Embrace Your Inner Ghetto

Nameless Best Friend #1 is hosting her sister's bridal shower next weekend.  She is stressing like you read about.  We discussed it at length this afternoon as I shopped for light bulbs.  Yes, MORE freakin' light bulbs, people.  The count is now at 7 and the bulb blowing is apparently not stopping anytime soon but I digress.  NBF1, my dearly introverted friend, is stressed about making a good impression on a bunch of hip, metropolitan, 20-something, power chicks she barely knows who probably still say "WOO!" all the time.  And the groom's sister.  Who has proven to be, well...let's just say "picky" about some of the bridesmaid shit so far.

Here's the thing, NBF1 decorates her house for EVERY holiday.  You know when you go into a party store and they've got mad decorations for, like, Flag Day and junk and you wonder what kind of person would possibly buy that?  She does.  Not in a hoarding way but more like a making-memories-for-the-kids way and I-like-it-too-so-shut-the-hell-up.  And her mom sends her more stuff from Big Lots, Dollar Tree, etc.  She has a TON of paraphernalia for every occasion on the calendar.  She would tell you or show you so herself (or I gladly would) but NBF1 has already informed me that if I reveal her true identity to the blogosphere and she gets hunted down by the blogarazzi with all kinds of telephoto lenses and probing questions she will disavow all knowledge of my existence.  I cannot allow that to happen so you're just going to have to take my word for it: she goes pre-school-teacher-style apeshit for the holidays.

This is where her stress factor comes in.  Her halls have been decked OUT for St. Patrick's Day since February 15th.  This is not at all what one would expect for a hip, metropolitan, 20-something, power chick bridal shower event, right?  Indeed, the two styles are likely diametrically opposed in the decorating world.  She wonders What will they think?  Should I take some things down?  Are the glittery shamrock clings on the sliding door going to send the wrong message?  Will my sister think I don't care about her big day because I have a life-sized, 3D leprechaun hanging on my front door? Am I good enough?  Will they like me?  ACK!

My advice: Fuck 'em.  Not in a mean way, just don't worry so much about what they think.  Your sister knows about your OCD holiday decorating.  If she didn't think your house was an appropriate setting for the party then she would have suggested having it somewhere else.  Life is not always magazine perfect.  You know how some years your kids take not-the-greatest school pictures?  They refuse to brush their hair or they won't wear the outfit you suggest...they just look like their everyday kid selves?  And ultimately it is fine, eventually even cute?  This is your life.  Embrace it.  Let it be what it is. 

"Embrace my ghetto decorations?" she asked. 

YES!  Embrace your inner ghetto!  Be who you are out loud.  Out loud and proud, sister.  Own it.  This is you right now.  And it is oookaaayyyy.  Don't stress.  Because even if you take stuff down and throw a bunch of tulle and tea lights around and litter the place with candied almonds just to please someone else, you will be questioning yourself the entire time.  Did I do enough?  Do they like it?  Should I have taken MORE down?  You'll second guess yourself all day and that will make the whole party suck.  And you'll have to put all the stuff back up after they leave.  More work for you.  Who needs that?  Fuck 'em.  Embrace your inner ghetto.
 
(Side note: I was stomping around Big Lots and Super K for this part of our conversation.  Obvious places for made-up, pop-culture jargon like "embrace your inner ghetto" to rain down like pearls of wisdom.  Maybe I should have said inner white trash?  huh. Well, she said ghetto first, so I said ghetto back. So there. Don't question me like that again.)

Then she started getting bajiggity about the food but I was in the checkout line by then and couldn't go into a million miles of detail.  I told her to give each girl her own box of Triscuits ('cuz they're fancy) and can of Easy Cheese ('cuz that's just downright fun) and they could have at it.  I was kidding.  She would never do that.  This is the woman who made, sweartogod, cucumber sandwiches for her 6 six year old daughter's tea party birthday. 

NBF1, take a deep breath.  Pour yourself a Firefly.  The shower will be a hip, metropolitan, power chick success.  I promise.

X update.  He's in stupid amounts of pain from yesterday's multiple root canals (go fucking figure) but he can't take any painkillers because of the cirrhosis.  Should I feel bad for him?  'Cuz I pretty much don't.  Applicable Momism for this: You grew it, you chew it.  (jackass)