Saturday, November 03, 2012

In case you were wondering

if you invite me to a party at your house, I promise that I will do one or more of the following:

  • fawn over your wig collection (and eventually try one on)
  • bond with you about Beyonce's wigs
  • help other party guests with clip-in hair extensions
  • swoon over the your newly remodeled bathroom
  • gush the paint colors and light fixtures you've picked out
  • eat a stupid amount of the homemade Spanish food you've got set out
  • spend half an hour talking to the lady cooking the food to get the recipes
  • call you skinny
  • compliment your boobs

I haaaaaaaaate parties and social gatherings, but one of the Dude's high school friends married an actress and they have an annual Fall party and I agreed to go because I was dying to meet her because she's funny and was in a movie with Paul Rudd and I wanted to ask if he was as dreamy in person (he is!) - and she had a great dressing room and lots of fun stuff to try on and a gnome garden and one of those cool, clean, modern houses that people can have when they don't have kids or dogs.

And, yes, I did actually compliment the boobs of someone I'd just met. Because, in my world, that's appropriate. To her credit, she didn't immediately throw me out, and in fact, when we left, sent us home with a bag of apple pie cupcakes.

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