Okay, this is not even close to being a blog post. This is a post-ette. Really, it’s nothing more than a tweet, but I still hate Twitter even though I’ve been on it for months. And since most of you aren’t my facebook friends, I’m forced to actually write a post about this.
In the countless hours I’ve spent researching ideas for The Beast’s Toy Story party, I have come to the conclusion that the majority of the birthday-party-throwing population is flipping insane.
For the love of Peter, Paul & Mary, a small nation could be fed on what some of these parents are spending on their children’s parties. It is excess at its finest. It is the reason foreign nations hate our country so much. Well, birthday party excess and the Kardashians.
I found this web site that is basically a virtual pissing contest for who throws the best party. You can post pictures of all of the fabulous things you did that make you so much better than everyone else in the world. Then another person will post their pictures to show that, in fact, they are the better than everyone else in the world. It goes on for infinity.
I encountered one party that absolutely blew me away.
This poor child was turning 1. One. Uno. Un. (Is that French? I didn’t take French and have no idea how to say “1” in French.) His party was being held in what appeared to be the ballroom of a large hotel. It was decked out in every Toy Story item on the planet. And some Toy Story items that I think haven’t even been invented yet.
There was a magic show. Woody and Buzz and other characters walked around and entertained the roughly 90 children. It was unbelievable.
And there were 250 flipping guests. 250!!!!! I apologize for the excessive punctuation but there is no way to capitalize numbers. I guess I could type it out, but I’m cooking dinner and don’t have time for that crap.
I didn’t have 250 guests at my wedding. I do not actually know 250 people. If I died tomorrow, you could not beg 250 people to come to my funeral. (Typing that sentence is causing my dread of irony to flare up.)
250 people is a convention. It’s a festival. It is not a party for a one-year-old child.
Want to know the best part? The birthday boy is in some of the pictures, and he looks utterly befuzzled. Not a word, but the situation warrants inventing a word to describe the look of terror/confusion on the face of a child who has no idea what the hell is happening.
The parents, on the other hand, look utterly pleased with themselves as they show all 250 of their friends that they are rich enough to spend the equivalent of a college tuition on a one-year-old’s birthday party.
I feel confident that a radical extremist somewhere in the world is Googling “birthday parties in America” and is so horrified by American excess that he is plotting a birthday party massacre.
I really don’t need to worry about that, though, because The Beast’s party is going to suck. The radical extremist would probably come to my party and feel the need to give me some party-planning tips.