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?” 


NOT a butt plug.

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