Don’t be shitty… re: party games.
I am that wallflower that is too scared to join in. It’s so annoying to the other participants. Particularly when the games are busted out and you’re too nervous to risk looking stupid.
My BFF threw a FriendsGiving get-together the weekend of Turkey Day festivities, and we ate a ridiculous amount of foods before jumping into games.
First we played Werewolves, which was a hoot – I played a murderous wolf both times I participated, winning the first time and losing the second.
But I watched a round before jumping in. On the one hand, I’m glad because I got to laugh at a lot of people because everyone looks stupid, and also I was able to kind of get the hang of things.
On the other hand, why not just dive into the fray and figure shit out as it comes? I like to pride myself on making brave choices, yet I couldn’t even talk myself into trying something new without a lot of prodding from the other players.
Something to think about in the coming year: Just play. It ain’t gonna kill ya, stupid.
We also played Cards Against Humanity, which is horrible and also horribly hilarious. I laughed so hard I think my lungs are still lying around my friend’s apartment. I also felt guilty for how much I cracked up because some of the jokes were seriously over the line. But funny is funny.
Pro Tip:
It’s okay to look stupid, because who gives a fuck what other people think? It’s not like they never looked stupid.
Everyone sharts, my friends, even if MS Word refuses to recognize it’s an actual THING.
Plus?
There is nothing more stupid-looking than the human nose, and we’ve all got one of those.
Don’t be shitty… re: party food.
My BFF sent out the invite several weeks in advance, yet hardly anyone RSVP’d. Invitees were encouraged to contact the host pronto to let her know what dish they wanted to bring.
I’m always afraid to RSVP because I hate making promises on which I might not be able to deliver. And I hate signing up to bring a dish because what if I change my mind and want to make something else and also I don’t do a lot of that cooking stuff so my repertoire is a bit scarce.
But I did it anyway. I RSVP’d. And then I signed up for mashed potatoes right away. Because how hard are mashed potatoes?
Turns out they were more difficult than I originally anticipated since I don’t have a masher and they wanted them smoother than I tend to make ‘em.
{This is no criticism of their tastes. The only reason I don’t give a shit how smooth the taters are, is because I’m too cheap to purchase a masher and too lazy to use it.}
After more mashing on the part of my BFF’s hubby, they were awesome. My BFF and her hubby didn’t do anything to change the actual ingredients, and people went back for second helpings — one girl even had thirds — so those were a hit.
But we had no idea how much to make. Nor any clue as to how many other dishes there might be. Because people seriously suck.
The worst offenders?
Those who showed up super-late and brought nothing, yet still packed away some good noshing. My BFF didn’t mind, as she was just glad to see her buddies, but I was very offended on her behalf.
Pro Tip:
Don’t be that asshole who doesn’t RSVP or contribute, yet who still shows up and eats.
People might be too polite to talk about it to your face, but TRUST: we talked about you before you showed up {yeah, that’s right, we knew your loser-ass would probably come anyway} and after you left and a week later via messenger. We grumbled about how much you suck.
Don’t be shitty… re: party drinking.
In light of the fact that my son is turning 21 this week I thought this would be an important topic to cover. It’s an issue near and dear to my heart.
I don’t know how it is in other places, but here in Ohio it’s just a given that people engage in underage drinking.
I have been at the homes of extended relatives who allowed kids barely out of high school to hit the fridge for a beer. And the kid was my son’s age, which made things really awkward.
Because while my son might have been allowed to have one at home, in the house, not going anywhere and never in front of other people, that’s a different story.
Then, after a couple more beers, this shitty kid was allowed to drive off into the sunset.
Pro Tip:
Letting teenagers take beer from your fridge is dangerous and I hate you.
I’m going to overlook the underage drinking thing for the purposes of this post, other than to observe that alcohol usage is entirely too common place which is what allows drunk driving to occur so frequently.
And THAT’S what I want to concentrate on: drunk driving.
There was a guy at my BFF’s get-together who arrived already half in the bag and who kept putting it away the whole time he was there.
And he was clearly drunk by the way he behaved, and everyone clearly knew he was drunk by all the jokes that were made at the drunk guy’s expense. He couldn’t follow the gameplay, he couldn’t keep up with conversations, he couldn’t hardly walk without falling over… you know what I’m getting at.
Dude was toasted.
Then he and his quiet but equally intoxicated girlfriend decided it was time to go. Everyone started asking him if he was okay to drive. I was like – Wait, what?
I asked, really loudly,
“Who is driving?”
