(RE-BLOGGED from my ex blog!):
So my princess Tiffanyt turned five and fabulous on the 23rd and I decided on a backyard birthday party in our home. “Just do it at your house,” they said. “It’ll be FUN!” they said.
What in fuck’s name was I high on when I made this decision?
Overall, (and I won’t be getting into details about the party décor or the planning in this post) it was a whole lot of crazy fun and Tiffany well, she’s a superstar and she had the time of her life! What can I say? I’m raising humble children. All that mattered to me, was that my daughter would enjoyher day no matter WHAT the circumstances-be it the rain and strong winds we had to push through, or the fucking assholes to whom I dedicate this post.
So let me just cut to the chase. I’ve compiled this list of shit you less-than humans should NEVER EVER EVERRRRRRRR do when you attend a backyard birthday party. Because really, I can say I’ve now seen it ALL and there are some exceptionally retarded people in this world who deserve a steel chair. Straight to the forehead.
1: Under no circumstances, and I mean NO circumstances, should you EVER invite strangers to a backyard birthday party that you were invited to… unless you have asked the host/hostess for permission first. I mean who DOES that?! What the fuck do you think an RSVP is for? Shits and giggles? So that we can later expect 20 more people who not only did we not know were coming, but that we do not know AT ALL?! Omgah.
2: If you happen to be said uninvited stranger, do not, EVEVR approach the host/hostess and say some bullshit like “Uhh….is that all you have to drink? Coke and juice? No alcohol?” Oh I’m so sorry person I have never seen in my entire 29.5 years of life. I must have gotten my 5 year old’s backyard party confused with a nightclub that opens at 12 pm. In my yard. Full of toddlers. You prick. Remove yourself from the vicinity of my fist. I swear I WILL shank you with this piñata stick.
3. Let’s just say…just for fun…that you happen to walk into the host/hostess’s home for whatever reason. Fine. You walk in and there is a lovely espresso wooden table from Ikea in the dining room. It’s brand new. Now let’s just assume that there happens to be a construction staple gun sitting on said table. You do NOT (how strongly can I stress this one) Y.O.U. D.O. N.O.T. DARE PICK UP THIS STAPLE GUN AND STAPLE 5 STAPLES INTO THE DINING ROOM WOODEN TABLE.
Why you ask? Well if that’s a question then seriously you need a psychiatric evaluation. Did that make you feel better about yourself and your 1980’s falling apart dining room table at home? Do the 10 tiny holes that have permanently scarred my innocent little pretty table make you feel accomplished? Oh well I’m glad then. Now please- choke.
4. For the love of Jesus, Mother Teresa, Saint Nicholas and the motherfucken Easter Bunny, if there is a garbage can outside like five feet from your table, get up and toss your garbage in it. Don’t throw it on the floor. You were invited to a HOME not to a park and chances are you feel guilty littering in a park so what the fuck?! Grow up.
5. The hostess is there to host. Not to babysit. Control your children or they will be body slammed into the wall of the jump house when you are not looking. Just saying. No special treatment. You done been warned.
6. If the party is OUTSIDE in the backyard, there’s no reason to be hanging out inside the whole entire fucking time if you are not close friends and/or family. It’s just rude. What’s the problem do you have like a social phobia or depression or some shit? Pop a pill and take that drama outside. Don’t make the hostess clean more than she has to or feel like she has to give you some kind of special attention. You were five a long time ago. Give someone else a chance to shine.
7. Last, but by far most importantly, don’t you dare steal from the home to which you were invited in celebration of a child’s birthday or any occasion for that matter. You do NOT enter the host/hostess’s bedroom without permission and you better find some way to control the fucking clepto in you and stop yourself prior to taking a 5 year old’s birthday money straight from her cards. It’s fucking pathetic and sad. And on the way home, be sure to slam into a pole.
So for those of you handicap motherfuckers who staple dining room tables, require abnormal amounts of alcohol to make it through another day, and like to make children cry I say…I’m sorry.
I’m sorry you didn’t get to read this post prior to coming to my home. You did not know any better. It was my fault. Please accept my apologies and don’t forget to ram into the nearest pole if you haven’t already done so!