Monday, September 20, 2010

Stalkers Crash My Party

Saturday we celebrated the blonde's 8th birthday. The prodigal son blew into town and blessed us with his presence. For all of about a total of one and half hours. The blonde called bullshit on his visit and proclaimed her irritation with him and that he really wasn't here for her at all but instead was out running around with his friends. She's mature beyond her years in that regard. We took her to play putt putt - but she didn't want to play just any old putt putt - she wanted to play Goony Golf. So off we went, to the Goony Golf place -where we were greeted with about 1,000 or more Latinos. Which was fine - I don't mind Latinos - I really don't. But clearly there was some type of private Latino party going on - big tents off to the side, a band, raffle drawings underway, etc. And 700 non-English speaking Latino children - all of whom had been given a ball and a putter and left to their own to run free on the Goony Golf course.

The whole "I want to play at the place with the animals and obstacles" really took on a new meaning that day. Just as one of us would get ready to putt our ball, up would run a little child and putt it for us. Just as we would walk down to the hole to see how shitty great our initial putt was, up would run another child and steal our ball. If we were eyeballing the course's intended obstacle and getting the timing down on the pendulum, the next time we glanced up - a child would be swinging from the clock instead. Pretty soon our patience was running out and we had no choice to start taking control and barking out orders at these children - "It's NOT your turn - it's OUR turn - you get to the end of the line" and the husband would stand back and say, "You're AFTER ME". And the little defiant children would just stand there - sad. And then run up and hit one of our balls and then run on to terrorize some other family in the place.

The blonde was horrified. And I was pissed. I think I might write a letter to the owner of the place. Clearly it was a huge private party - which was fine - but they really ought not to have also had the place open to the public. Greedy fuckers.

We then retired to the comforts of our own home and set out to have dinner and the blonde was having her BFF over for the night- Litte Miss "Can I Have". But then, all of a sudden, the party was totally crashed by a group of my fans - stalkers:

Yep. There they are - my fans. I couldn't get them to sit still long enough to take their actual picture - so instead I had to put my crazy awesome Doodlebuddy skills to work to draw this portrait of them. And they're all "We brought you a present." And I thought they meant it was a present for the blonde since it was her birthday - but when I looked at it and saw it was a bottle of booze, I was all What.the.fuck. The blonde is only 7 still - she can't drink this booze. So I had to drink it. Another let down for the blonde on her birthday. Not only did her beloved brother totally skip out on her - her mom drank her present.

3 of the 4 sat nicely in the chairs we provided them in the garage, but they had been out drinking all afternoon and clearly those 3 had been taking advantage of the other and serving her god knows what because she was totally fucked up and was all "look at me!" - And when I looked over, I'm like What.The.Fuck:

You cannot do fucking majorette tricks in my garage on the blonde's birthday. And why the fuck did you bring all those Latinos over here? That's bullshit. I don't care if you do have the boots for the gig - sit your ass down and stop doing tricks. So she did and just kind of stood there in her chair the rest of the night looking like this:

But with blonde hair. And a cigarette in her hand. Oh and just as quickly after the stormed the place and totally took over my show, they decided to leave to go to iHop for some pancakes. Because nothing sounds better than a giant stack of fucking pancakes and syrup after you've been drinking for 8 hours. Fuck that. I made them some nachos instead and insisted they just eat (because you see - I'm the fucking hostess with the mostess) - but one kept crying for pancakes so I grabbed a stack out of the freezer, warmed them up and served them to her. But she didn't really want the pancakes afterall because she had her face planted in the bowl of nacho cheese and was lapping it up like rabid dog.

So the plate of pancakes really became more of a game of hot potato. Who would eat the pancakes? And around they went - from one stalker to the next - finally one started eating them but then the other yells out "you can't eat that - you're allergic to sugar. Do you have any benadryl on hand?" Seriously? Just what I need is a stalker with anaphylaxis laying on my garage floor. Hold on - I keep an epi pen right here in this drawer JUST FOR OCCASIONS like this. I kept begging her to just put the fucking pancakes down - my feelings would NOT be hurt if they weren't eaten - seriously. It wasn't that big of a deal. It was like 2 rubbery pancakes that I'd zapped in the microwave for 2 minutes. Not a big deal. Crazy assed stalker-fans. Willing to risk their lives to spare my feelings. I felt honored. Yet somewhat like a dumbass that I'd even served her that plate of death. Somehow she survived though - so I'm guessing that her "allergy to sugar and alcohol" was likely some contrived bullshit story she put together at some time when it served to benefit her to feign illness.

We somehow managed to talk shit on everyone and everything - even each other. In front of each other. It was very cathartic. And once we all felt amply cleansed, the wild ass loaded back into their car and leaving their booze behind in my fridge, they took off down the road. Just like that. Gone. Leaving me to just sit there and wonder what.the.fuck had just happened. I bet this is the kind of shit that drove Britney Spears to her insanity. All this fame from writing this blog - it makes people hunt you down and seek you out and clearly at first you feel all special and glamorous from the attention - and then one day - you just fucking snap. I suddenly had an urge to shave my head, but then found the inner strength to resist and instead just called it a night. I'm pretty sure the blonde will forever be scarred by the memories of her 8th birthday. Which is good - because it will help her heal from those she got from her 6th &; 7th birthdays.

P.S. I totally had a blast and loved seeing my fans!

P.P.S. - I totally accidentally posted this entry on my OTHER blog - you know -the nice one.  I can only imagine the look on the face of the 3 followers of that blog when they read this.  Oh wait - y'all are one in the same. 


  1. Wow. How old were those stalkers? They sound really childish.

  2. Those pancakes were microwaved - seriously? 'Cuz after I survived my anaphylactic shock I woke up the next morning even more not-so-secretly-in-love with you because those were the most. awesome. fucking. pancakes. I ever half-ate.

    And I would not let those white boots back anywhere near the property if I were you. There are a few actual pictures of the night but most of them heavily feature your dog. He really is kind of a camera hog.

  3. I fucking told you people those pancakes likely tasted like shit because they had been microwaved. I had intended them to be for the bitch in the majorette boots - you know the one? The one crying for pancakes? That one. So you can only imagine my fucking dismay and anxiety when I found her with her head dunked in the bowl of cheese and you decided to eat the rubber discs out of politeness. You.Were.Warned.