Everyone sheepishly gave the name of the drunk-ass.
To which I replied, even louder than before,
“Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me.”
The douche-bag was like,
“I’m fine, I’m okay, it’s all good, we’re right down the road, I’ll even text you when I get there, blah-blah-blobbity-blah.”
And I was like,
“You’re drunk. And you’re driving. Don’t do it.”
And everyone chimed in, all
“Yeah, just wait, most accidents happen within a five-mile radius of home, la-la-la-dee-da.”
He just kept saying,
“I’ll be fine.”
And I lost my shit.
Because all I could think was, What a self-centered piece of shit. All he is thinking about is himself. Fucking ass-hat. I hate this guy.
Which is why I said what I said. I exclaimed in a very loud voice, above the singing protests of everyone else,
“Honestly, I less worried about your safety than I am for the safety of others.”
Everyone got super quiet, in that, Oh, snap! Shit’s about to get real and I wish I wasn’t here to see it because AAAWWWW-KWARD.
And drunky-the-clown suddenly sobered up, more quickly than if he’d had a cup of coffee, to look me straight in the eyes and respond, in the most offended tone I’ve ever heard,
“What a shitty thing to say.”
I’m thinking this:
You aren’t worried a dime about who your drunk ass might hit, but you dare to call ME shitty? You’re about to risk the lives of countless individuals – men, women, children, dogs, cats, and anything else on the road tonight – and somehow *I* am more shitty than you? You’re a potential murderer, and my cruel accusation of such is the thing that’s shitty?
Are you fucking kidding me?
Pro Tip:
Drunk driving isn’t about the drunk driver. Drunk driving is about everyone else.
My son is out there driving around tonight. Not drunk.
You’re putting him at risk. Moreover, you’re OKAY with putting him at risk.
But we’re all going to concentrate on the fact that I called you on it.
Because no one else said a word to dissuade him from leaving. Social conventions require that we all let trash lie on the ground and pretend it isn’t there.
Pointing out trash, or the fuck-stick who put it there, is grounds for becoming a social outcast.
Everyone was more concerned with getting along than with protecting innocent people from getting hit by a drunk driver.
That’s a fucking problem, you guys.
I decided right then and there that I am okay being a weirdo, a pariah, a burning finger of truth. Because maybe I’m not Christian, and maybe my shit isn’t always in order, and maybe I still have a lot of learning to do, but at least my morals are straight.
My hubz thinks that speaking up in such a manner isn’t going to change the mind of a potential drunk driver.
But that is no longer my concern.
Assholes are always going to be assholes. You can’t talk a drunk into putting down his keys. The more belligerent they become, the more clear it is that force is what will be required, and no one is going to forcefully remove keys from anyone else’s hands.
That would be too awkward. That could end friendships. That might make someone take responsibility and we have become a nation where taking responsibility isn’t something we like to do – pass the buck and send that shit downhill.
Pointing out the trash on the ground, and the person who put it there, requires other people to admit there is a problem. Admitting there is a problem, however, likewise means taking action to fix it. And we are too lazy and afraid of breaking social norms to do that.
Pointing out that someone is too drunk to drive means admitting that one of us is going to have to take his fucking keys away if he won’t quietly relinquish them. And that is not going to happen.
We would have to admit that we are part of the fucking problem.
Pro Tip:
Don’t go to parties where there will be alcohol if you can’t handle standing up to drunk drivers.
TRUST: If you know someone is drunk, and you allow him to drive, and he hits someone, you are just as responsible, if not more so, than the drunk driver himself.
Because you had a chance to stop it yet your fear of losing a friend or your inability to break social norms was more important to you than protecting innocent people.
I will no longer be silent when people tell me their “hilarious” stories about how they were pulled over for drunk driving and managed to get out of the ticket somehow and they have no idea why since they were so wasted hahahahahaha.
That shit isn’t fucking funny.
Shame on all of us for laughing.
No, my concern is no longer trying to convince drunken idiots not to drive.
My concern is now trying to convince sober idiots to stand up for what’s right.
Bravery isn’t just about jumping into new games, or sending an RSVP to a party you’ve never attended, or trying a new recipe.
Bravery, sometimes, means standing up to your friends {think Neville in Harry Potter}.
Bravery, sometimes, means making shit awkward.
Bravery, sometimes, means taking social responsibility even when it feels too hard and scary.
Pro Tip:
Be brave.
Even when it’s difficult.
ESPECIALLY when it’s difficult.