I’m not exactly a person who considers dildo’s or vibrators compulsory bedroom friends, but I’m certainly not a prude either, so when a friend of mine started a Home-Party Business selling Sex Toys, I immediately offered to help by hosting a party.

Having withdrawn from social life so completely in the last 12 or so months, I thought it would do me a world of good! I very quickly got right into the idea, and decided to have a bit of a cocktail night and prepare some “Rude Food” for the girls.

First, I attended my friend’s very first party, at her own home. It was an intimate and hilarious night. Women, alcohol and sex-talk are always a good mix. I awoke the following morning to a picture of me on Facebook, sporting an impressive 9 or 10 inch dildo on my head. I always knew I was a dickhead, deep inside, but when it’s the first picture that comes up on your  public profile?

Ha ha who cares… I left it there for a good month or two before she and I decided to take it down.

Having attended her party I was now way too excited. I knew my friends were going to have a blast, as much as I knew they would turn this into an opportunity to have a well deserved drink and night off from whatever/wherever.

I invited my old work friends, from both “Emporiums of Narcissism”, and an assortment of women I knew who had great senses of humour.

I threw myself into finishing painting the front windows of the living room, so I didn’t have guests sitting on tape and drop sheets, packed up my tools, paints and brushes and hid them, and began plotting the food…

I had a few grand ideas that I had no hope of pulling off, so although they made it to the Pinterest page, we all knew they wouldn’t happen. I just don’t have the time to make tiny Pita breads that I can shape into vagina’s and fill with stuff that looks edible, but vagina-ry.

I did however find the time to cut a loaf of bread into circles with an egg ring, and make a penis sandwich with a fondant “head”. Genius right?

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Fondant is fun, you can make anything! I set aside a bit of time at night making tiny fondant penises and vaginas, tits and bums. It was weird. It got weirder when I decided to put them on little cakes. I used White Chocolate Icing which I will never, ever use again to coat tiny cake squares that I have cut from a slab of Red Velvet.

The whole operation was fucked from the outset. I did something too much to the icing and had to coat all of them twice because it was so sloppy and shitfull of crumbs. Luckily this all happened early in the morning before birds even knew I was awake. People don’t need to see you in that condition, stress mounting, white gooey fingers, every breath an exasperated sigh… tiny cakes oozing white onto the benches through the bars of the coolers….. I’m having a flashback…

Anyway, by the time I decorated the top with a bit of piped stuff and a penis or vag, you could hardly see the crumbs!

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I’m one of those people who gets in a flap about things. Anythings. A little bit of stress drives me, brings out my creativity. It’s not until the stress drives my creativity to almost lunatic levels that I even notice I am being driven? (There’s nothing like procrastination to help that whole process along. Lots of coffee and cigarette breaks are a must if you want to achieve that stress driven, time poor, level of manic anxiety.)

So on a typical day on which some kind of event occurs during which I am to provide more aesthetic and impressive food than usual? I mess. I mess a lot. I mess with time. I mess with gadgets. I mess with having projects way beyond my skill set.

It’s. Fun.

My friend and co-host, the dildo-bearer and I, had arranged to meet in a nearby town on the afternoon of the party, so I could visit the grog shop, and then show her the way back to my home.

I drove straight past her.

She is a kind person and only slightly agreed with my diagnosis of mild retardation. I eventually found her, parked so obviously I couldn’t have possibly missed her. Only I did.

She is also a very calm person, and I could probably say with pretty good accuracy that if she hadn’t been early, and been my calm and stress-absorbent helper, I would have been in the kitchen during her presentation. We finished up the food together, she even washed up! I love her.

I love people that just wash up – like it’s not going to affect them adversely for the entire rest of their lives. (I have teenagers, and dishes are somehow soul destroying, and suck the very life-force out of them.)

I was aware of parking and getting to the house issues because we have the MIL-blocker of all driveways. (The MIL’s almost never visit because they literally can’t get up our driveway.) Duly warned, my guests mostly turned up in 4WD’s and had no trouble.

Parking was squishy and resulted in a somewhat intoxicated, late night reverse down the drive, (would never attempt this sober), which I must say I accomplished with more style and accuracy than anybody who saw me walk to the car would ever have imagined.. this was extremely fortunate for the owner of the very new car I had to back down the drive.

You would have done the same thing. Once you drive that last car into the sardine can, there is literally no turn you can make that won’t result in you horn to boot with a tree and a steep bank.

The Party was incredibly fun. Everyone was in the spirit of things, many laughs were shared. During the presentation of products, my dog Pooh, became enamored with the very same dildo from the Facebook photo, barking and jumping at it, after ignoring all the other toys… that was funny. She followed that rubber cock right around the room! Perhaps it still carried the scent of my forehead?

When all the sensible girls had gone home, and all the sensible alcoholic beverages had been consumed, the few of us left decided to have ridiculous drinks and not be sensible at all. I can’t even remember the first cocktail I made. I know it had a lot of Tequila in it, and a lot of blue stuff, and white liquor, and was called “Adios Mother Fucker”, but I reckon the version I threw into the blender was more like, “This is gonna fuck you up but not enough to make you stop”. As a professional Bartender of almost 30 years experience, I did what all experienced professionals do, and threw drinks together with the purpose of the ultimate disposal of all alcoholic consumables.

This was the “after party” party. And it rocked!

All night long we shrieked with laughter. It was around that “you’re a fuckin fucker but I fuckin love yooooooouuu” part of the early morning that my friend jumped and shrieked,

“Pooh! NOOOO!”

My dog had been at her drink, which was on the floor where we had been sitting. She’d greedily lapped up half of it before we got it from her.

I worried for a full second before remembering how good she is at throwing up. Blue dog vomit definitely beats multicoloured-cup-cake-paper puppy poo in grossness. I know this now…. I also know that drunk dogs just sleep, they don’t even sing off-key or dance on tables!

I hope wherever you are and whatever you do, you have the opportunity to experience a night like this with your friends. It was absolutely the best night.

I didn’t even mind when the hot water system burst at 7am the following morning, (with Fitty away in Queensland), and me just standing there…..drunk…. watching boiling water fountain into the air….wondering how the fuck this shit can even be happenning…. and when I might get a chance to go to sleep?

Well played Excellent Party Finish…… Well played….

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