Isn't it ironic (you diggin' the whole Alanis Morissette chain gang of thought?) that the year I went GONZO on Holiday decorations, I won't be at the party to receive all my justly deserved kudos. A small price, trust me. These parties are brutal.
Our 800 Block has two events a year. This here Holiday one (always the first Sunday of December), and one every August, in conjunction with national Take A Bite Out of Crime neighborhood watch night. Another of my stock jokes is telling my Lovely Bride (who as you can imagine, gets quite sick of my goofy ass) that I'm going as McGruff...and taking a bite out of (I insert a neighbors name) ass.
Brutal. Did I mention that.
We've lived on the 800 block since 1997. We've been to over a dozen of these things, yet still get some of the older neighbors, who are original owners (most of the homes went up in the mid to late 50s,) asking if we're new. I'm not sure if they are senile or snobby, figuring if you haven't been there for a decade, you aren't in the same league.
Each party is a carbon copy of the previous, only at a different house. Generally the person who hosts the current party was conscripted into hosting at the previous. They are always BYOB or L or W or D - whatever you dig, and have the same BAD food. Covered dishes that range from cheese plates to hot wings. Smorgasboard from hell, especially if you're germ phobic like me. We all put on name tags, which obviously have our names, but also have our street number (we're 807.) The number, aside from weather is a major topic of conversation at these things. I can be sure, that at least three times, an older neighbor will corner me, and then have a lengthy discourse on which house is 807. Note, not which is your house. Which is 807. As if you don't even live there. This would be bad enough in and of itself, but it usually happens while the older neighbor is cramming food down their mouth. No wonder old people love Luby's and other cafeterias. They go apeshit for any buffet type concept. It is crazy to watch them chow down at these events.
BRUTAL. Did I mention that? And that I'm germ phobic, and don't like having a discussion on which house 807 is, while the other person is macking down on ambrosia salad, while talking.
The parties were bad enough before we were breeders. Now that we have the Boy(s), it is not only brutal, but hard. Most of the parties go down at homes that haven't had a kid under 6 in them for years. Add toddlers into this atmosphere, and well, danger on a stick. Little dohickeys that can break. Open outlets, and my personal favorite, lighted candles on LOW tables. At the X-Mas one, the hosts ususally have some cute little X-Mas display, say a North Pole Train set, that is within easy reach. You spend two hours trying to keep a small Boy away from such fun. It's like trying to keep Godzilla out of Tokyo, while listening to a geography lecture by a person with food in their mouth.
At this point, you're probably asking - Stu - why do you go to the party. Last you BLOGGED, you said your pet peeve is to do things you don't want to do, but feel obligated. Yes. You are correct. However, the answer is quite simple. Carter makes me. Rightly so, I might add. It is the thing to do, if we are in town. We should be thankful to have a tight knit block. People watching out for each other. Sense of community. I got the party line down, and can certainly dig it. Doesn't mean I have to like it. I also have my own selfish reasons for attending. I realize that the Tinsley Boy(s), sometime in the Buck Rogers future, if anything like me, will be, well, ornery. They're going to run amok on the 800 block. What if they toilet paper 823's house. Egg 812. Things will be a bit easier if we know these people.
Lest you think I'm a complete ass, let me share with you the one thing that I'm going to miss about the Holiday party. The one thing that I truly look forward to seeing every year. One of the West Enders, an original owner, always, ALWAYS wears red leather pants, and a white turtleneck sweater to the Holiday Party. Some years he adds a funky gold chain that he wears outside of the turtleneck. Other years, he doesn't. But always the red leather pants. One of our cooler neighbors told me she asked him, if it was his official Holiday party outfit. She said he simply gave her a befuddled look as if he didn't know what the hell she was talking about. The guy is 80. Maybe his Lovely Bride makes him go to the party, and lays the same thing out each year - and he doesn't remember? Who knows? The only thing I'm certain about is that I'm the one Getting Lucky this year by not attending, and our geriatric version of Mike Reno will have to soldier on without me.
Until I BLOG again...Happy Birthday to Jerr.
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