Over the weekend, my parents went to a Christening in bumblefuck Long Island. Now, while I was technically invited (probably in the form of "& Son" on the envelope), I declined, scoffing at the mere mention of it from my mother.
I know what you're thinking, "But why? That's great material! Dammit!"
Yes, it's a loss for material, but I had nothing in common with these people as a kid, and have even less now as an adult. These days, I don't see or hear from them at all. All ties have pretty much been severed, so I would feel stupid just showing up.
And getting an invitation from someone you used to know is just tacky. They might as well call it a "Fundraiser" or "Mommy and Daddy just want a new car." Because, really, isn't that why you invite people in the first place? The envelopes? I'm sure the only reason most people go is out of guilt or obligation. Save the stamp, cross me off the list and call it a day. Because we won't be any closer after the event, either.
Besides, I've been to enough of these affairs to essentially predict what might have happened. So, let's just imagine for a second that I did go. Let us gaze into the Crystal Ball of Wit.
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10:00 - Take shower in Chelsea, applying liberal amounts of moisturizer, anticipating seeing people you haven't seen since you were 16. Wonder if it's too late to call out sick.
10:30 - Put suit on, regretting recent pizza binges. Wonder if you should have bothered to dry clean it. Shrug shoulders and say, "Whatever" to your reflection. Laugh deviously.
10:40 - Instantly regret not wearing overcoat as it's fucking freezing outside. Find solace in the fact that you won't have to check your coat when you get there.
10:59 - Board Astoria-bound N train. Listen to panhandlers and mariachi band - in the same car.
12:15 - Arrive in Astoria to the tune of a ringing cell phone. It will be your mother, asking where you are. There will be panic in her voice.
12:30 - Chaos will ensue as everyone tries to pile into the SUV. A sort of clown car in reverse, as you wonder why they always act like they've never traveled together before. There will be shouting, yelling and barking, punctuated by a rolling of the eyes from you. This will be followed by a dirty look from your sister who always manages to bust you.
1:30 ish - Arrive at church. Clown car exit, arguing, fussing and bitching. Seek out bus to jump in front of. Make snarky comment that you think is funny, yet no one laughs.
1:35 - Many, many awkward, exhausting greetings with Greek ex-neighbors, who still, after all these fucking years, know zero English. At least one traditionalist asshole will ask when you are getting married. He or she will ask in Greek, forcing you to hit up your sister for an emergency translation. The tempation to scream, "NEVER! Stop asking!" will be successfully quelled.
1:45 - Enter church. Stare enviously at the people smart enough to be seated at the back, knowing that they can zone out or even fall asleep and never get caught.
2:00 - As ceremony starts, zone out and stare at stained glass windows in order to get ideas for mosaic project. Wish you were home cutting glass. Think of recent Family Guy episode to make you laugh so that people will think you're happy to be here. You may be scolded for not bringing your digital camera.
4:00 - Wonder why these ceremonies can't be pared back by an hour.
4:05 - Calamity as everyone tries to rush the doors at once. Old ladies pushed, children toppled.
6:00 - Cocktail hour starts. No one will talk to you, despite being in the same room as people you essentially grew up with. The "wall of douchebags" can not be breached. This will remind you why you no longer see these people. Wonder how many beers it will take to make evening bearable. Take to mocking the tacky dresses in the room as though you are Joan Rivers at the Oscars. Slip on mozzarella ball carelessly dropped on the floor.
7:00 - Cocktail hour ends, everyone told to take their seats. Anti-social personality peaks, as you avoid eye contact with everyone in the room, though you can spot them staring at you out of the corner of your eye.
8:00 - Look up to see "B," ex-childhood friend. Maintain long-standing grudge against B's douchebag-ette mother for telling B not to talk to you some years back. Avoid kissing, hugging or any other body contact with B, lest her crackpot mother attack you with a centerpiece. Allow awkward small talk to relay grudge. Smile, knowing that you're going to talk shit about her on your blog on Monday.
8:15 - Eat dinner, hoping to at least get some satisfaction tonight. Drop pasta on favorite red tie. Yell "fuck" as you get up and rush for the bathroom. Crash into waiter on way out.
9:00 - More small talk with people you used to know, but will never see again after tonight. Repeat story about new apartment in Chelsea to all who dare ask "What's new?" Wait for the inevitable jealous stares.
9:05 - Evening daydreaming session rudely interrupted by idiot who will encourage you to dance. Decline, as though the dance floor is covered in land mines. Fake an ankle injury that you don't want to aggravate.
10:00 - Pray that no Madonna songs are played as the "American" music comes on. Sigh with relief when only four dated 80's freestyle songs are played before the DJ is silenced by the Greek band.
11:00 - Itch to leave will amplify 1,000 times. Approach dais with family, in order to give gift to parents of child. Pretend you just had dinner at Le Cirque in order to fake having had a good time. Take small favor, wondering how fast you can post it on your other blog about ugly useless products.