Kibitz ‘n Bits

posted by Brandy on Apr 9

To all fellow “Parents of small children“, I beg of you – - – - – - PPPLLLEEEEEZZZZEEE – - – - -  NO MORE Piñatas at your children’s birthday parties.  I know you think they sound fun and are a good idea, but if you really, really put some thought into it……..their not!

Take it from me, I know.  Nothing good can come out of stringing up a cardboard animal, by its neck, then taking a group of, say 20 – 25 elementary aged children, doping them up on sugar, blind folding them, one-by-hyperactive-one, handing them a large, weighty, over-sized stick and then asking them to swing it (aimlessly….mind you) in the air until they have beaten the shit out of the lifeless, paper-mache clad animal, so that its guts (the candy) can plummet to the ground and the hoard of sucrose stimulated young addicts can rush in and swoop up as much candy as possible.  Not good! 

Again, take it from me, I knooowwwww.  I know from experience in the midst of raising two young children and the numerous birthday parties we have attended year over year….. 

One birthday party, in particular, stands out.  One of which we attended just the other night.  But this one, however, frightened me more than usual.  Maybe this was because I simply hadn’t enjoyed that glass of wine that I typically partake of before heading off to a 5 year olds birthday party.  Or, maybe it was because I am getting ready to start my period in a few days and from the moment we entered the “birthday party room“, when my eyes caught sight of the dreaded Piñata, I was pissed off!  Whatever it was, the mood was set. 

The party proceeded.  The kids were having a great time.  They ate candy.  They played games.  They ate more candy.  They chomped down some pizza.  They gobbled up more candy.  They wolfed down some donuts, inhaled some birthday cake oh and…….. oh yeah, um, did I mention, they devoured more candy?!!! 

It was fucking GREAT!!!!   My kids were having an excellent time!!! 

Then it started……through the eardrum piercing screams of gleeful, spastic children, I heard the words, “Time for the Piñata!”   NOOOOO!!!!!!!!  

Somehow, my husband got recruited into helping manage the piñata line and insure that each of the thirty thousand kids who were now at the party (probably because they had sniffed out all of the sugar from miles away, damn vultures) had at least one whack at the piñata.  NOT GOOD!!!! I stood in silent aggravation on the sidelines as I watched my husband frantically line the kids up, one by one, hoping to hell one of them did not bash another while errantly swinging.  At one point, I even heard one of the children ‘mouth off’, arguing with my husband, stating that he had not yet had a turn, even though I had watched the little bastard cut in line and take a WHACK at the piñata several times earlier!  

In the meantime, apparently one of the children thought I was with the clown brigade and knew a thing or two about making balloon animals as I watched her saunter out of line and make a bee line over to me to ask if I could ”fix” her pink balloon “poodle” (that was now untwisting and losing its shape)?  I didn’t have the heart to tell her, “No” or that I was NOT hired by the birthday boys’ parents as part of the clown brigade and; therefore, shatter any dreams of pink balloon poodles she might know.  So, I grabbed the latex creature and happily told her, “YES, let’s fix that right up!”  I clumsily twisted, curled and bent that son-of-a-bitch with a sickening feeling that at any moment, Fifi, the pink balloon would POP, but thankfully she didn’t.  And as a result, I handed back a beautiful creation of a mangled, deformed, alien like creature back to the little girl.  She was thrilled.  And with a smile on her face that stretched ear to ear, the pig-tailed girl hopped back into the piñata line and grinned at me (we were now BFF’s).  

Ten minutes later, after taking her WHACK at the candy stuffed box, she bounded over to me and barked, “Before YOU leave, I will need you to ALSO make me a flower and a hat!!!!” 

What the fuck?!!!  

So much for BFF’s, that little girl turned me into her balloon bitch!  Gotta love those piñatas.  They can turn your children into monsters!  I quietly agreed to make further balloon creations for this monstrous child in hopes of sneaking out of the party undetected of which I later did….

Oh yeah, and at the conclusion of the party, as my husband, my kids and I nonchalantly said our goodbyes and snuck out, did I mention that they each received a gift bag full of sweet, delicious candy?!

posted by Brandy on Nov 7

My sister and her girlfriend had a Halloween party recently where everyone was required to come in costume. In the spirit, Dave and I dressed up as “Brad and Angelina”, and with four dolls in tow (one white and the other three black) we ventured over to the soirée.

The evening started off with some singing on the “Scary-oke” machine and of course, excess amounts of wine, whiskey and rum, all the while staring at the stream of costume clad people flowing in.

Then she appeared. A husky woman, with streaks of gray winding through her coal black hair. She was wearing gold bands that were hugging her wrists, shiny blue briefs speckled with stars, a satin red top that revealed aged bosoms and a gold tiara type headband. She was dressed as Wonder Woman.

…but not the Wonder Woman we all remember from our younger days with Lynda Carter, but rather an aged Wonder Woman, with sagging skin, bulging hips, jelly belly and a years supply of junk in her trunk.

Given that I had been chugging wine and was now belting out a horrible rendition of Hotel California on the karaoke machine, I glance over, see Wonder Woman saunter into the party and I blurt out (on the microphone, mind you), “Hey everyone, check it out! It’s OLD, FAT WONDER WOMAN! What a GREAT costume! That’s Hilarious. I mean LOOK at her!!!

The music seemed to immediately stop! I swear I heard the screeching of a record player needle scratch its way across an old LP. Then the room became quiet. “Old Fat Wonder Woman” looked at me with shock and disgust then “matter of factly” stated that she didn’t intend to dress up as Old, Fat Wonder Woman, but rather JUST Wonder Woman.

Apparently her gray streaked hair is natural and since her carefree days of youth are long gone, she has put on a “little” weight.

Damn me and my mouth. I politely apologized for the rude assumption and, as any wild party-goer would do, I blamed my verbal indiscretion on the wine (and the whiskey and the rum)…

I meandered away from the microphone to the food table in hopes that I would blend into the wall. Trying to hide from the crowd, I felt a tap on my shoulder and a bitter voice behind me asking, “SO, what are YOU dressed up ass??? Old Fat Angelina?”

I didn’t have to turn around to realize that it was the portly amazon. The bitch…