Saturday, March 13, 2010

Party Planning

So, late last summer, the mom of one of the prodigal son's friend contacted me and asked if we wanted to do a joint graduation party with them and two other families.  I checked with the prodigal son, because it is HIS graduation, not mine, and of course he said he wanted to do that.  Good enough, I like two of the families well enough and socialize with them and I like all the boys, so what could possibly go wrong, right?

Well, about a month after that, there was the great fender bender debacle of Fall 2009 which forever changed my feelings about one of the mothers of this group of boys, wherein she showed her true colors.  I didn't know her well and had only met her and her husband on one or two occasions - they seemed nice enough and since they liked to drink beer, I was certain we would eventually become great friends.  I was mistaken. 

After the great fender bender debacle, this woman proceeded to phone me on a daily basis for about 2 months - to rehash the same shit over and over and over again.  Her son was perfect, he never made bad choices, he always acted responsibly, he never did wrong and if he was going down, they were all going down.  Her shit got old after the first couple of times she called.  But by the end of two months, I'd really grown weary of listening to her.  We'd paid for and provided all repairs to the vehicles involved in the great fender bender debacle, we'd moved on - it was over.  Done.  Finito.  The boys had all long since forgotten about the accident and had kissed and made up and they, too, had moved on to other things in life.  But not her, she'd made a career out of bitching about it and seeking justice for her perfect son.  Finally, one day I just told her, "Look, wanna be biker bitch, I have a full-time job and it's not listening to you or worrying about this shit.  We've done our part to right the wrong done and I'm over it.  I don't want to hear any more about it." 

We didn't speak again until the first of what would become, evidently, a long series of planning meetings for this graduation party.  I showed up to the first meeting, with my full list of guests to invite, including my son's list of classmates - with the intent that the others would do the same so we could determine how much overlap there was in the guest lists and attempt to get a count for invitations and food.  No one else had a list.  Great.  This is going well so far.  So they looked at my list, decided that would also be their list and that we'd just plan on 200.  Up next, food discussions.  Everyone was throwing out ideas, I wanted to keep it simple and CHEAP.  I'll be damned if I'm going to spend a million dollars to feed a bunch of high school kids.  They wanted to do shaved lunch meat.  Right.  At $7.99/lb I don't think that's a good idea - I suggested instead we buy the meat raw, cook it and shave it ourselves.  Pretty soon, they're all arguing with each other over this idea, and while I tried to interject my knowledge into the conversation, wanna be biker bitch just kept talking louder and louder and she HAD thrown a party last year and she knew it all. 

I tend to avoid confrontation, so I just sat there and let myself get mowed over by her, but finally the greatest husband in the universe had had enough and he spoke up - quite loudly - "Look, my wife (that's ME!) has thrown many large parties and done tons of research about catering because she wants to start a catering business - I am pretty sure she knows the pricing and shit off the top of her head."  It was quiet for a 1/100th of a second, and biker bitch started in again - about the fucking shaved lunch meat.  Fuck it.  So I finally suggested we just do a price comparison to verify the pricing and that the next time we meet we could make a decision.  She agreed that was a good idea because, like her son, she is never wrong and I know that she was thinking that she would end up right in this argument and I would be proven wrong. 

This shit continues on about what to serve, potato salad or no?  And her mother-in-law makes the best potato salad ever.  I seriously doubt that as I'm pretty certain I do - but making potato salad is a shit ton of work and I really didn't want to make the potato salad anyway, so I just agreed that her mother-in-law could make it if she really thought we needed it.  I don't give a shit - I'm likely going to be drinking my dinner through a straw from a Big Gulp cup that night and heavily medicated to deal with the stress and anxiety caused by the whole event, so serve whatever the hell you want and just tell me what my cost is.  We eventually come up with a full list of items needed and decide we need pricing on them to figure out where we're at on expenses - I say I'll get the prices when I go to Sam's the next day (which was already on my agenda for that day) - she pipes in and says, "I have a Sam's membership too so I could go."  What.the.fuck is this god damned deal with Sam's memberships and people acting like having one is a fucking status symbol?  Jesus.  Is it the fucking country club of rural America?  We decide to meet two weeks from the date to discuss again.

The day of meeting #2 arrived and I ended up having a conflict - I'd sent them all the pricing list I'd completed and told them to proceed without me and I'd be there late.  We got there about 45 minutes late and they hadn't discussed a fucking thing or made one decision on anything.  Not really wanting to turn this party planning into a career, I started right in on forcing them to make decisions.  Every time we'd make a decision on an item, biker bitch would pipe in, "I've got a contact that can get that for us cheaper."  Well good.  And then she'd be on the phone with that person, verifying she could get it cheaper.  But also because she has adult ADD, she would never really share with any of us what the outcome of that call was, so at the end of the meeting - we still don't really know if we're getting the paper/plastic goods at Sam's or through her private supplier.  Buns.  How many buns do we need?  Well if we're doing 1/2 dollar sized buns and planning on feeding 200 people, most of whom are high school students - I'm guessing 400-500 buns.  "That's too many buns!"  That's what biker bitch says.  Too many buns.  And she will not shut.the.fuck.up about these fucking buns and the fact that it's too many buns.  She then suggests that instead of getting them at Sam's we can order them from the Wonder Bread store and they will be cheaper.  She'll check into that.  Great.  But in the future, when you send me out to get pricing on shit, why don't you make your fucking suggestions THEN so I don't waste my time on shit you have no intent on using?  Whatever.  But that's too many buns.  She knows, because she threw a party last year for 125 people and that's too many buns.  She looks to her husband to back her on this bun issue.  He looks up from behind his keg o' beer mug and says, "you didn't have enough food at that party."  It took everything I had to not bust out laughing.  "Well it's just too many buns."  Fine.  You know what biker bitch - get however many fucking buns you want - it really doesn't fucking matter to me. 

