All in All, I’d Much Rather Be at the Dentist

I don’t get out much, as you might know.  This is largely by choice and for many reasons.  One of the main reasons came back to me in Technicolor last night.

My wife opined that I don’t attend many of her favored events and she’s correct.  In order to balance the scales a little bit, I have been making a large and painful effort to do so, starting with the aforeblogged beer-b-que over the summer.  Continuing the tradition was last night’s surprise 40th birthday party for a relative.

WHITE TRASH ON PARADE

Another relative, having arrived at the VFW hall and noticed the balloons at the tables, remarked how nice everything looked.  That should have sent off level five alerts; instead it was merely sadly amusing.

It’s not that I have anything against VFW halls… it’s just that she thought a few balloons really made things ‘classy’.

For some reason my wife still can’t adequately explain to me, we had to drive across town to give a ride to a sister (even though others were going past that house).  Surprise! The ride wasn’t for the sister and brother-in-law, it was for the sister and her inseparable drinking buddy.   One started a thought and the other finished it or grunted in comment.  It was apropos, as they probably couldn’t produce more than one thought.  This was between hacking up several pieces of lung, no doubt from some sort of flu that has no cure (or name) yet.  Everybody knows that the best thing for a bad cough is cigarettes, right?

THE ‘MUSIC’

Here’s where the men got separated from the boys.  The DJ, whose name was probably something like DJ Milky White, was apparently very proud of his sound system, which was cranked right up past the point of painful, no matter where you were located in the hall.  To make things more interesting, his mic was twice as loud as the alleged music, so whenever he spoke, vets and not vets alike went diving under tables in some sort of post-traumatic re-creation of fight or flight.

When you consider that this was a 40th birthday party, one might wonder about the inclusion of certain genres of music.  It turns out that most DJs apparently have a library of about forty songs, regardless of age of the DJ or partygoers.  There are certain anthems that DJs are apparently required to play due to some form of licensing or deal with Satan:

• YMCA - I’ll be they even play it at KKK rallies
• It’s Raining Men - see above
• Electric Slide - talk about post-traumatic stress!
• Werewolves of London: but WAIT!  Kid Rock ‘raps’ over it.  Gag me with a spoon.
• Lady Gaga?  I’ve heard of it but never heard it til last night.  Better left unheard.

And that’s only the beginning.

Fortunately we got to see the guest of honor early on, before speech became all but impossible.

GEEK SQUAD

I carry The Nuclear Briefcase wherever I go.  It’s not really nuclear. It’s my laptop and air card so I can  get into my work network remotely in case anything goes wrong.  It also happens to be amusement for me when I’m forced to leave the house.  It turns out I’m not the only one: another relative brought his, along with his kid’s toy, a remote controlled car.  This car was pretty neat except for one thing: the propensity of its operator to crash it into my leg or my chair rather frequently.

We hit it off immediately.  He had a manly laptop, with a huge screen.  I proudly pulled out my 13.3″ display laptop, offering up the fact that this was the only time 13.3″ was puny.  He uttered one phrase, though, that I’ve never heard before and likely will never hear again: “Vista? I love it!”  When the howling stopped, I told him I run Linux and he looked at me quizzically.

A LARGE GATHERING

As more guests arrived, I mentioned to my wife that the family, especially the ones I haven’t seen in years, was never beset with anorexia.  She agreed and mentioned that for once, she didn’t feel ‘fat’ at all.

The favorite niece walked in and within five minutes, was talking about having to fight some girl who ignored her.  I bestowed the title of Alpha Bitch upon favored niece, with which my wife heartily agreed.  Can it be about the Birthday Boy instead?

I noticed a folded table with BEER PONG written on it.  I whined aloud that it wasn’t set up.  Favored Nephew said they would rechristen it CODE RED PONG for me.  My wife, not at all intoxicated, suggested I play beer pong but have somebody else drink for me, like they do for designated drivers (designated drinkers, I would guess).  I wondered what prompted that suggestion, as I have never played ANY pong and my skill was not relative to my level of sobriety.

BOOBS HAPPEN

Very young bombshell enters the hall.  Wife points out that this is Little Chrissie, the niece I haven’t seen since she was ten.  Little Chrissie was tall and lanky, with the notable addition of breasts, prominently displayed. If there was ever a time to feel old, it was at precisely this moment.   Amazing what happens now and then when one doesn’t get out much.  That was about the end of the surprises, pleasant or otherwise.

CATERING BY GENERICA

Another thing that gets reinforced whenever I leave the cave is that I like our food better.  Whether it’s a diner or very expensive steakhouse, we like our cooking better.  It has a lot to do with taste and spice: most places tend not to lean too heavily on either.  At our place, lots of garlic and spice are a prerequisite for most foods (except dessert).

There were grey meatballs, roast beef, and some sort of pasta with sauce and lots of melty white stuff I assume was cheese.  I’m not a real cheese fan but it was completely innocuous.  I suppose that’s the ideal catering food: innocuous.  I guess cardboard never offends.

IT EVENS OUT EVENTUALLY?

I finally got to meet Uncle Bob.  I come from a small family with few kids, so it’s still interesting when I see 17 year olds with 2 year old sisters and 2 year old nieces.   Uncle Bob is only a few years ahead of Wife so they played together as kids.  It’s almost like a different planet for me. :)

I was told I had to meet Uncle Bob because we were on the same wavelength.  It turns out they were right.  I usually don’t meet in-laws who are also from Mars at these events.  Uncle Bob has all sorts of stories about long-haul trucking.  There was one gathering with bikers that involved a remotely controlled industrial vibrating seat that kept us in tears for an hour.  It came complete with pictures.  Apparently one lady had to be physically carried from the seat and put in a chair for 45 minutes before she could walk again. :)

While we were looking at computers, Drunk Brother-In-Law #2 came by and asked what we were doing and didn’t we have anything better to do.  I responded truthfully that I was charging my phone (using an $1800 laptop as a phone charger).  He must’ve been miffed that we weren’t playing Beer Pong and vomiting all over the table.

Speaking of vomit, the birthday boy decorated his wife’s car interior from top to bottom.  Have I mentioned she’s a neat freak and germ-phobic?  When he got home, he redid the kitchen in the style of Emesis (medical term for vomit).  There’s one lady who didn’t get any sleep that night.

TIME TO LEAVE ALREADY?

When you combine the volume of the alleged music with the alleged music and the lovely company, you might start to understand why I don’t get out much.

After what felt like ten hours but in all likelihood was only seven, my wife asked if I was ready to leave.  I tried my level best to look disappointed but it only made me laugh.  When she told me she was ready an hour ago, I asked why she didn’t tell me so: did she perhaps think we were all having such a wonderful time we could bear to leave?

We bade a fond farewell and vamoosed.  Fortunately the sister and best drinking buddy found another ride home. At least our seat remained free from decoration.

As usual at these events, my failure to show up made my presence seem more valuable and people thanked me for coming.  It’s something that works for me but I can’t explain it :)