sarcastic and poke fun at things.  And since I liken the 50 Shades books to a joke, I thought it might be funny to describe what one of my parties would be like if Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele were in attendance.  Hmmm….

To be continued…

Plastic Titillation

Maybe I’m weird, but I really like a nice glass.

I appreciate feeling the weight of a tall Collins glass in my hands, I enjoy hearing ice cubes clink around in a smooth water goblet, and I love running my fingers up & down the delicate stem of a red wine glass (I was going to say ‘fingering’, but thought that might be a bit much).  And even though a glass is completely utilitarian, I delight in the fact that there are so many varieties depending on what you are drinking.

With all this said, you may find it hard to believe that last summer I purchased the most perfect PLASTIC cups eevvvaa.

Sounds funny, doesn’t it?  How could a plastic cup be perfect?  What could be so great about it?  Stay with me my dears.  Allow me to explain.

June, 2011 – I was out and about doing errands on a Saturday.  On a whim, I decided to duck into the Christmas Tree Shop for a minute because they sometimes have attractive, sturdy entertaining dishes, which I am a complete sucker for.  After crossing the threshold of the automatic sliding doors, I turned to the right to browse the offerings on the seasonal shelves.  To my dismay the themes consisted of beachy scenes or flowery prints.  Neither do anything for me.

I continued around the aisles looking for nothing in particular; simply browsing, waiting for something to grab my fancy.  I meandered past the teas and the smattering of table lamps, unimpressed with the mass-produced wares.

But here’s where things get good:

I turned the corner and Jason Mraz’s I’m Yours started playing over the speaker system – I shit you not.  Among the gift wrap and greeting cards, there they were in all their green glory (*cue angels singing).  I immediately did a cartwheels on the linoleum floor (ok, so I didn’t actually physically perform the cartwheels, but I totally did them mentally).

Now, I could recount them here for you.  Precisely explain every diminutive detail.  But, even with as loquacious as I can be, words will never do them justice.  For in this case it is true – a picture speaks a thousand words.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you my greatest party find of all time…

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Boobie Glasses.  That's right, bitches. 
6 purchased.  One per swing.

If you don’t get the ‘swing’ reference, go back and read my previous posts ‘Sco, Me GustaDearly Beloved, We Are Gathered Here Today…, Inspiration Point and I Love This Bar (Even More Than Toby Keith Loves His).

Party Hostess Etiquette 101

“If it’s brown flush it down; if it’s yellow let it mellow.”

~My former neighbor                             

If you live with other people there may come a time when everyone becomes comfortable enough to forgo flushing each and every time they ‘go’.  My hope for you is that this will only involve the yellow variety.  And I get it – it saves on water consumption and isn’t as tough on your pipes (particularly if you have a septic tank). 

We had a little get together with our very dear friends this past Monday to celebrate Memorial Day and the unofficial end of summer.  Like a good hostess I had almost everything prepared ahead of time: all grocery shopping was done, side dishes were made and the house was tidied up.  It was very casual so I didn’t feel the need to go too crazy with the prep. 

However, just before our friends arrived, I did perform a few last-minute checks: 

Enough propane in the grill tank? Check. 

Beer AND sodas in the cooler? Check. 

Nothing in between my teeth? Check.

I don’t know what came over me and made me think to lift the seat, but I did, and to my horror, there it was – tinted water with a wad of toilet paper floating on top!  Crisis averted – WHEW!!!

The party gods must have been smiling on me in that moment.  They must know what it means to me to be a good hostess.  They must want me to continue having great parties.  They must have known I would write about this so you know to check the toilet for debris before your guests arrive. 

And so my friends, be forewarned.  If you live with another human being, check the toilet before having a party.  If you are taken aback by any “surprises” when you raise the lid, imagine how mortified you would feel if you knew it happened to one of your guests. 

Dear Lord, Please Don’t Ever Let My Daughter Wear This

I’m all about having fun, which for me means having parties.  I understand “fun” means different things to different people and I can appreciate that. 

But when I saw this shirt in a shop on the boardwalk in Myrtle Beach, SC this summer, I was rendered speechless.  What should one do when rendered speechless?  Take a picture and post it on her blog, of course.  

That and say a little prayer that her daughter will never, ever want to purchase a shirt with these words on it…

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