Sunday, July 17, 2005

The adventures of a baby shower dildo


Manhattan
Originally uploaded by Trilby.
I'm winding up a weekend in Chicago, lying around on my bed of (really-only-a-slight-twinge-now) pain. I've followed everyone's advice about getting better, especially the extremely sound recommendations to drink a lot. Unfortunately, That Stud Muffin I Married has been traveling a lot this summer, so my general consumption for the past two months has gone way down, making me an extremely cheap date.

For example, Friday night was supposed to be an evening devoted to cocktails, take-out Thai food, and Netflix DVDs. But I had a Manhattan, plus a watery refill from the shaker, plus a beer with the Thai food, and whoops, the DVDs stayed in their sleeves because there was no way I was going to be able follow the narrative complexities of Sullivan's Travels.

Saturday I was co-hosting a baby shower that started at 11:30. That Stud Muffin I Married thought it would be kind to let me sleep off the Thai food, so he kept the chiddren quiet and far away from our bedroom. Which means I woke up at 10:20. And had to be bathed, dressed, made up, and pedicured with wrapped presents in tow and arriving promptly at the shower site five miles away so as not to diss my guests. HAHAHAHAHA. So I sent TSMIM to the store to buy wrapping paper, gifts boxes, bows, and gift cards, while I showered, did the world's fastest polish job on the toes, blew my hair dry, slapped on some spackle and got dressed. And I was at the shower at 11:38, which personally, I find damned impressive.

But naturally I had to have a glass of wine to celebrate not having made a complete dildo out of myself. (By the way, that was a free gift to anyone weird enough to do a search for "baby shower dildo." You're welcome.)

So the wine and the boredom that results from being in rather la-di-dah surroundings surrounded by ladylike women watching someone else open presents--and the honoree was extremely sweet and enthusiastic about each. and. every. present--and there were 30 women there, many of whom gave more than one gift--brought out the most obnoxious (unless you're Joke and like that sort of thing) aspects of my behavior. So I was all kinds of funny. I am not making this up. The honoree's mother actually asked me if I was always this funny. Another woman told me I should do stand-up.

Sorry, ladies, but it was just the ethanol.

Oh, and that bizarre personality quirk that tells me it's better to act like a retard than be bored out of my mind.

Then I had a cocktail party to get to. My hosts had taken over the roof deck of their building on Lake Shore Drive and had hired a steel band and a full bar featuring Mai Tais.

I'm sure you have already figured out how I reacted to that. The only thing I have to say in my favor is that I wasn't bored, so I didn't feel the need to be hilarious. Anyway I was too busy guzzling Mai Tais.

Then I went out to dinner with TSMIM and my BFC (Best Friend in Chicago) Liz and her husband. Where I had another Manhattan. So don't bother to ask how dinner was, because I don't remember.

Now for the irony.

It turns out that even though I spent the weekend celebrating the ratification of the 21st amendment, when my car was in an accident, I wasn't responsible. It seems that the valet guy in our garage were befuddled by the sheer size of Stampy the Sienna, so he backed Stampy into some kind of vent coming out of the wall and smashed the rear window. Call the National Enquirer, because this is drunk-driving by association or some other paranormal happening.
I know this is true because I don't have a hangover, when by rights I should. I'm guessing that right now, the drunk-by-association valet parking guy is in severe pain and is wishing he were dead. And that's OK by me, because I wish he were dead, too.

--P

10 comments:

  1. Ugh, baby showers (with or without the dildos) are the most un-fun gatherings on the planet. The last one I attended, the overly-sweet mommy-to-be (not so much my friend as the wife of one of my friends) held up each f'ing gift and let her mum photograph her holding it, with a big clowny smile plastered on her face, after squealing "Thank YOOOOOOUUUUU!" And how many times can you hear the word "cute" bandied about? Blech. When it came time for my own baby shower 5 months ago, we did it up right--we served booze. You heard me. And we invited both men and women. (Yes, men will come if they heard the word "booze.") And we opened gifts at lightning pace so everyone could get on with their lives afterward. Huge turnout, everyone had fun. Would have been more fun if I had been able to drink, but hey, you can't have everything.

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  2. You couldn't get me to attend a baby shower with an open bar and videos of the conception.

    -Joke

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  3. Substitute "the night they got engaged" for "the conception," and you have summed up my feelings about bachelor parties.

    --P.

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  4. Hmmm, I must admit that I too recently co-hosted a baby shower. I was lukewarm about the theme initially (cocktails under a tent at a country club at night), but the idea worked out great. No presents were opened at the event, and most guests chipped in on a gift certificate. No stupid games either. I...don't...play...shower games.....ever.

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  5. P.S. If you were NOT obnoxious, you'd never have become a pal of mine, never mind on the list of people to whom I'll unquestioningly donate bone marrow. (The most exclusive--by a wide margin--club to which you will ever belong.)

    You give obnoxiousness a certain...glow.

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  6. My wife is dreading our baby shower. She really doesn't want to have one, but of course the families want to throw us one.

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  7. Dear Poppy,
    The aunts on my father's side always put on small baby showers for knocked up nieces. Then there was this huge falling out and no one is speaking to each other.

    My sister is pregnant, bought a house beyond her means (in Chicago) and is hinting about ME hosting a shower after the baby is born. And she doesn't want a "pitiful little" shower either. No, it has to be THE MAMMOTH CAVE of showers just like her wedding and the five bridal showers held in her honor.

    My question is: what is the most painless way to kill oneself and cause the least amount of untidiness to one's home?

    -Susie anti-Shower Sunshine

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  8. Susie,

    Eat Drano at the baby shower, having not bought a gift. Of course, you could always become spectacularly hintproof, and in the meantime fill your social calendar with completely unbreakable engagements.

    -Joke, the helpful

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  9. Susie,

    My advice is foolproof:

    1. Tell your sister you'll hold the shower at her house in Chicago.

    2. Send invitations out to the victims.

    3. Fly to Chicago.

    4. Tell her you have some last minute shopping to do on the Mag Mile. If she balks, murmur something about the cashmere baby blankets at the Hermes boutique.

    5. Go to Chicago.

    6. Put on a backpack with a huge rock in it.

    7. Go to the John Hancock tower.

    8. Run up the steps to the top.

    9. If that doesn't kill you, smash a big hole in a window by chucking the rock through it.

    10. Jump through the broken window.

    Voila!

    --P.

    p.s. I'll tell everyone it was pre-natal depression.

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  10. Hmm. My friends are still at the getting engaged/getting married/buying the first house or condo stage. I myself, with my unstellar credit and surly demeanor, am not.

    I cannot imagine having to endure hours of women squealing over diaper genies. I like kids well enough, but I hate it when their adoring parents can talk about nothing but them.

    One of these days I'm gonna make like Samantha Jones and throw a "I'm NOT having a baby" shower. And you, my dear Poppy-star, will be the first person I invite.

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Gentle Readers:

For the time being, I've turned off comment moderation. Please don't spam; it's not nice.

xxx, Poppy.