Follow by Email

Saturday, January 5, 2013

The No More Alimony/White Trash Party

June 2012 was the last month of my 3 1/2 year divorce induced alimony.  I was on my way to being poor and, by extension, depressed so I did the only thing I could do.  I had a party.  My last divorce related hurrah.  I thought it fitting to make it a white trash theme, and that way I would have a legitimate excuse to make my guests bring food and drinks (I don't think one should host a party unless they can actually afford to host the party, but I'm a bit of a snob that way).  I created an event on Facebook:

Hey ya'll, I'm about to be poor, so dress in your best white trash garb and celebrate my last alimony check ever! 

In true white trash form, this party is BYOE - Bring Yer Own Everthang! I'll only have a few snacks and a tub o' cocktail slop to fill up your red solo cup, so please bring your favorite trashy snack/drink combo to share.

Hope to see ya'll there!

P.S. Please keep in mind, this is a no kids function, ya'll. We don't want to be corruptin' their sweet innocent little minds before their time!

I invited about 60 people thinking only about 20 would attend.  I ended up having closer to 40 R.S.V.P. so my parents were gracious enough to let me use their home as the scene of the crime instead of my tiny apartment.  I should note that my parents were there, as were a lot of their friends.  One thing I like about being a "grown up" is you get to party with your parents.  That is, if you have fun parents.  Which, fortunately, I do.

My plan was to talk with a southern accent the entire evening.  And I did.  I wore an old jean skirt, a white tank top I got online that said, "If you can read this, you're about to fuck me" and a hugely padded purple animal print bra with the straps falling down.  I let my hair dry naturally into a wavy friz and then teased it up like the dickens.  I set up a tattoo station.  I bought almost 200 temporary tattoos and laid them out with a bowl of water and a washcloth so folks could apply 'em themselves.  I put one on my ankle, belly button, bicep, chest, wrist, back of my neck and the cherry on top of the white trash sundae - a tramp stamp.  Feast your eyes on this:

I got the idea for the shirt from a friend who ordered one that said, "I'm not with stupid anymore."  She also wore a fake pregnant belly.  She was a runner up in the costume contest along with my sister who wore matching leopard print bra and shoes with short shorts and a too-low halter top (you know, so as to expose the bra that matched the shoes) and we drew tattoos all over her with eyeliner and lip liner.  We drew "tattoos" on her of hearts, each filled with a different man's name and "4ever" and then drew exes through them.  She had about 10 of them all over her back, chest and arms and she used a combination of smudged eyeliner and eye shadow to make bruises on her knees, but even that couldn't beat my friend who dressed up as a toddlers in tiaras girl.  It was fantastic.  She wore a mint green, strapless, tulle puffed dress with a sparkly tiara and carried a fan made of fake money and a handful of pixie sticks.  The prize was a 40 of beer.  Jealous?

I had my last alimony check blown up into poster size (thank you repro department at work) so that people could sign it.  It's not surprising that the combination of alcohol and a white trash theme equaled multiple drawings of body parts.

I set up a red solo cup stand and made a tub full of a Hop, Skip and Go Naked.  It's made with Pabst Blue Ribbon (or Natty Ice), vodka and frozen lemonade (not mixed with water).  It's surprisingly delicious and has a tendency to hit you like a ton of road kill.  Especially if play beer pong with it.  And flip cup.  Which we did. 

No party - white trash or otherwise - is complete without jello shots, so I made four different kinds.  Margarita (orange jello, tequila, triple sec and sweet & sour), Sweet Tea (lemon jello and sweet tea vodka), Adios Alimony (berry blue jello, vodka, tequila, rum and sweet & sour) and my favorite (pronunciation is key here): Peenya Cohlahda (well...strawberry cohlahda.  It's more fun to say peenya cohlahda, but I couldn't find pineapple jello, so I used strawberry jello, rum and pina colada mix).  I'm thinking I need to start a traveling jello shot business because my jello shots are, as Barney Stinson would say, legen...wait for it...dary!

My parents have a huge island in the kitchen of their triple wide (as one of my friends cleverly named their house for effect), and it was covered in the most delicious of all junk foods.  I filled a crock pot with cocktail wienies and called them Pigs That Can't Afford the Blankets (to be pronounced Peeigs That Cain't Afford the Blaynkits).  Everything else I left up to the expertise of my guests.

And my favorite creation?  The winner of the costume contest brought me this cake along with a sympathy card expressing her sorrow for the loss of my (ex) husband ('s money).  Does it get any more awesome?  I submit that it does not!

Between the "American Made, American Played!" playlist (containing 4 hours of drinking songs), beer pong, flip cup, penny can, costumes, tattoos, southern accents, jello shots, beer drinkin' contest and general shenanigan-filled merriment, you would think there was nothing else I could possibly squeeze out of the night.  You would be wrong.

One of my guests was an old crush I had in junior high and high school.  Thanks to the magic of Facebook we had reconnected.  And thanks to the magic of bars we had bumped into each other a few times since I'd moved back.  He didn't get to the party until later in the evening but that didn't stop me from tattooing his muscle rippled arms and making sure his red solo cup was regularly topped off.  And wouldn't you know?  He wasn't able to drive home that night because he drank too much.  I suppose I wouldn't have been a very good host if I didn't let him crash at my parent's house.  And I'd have been an even worse host if I left him there all by himself.  No, the polite thing to do was to crash with him.  What's the big deal?  It's just sleeping in the same bed.  It's not like I had dirty white trash sex in my parent's house with them sleeping upstairs.  Oh no, wait.  That's exactly what I did.

This was my last divorce-induced party.  It's like the end of an era!  *tear* *sniff* *sigh*  I think you know you're completely healed when you're more sad about not having any more divorce related parties than you are about being divorced.  Damn, I'm good.  I should have that engraved on a pillow.

No comments:

Post a Comment