Brent and I are considering having a News Years/Brent’s birthday/Doomsday celebration. Right now we are debating the name of our party. I think we need a name that encompasses all three faces of the beast. Brent feels that “It’s the End of the World as We Know It” is acceptable. I feel that we could do better. Here are some other possibilities.
Birth of Deadday Year Party
Auld Lang Syne your death certificate, It’s the last birthday party you’ll ever attend!
Still here and rockin’ it after all these years! That was Brent’s contribution. With ideas like that, he should start a sassy bumper sticker company. He could call it Brent’s Bumps.
Oooh, Bad Day to be a Mayan! How you going to live that down, almost dead culture Party?
We made the end of the world our bitch Party
Daddy’s Dying, Who’s Got the Will? Party
When life hands you the end of the world, make lemonade. Or filter the salt from your pee if you don’t have access to drinking water Party
We’re working on it.
Last night at work I asked my co-worker Thad if he would want to attend this as of yet embryonic New Years/Birthday/Doomsday party. Thad seemed doubtful that it would be a good party, but then again, he is convinced that he grew up in the same neighborhood as a serial killer clown. He gets confused easily. Thad is also one of Summer’s Eve’s best clients. He is on their hotline all the time, always wanting their help on technical matters and asking them why they don’t use men in their advertisements. It’s possible that Thad was so preoccupied with questions he had for the Summer’s Eve hotline, that he didn’t realize he was insulting my party throwing capabilities in the conversation that follows. I’ll let you be the judge.
Me: Hey, if Brent and I threw a happening New Years bash, would you come?
Thad: (hesitating before saying in an unenthusiastic tone): Uh, sure. I guess. If I don’t have anything else to do.
Me: You’ll get to listen to my music all night long.
Admittedly, I said this to bait him. Thad used to recommend songs to me, but I disliked his suggestions so much that I had to start calling him DJ Thaddy Jizz. That did not please him. He claims that his taste in music is way better than mine.
Thad: Ugh. Eight hours of obscure Bob Dylan bullshit.
Now, that statement would imply that I am like Bob Dylan’s most ardent admirer. It implies that I talk about him all the time, and that I refer to him as Bobby, and write “Bob Dylan forever!” in Sharpie on my jeans, and whenever somebody asks a rhetorical question, I say enigmatically, “The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind. The answer is blowin’ in the wind” while using hand gestures to represent the wind.
I don’t do any of those things. One time, let me emphasize that, one time Thad asked me if I like Bob Dylan, and I said yes. Based on that, he made up his mind that all I listen to is “obscure Bob Dylan bullshit.”
Me: You got that right, buddy. It won’t be the real Bob Dylan, though. We found an impersonator. He’ll bring his guitar and harmonica and we’ll all sit in a circle and sing along. I’ll give you a lyric sheet so that you can join in.
Thad: I’ll be out of there in eight minutes.
Me: Why eight minutes?
Thad: Long enough to get one drink.
Me: What if you discovered you were extremely gifted at being a Bob Dylan impersonator? Would you sing Bob Dylan songs for a living? You’d have to do the voice, of course.
Thad: You know what? On second thought, I can’t see this being a good party. I’m busy that night.
Me: In between songs, we’ll talk about our hopes and dreams for the upcoming year.
Thad: Your party might be slightly better than a really bad baby shower.
Me: Have you even been to a baby shower?
Thad: Yeah, and it sucked ass. Ugh.
Me: My party will be better than that.
Thad: I ain’t playing board games, either.
Me: Why would we play board games when I have Dance, Dance Revolution? Jeez. But seriously, do you think it would be more fun to have a pinata, or to do Pin the Tail on the Donkey?
Thad: I’m not pinning the tail on shit.
Me: Will you dress up like a clown?
Me: Will you let Brent sit on your lap and tell you what he wants for his birthday? Like a scary Santa Claus?
Thad: Why would I ever say yes to that?
And so on.
Should we have this party, Thad’s mind will be blown, I’m sure.