Then she brings up the great fender bender debacle of Fall 2009 - AGAIN.  WOULD YOU LET IT THE FUCK GO?  Jesus.  She can't - she has to rehash it and tell the story again and again let us all know how her son was jipped in the whole deal and blah blah blah.  Bitch - I'm pretty sure WE got the short-end of the stick on that deal because we were the ones that financially covered the whole thing - it's over - drop it - move on - SHUT.THE.FUCK.UP.

We leave meeting #2 with no decisions about food, hardware or invitations - NONE.  And plan to meet again after spring break.  My frustration level on the way home was fairly high and I couldn't stop bitching about her bitching about those fucking buns.  Jesus.  They're buns.  If you have too many - feed them to the fucking ducks, freeze them, take them to the community kitchen.  They're JUST BUNS.

We normally meet at a local sports bar, but I recently suggested we meet next at our home and they all bring their sons so I can get a picture of the 4 boys together for the invitation, because THAT needs to be done ASAP and getting the boys together is like herding cats.  So far everyone is agreeable to that, but she has to add her two cents in her email response about needing a design layout for the banner we're getting.  I offered to throw together a few designs and asked what format the printer needed the design to be in.  One of the other parents responded with, "we've already talked about this on the side and have ideas."  Well good.  Fuck you.  It's one less fucking thing for me to do.  I mean what.the.fuck.  First off, I'm sick of this woman.   Second off, my son is sick of her son.  Third off, I'm sick of her son. And also fourth off, I've already decided I'm doing a second party the day of graduation for family because this whole thing has turned into such a cluster fuck that I really don't want to go.

I'd like to just call the bitch and tell her that I'm out.  Keep the money I gave you for renting the shelter house - but I'm out.  This whole group planning thing is total bullshit.  I can throw together a party for 500, buy and cook the food and decorate and have it all done in less than 24 hour notice and I can do it for less than $1 per person.  But, yes.  Let's keep meeting and not making any decisions.  Pretty soon it will be the day of and we'll be scrambling to get shit.  The one thing that HAS been decided:  when we go to Sams to buy the shit, the women will all go together to get it.  Oh yay.  That sounds like a fucking blast.  It really does.  I can hardly fucking wait.  Listening to her dumb ass all day is just terribly appealing to me.  NOT. 

For one of the boys, this is the only party he'll have.  His dad was telling us all the things he's going to do at the party for his son, video of his life, etc.  Biker bitch says, "no, because I'm not doing that at this party - I'm doing that on Sunday at the party at our house."  I can't stand to listen to her bossing this dad around so I said, "He can do whatever the hell he wants - this is the ONLY party he's throwing for his son and if he wants to do all that, he can."  So she responds, "Fine.  Then I'm doing it too."  Fucking one-upping bitch.  Can't let anyone else have something she doesn't, can't let any other kid have the spotlight over her son. 

God help me to not punch her in the face at the next meeting.  Help me to remain civil and tactful.  Help me to remember that it's just that fucking important to her to be better than everyone else and to always be right.  I should have never agreed to this joint party.  It's ruining my my son's entire Senior year.


  1. I too have a senior son this year...and after years and years of dealing with some of these parents...I figured out long ago that it just isn't worth it on any level for my sanity. The amount of money they want to throw down on stupid bullshit that their boys will forget the day after graduation is completly insane. Not to mention that my son has been known to and runs with other guys who also are rumored to ...gasp again...drink beer...we are seen as the bad seed of the team, group, Blow Me!!! Let's forget his great grade point average, his highly superior level of common sense and his plan to join the Air Force and get his education for free...he's a looser drunk and a bad bad boy!! Which of course makes his mom the evil bitch from the seventh realm of hell...a title I actually enjoy!!
    So I told my son I'd be happy to do what ever he'd like....but none of these other mom's allowed...because I will snap if I have to deal with these bitches yet one more time, and NOT that I can't do prison orange and make it look good...and not that a nice long vacation in prison wouldn't probably solve a lot of my problems...I just don't think I would make enough money to help my son and both his older sisters continue to live in the lap of young life luxury that they are acustom to. So I vote you back the fuck out and just do your own thing like you already have planned. ORRRRRRR you can just get a new prescription for's your call, of course!! Hang in there Darlin...we're all in this together!!! ;)

  2. Now this shit cracks me it!! What is wrong with some of these women?? Anyway, you get an Amen from're better than me cause I would have told biker bitch off at meeting #1!!

  3. I'll go through with the party, and I'll bitch about it every single step of the way. It's my way. It's how I do it. I'll plaster on a fake smile, pretend I love the bitch and just plod along like it's the greatest thing I've ever been involved in. But, rest assured, I have made a mental note to NEVER do a joint party like this again. I don't mind throwing a "team" party, or something that is less personal in nature - but no more joint graduation parties. My poor son and poor me - he's the oldest so everything we do is pure trial and error. Maybe by the time the youngest graduates, I will have found my instruction booklet for these children and I'll get it right!