And I’ll Make It All About Me If I Want To
We are in the party dark ages.
I said it, I won’t take it back. Things have been going downhill for a long time now, specifically since my eleventh birthday when I had a Halloween-themed party and terrorized my parents until they constructed a haunted house in our garage, then subsequently forced all the guests to dress in their Halloween costumes.
Nothing has captured the high of that day. I can binge drink Kool-aid and pin tails on donkeys as much as I want. Nothing triggers an orgasmic oxytocin release like opening presents in front of a captive audience of all your jealous classmates and projectile-vomiting Acid Blue (6) dyed ice cream cake onto the grimy surface of a rented bounce house. Clubbing doesn’t hit the same way that a Dollar Tree piñata does.
Forgive me. I want to chase that dragon. I want to reach pre-iPhone dopamine spikes. I will do insane and humiliating things to achieve the gratification of my 5-year-old brain experiencing an Addams Family pinball machine for the first time. I am well within my right as a legal adult to demand an entire birth week a la Trina Vega from Victorious.
I’m a simple man who wants simple pleasures. In this day and age, I have to assemble my plans MYSELF?! On MY birthday, I’m the one who has to organize schedules, congratulate myself, cater the event, and herd cats to get my closest friends and family to celebrate the fact I stayed alive for another year? God forbid I have to SEARCH for a reason to throw a party. We have truly lost the plot, people.
Special occasions are few and far between as an adult. What do you mean I don’t have a nearly bi-weekly guarantee of a mini cupcake during read-aloud time, or a one-way ticket to Despicable Me 2 with a large popcorn? At this point, I’m going to pick random days. Arbor Day! National Ravioli Day! Everything You Think Is Wrong Day! I’m going to rage on my Unbirthday (Saturday March 16th, save the date) harder than the Mad Hatter!
I don’t have many chances to party, so excuse me if I want to guzzle Shirley Temples and listen to “Who Let The Dogs Out” on loop until I enter a sugar-fueled psychosis. It’s my party, and I’ll make it all about me if I want to.
So if you see me passed out at the Buzzsaw 25th Anniversary Gala, mind your business.
Connor Stanford is a Junior Theatre Studies major who still owes a security deposit on a bounce house rental. You can reach Connor at [email protected].