The shower gene just isn’t in me and it has nothing to do with personal hygiene. I’m talking baby, bridal and couple. Call me a cranky bitch if you must, but boo - just fucking boo to these damn things. Now don’t get me wrong. I think they’re a necessary evil in order to collect all the much needed items for the wailing, crapping machine you’re about to pop out or for years of marital bliss or some shit like that and I’m sure I’ll be having such “showers” in my honor in due time, but for fuck’s sake, could we bust free from tradition just a tiny bit and be happy about it?
How about instead of sitting around with a bunch of people you don’t know, being faux polite while passing around diapers full of smashed up candy bars and trying to figure out which candy bar is which because, mmmm, yeah, that’s fucking retarded and a waste of my precious blissfully baby free, non-preggo time, you only have the people you give a shit about come to the party dressed as giant babies and then swill rum out of baby bottles. Yeah, that probably wouldn’t work since at least one person would be pregnant and from what I’ve heard – rum bad for baby.
But you know what I mean. Let’s stop this polite, quiet, stilted gathering bullshit and have a little fun. No stupid games, no fake oooing and ahhing, no hands folded nicely in the lap or golf clapping like we’re at a goddamn black tie charity event or a Victorian Tea Party because we are in fact celebrating, correct? How about backyard BBQs with fireworks and coolers stocked full of 24-ounce cans of Miller Lite? How about trips to World’s of Fun or White Trash Bashes for such occasions?
I suppose you must start small for these things and gradually introduce non-douchey elements to shower goers, so this is what Kate and I attempted to do on Sunday evening. Or what Kate attempted to do with slight assistance from me. She planned everything and made all the food. I just offered the venue – my parent’s house – since I live in a shoebox and she lives in a lil dumpy rental house in the ‘hood, along with, I suppose, a little...flair?
The theme of the evening between us two was, “Yeaaaa! (tard voice) We’re good pawty plannors!” Since neither one of us have been on the planning side of such an “adult” event – mostly just theme parties and pub crawls – and with her personality and my attitude, things were slightly less high class than one would expect at a bridal shower.
Kate knew that bride Shaunna would not object and in fact favor the NO GAMES policy at this party and so that was the first element of non-douche.
The second was good food. Kate looked up all these little recipes and made tiny Caesar salads in cheese bowls, mozzarella, basil and red pepper skewers, etc. Good shit that people want to eat.
We only had slight technical difficulties when Kate dumped the entire cookie sheet of tiny pesto and chicken covered pieces of toast all over the floor and the inside of the oven. That got a big “YEAAA!” from me, laughter from Shaunna, gasps and sneers from a few nearby sophisticates and joy from my parent’s dog Wolfie who gladly hovered nearby to clean-up the domestically and party planning disabled carnage off the floor. I stopped laughing just long enough to salvage a few pieces with a pair of tongs.
Non-douche element three was booze – Champagne and Chambord with raspberries. Still fancy-esque I suppose except for the fact that I turned away from the crowd of people, shot the cork across the room and yelled “WOOOOOO!” while the bubbly spewed all over the floor for three out of the four bottles (relax, I totally had paper towels ready).
I got a little lip from a relative for my celebratory opening of the bottles, which went a little something like this: “Aren’t you supposed to put a towel over it so it doesn’t shoot across the room? I mean, I guess it’s OK since it’s her parent’s house.”
It’s a good thing that little chicky bore the wedding’s flower girl and had the baby with her or else I would have aimed the next one at her face...or her butt. Maybe a little nudge from the cork would have aided in dislodging the giant stick up her ass. I’m like, excuse me for trying to liven the joint up a little bit. It’s more fun this way. If you don’t like the way I open champagne then you should have planned the damn party yourself. Ruuuude. I said some or all of this out loud and she probably heard me, but ask me how much I give a shit? Perhaps she’ll refrain from being an asshole next time.
** Note to those who plan on having me in their wedding: I’m probably always going to be labeled as “the asshole bridesmaid.” People, especially relatives, tend to butt in and say unnecessarily rude things if plans don’t pan out how they see fit during such occasions when they should really just keep their yaps shut because it’s none of their damn business and a.) allow those in charge to handle it and b.) allow the bride and groom/mother and father to have their moment; their day without any bullshit from third parties. When this inevitably happens, I will always stick up for you and those involved. I don’t care if it’s your 98-year-old grandma. If she says, ‘the bride could have chosen a dress that didn’t make her look like such a whore,’ I will reply with, “And you could have chosen a dress that didn’t make you look like such a crotchety old bleeeotch!” Then I will run away quickly for fear she will bash me over the head with her giant handbag full of prescription medications and anvils. Just a warning to you all. **
Kate also spilled champagne all over the counter while attempting to make these fancy cocktails, which I believe actually spurred the “Yeaaa! We’re good pawty plannors!” theme of the day.
And, the last element of non-douchey shower planning is a time limit. It’s like, talky, talky, eat, open gifts, say thank you, now get the fug out of my house! Two hours tops.
All in all I’d say our first shower planning/hosting event went fairly well – Despite a few mishaps, we didn’t break anything, the bride had a good time laughing at our stupid asses and I didn’t slap even one person in the mouth. I’d say we’re making progress on this bucking-tradition-for-showers plan. The next one shall be undoubtedly epic.