a. Start reading Game of Thrones
b. Start watching Game of Thrones
c. Stop reading my blog if you're annoyed about all the GoT references
d. Keep reading my blog in ignorance.
If I were you, I'd choose "d." because it requires no effort and doesn't deprive you from reading the second greatest writer ever published (The first being George R.R. Martin. If you don't know who that is, do option a.)
Also, I'm not published.
Moving on, in preparation for the party, I did what all good party hostesses do.
1. Cleaned (boring).
2. Bought drinks (boring).
3. Made Sangria (Kind of exciting because I realized I actually have no freaking idea how to slice apples. Reason #72 I feel bad for my future husband.)
4. Bought chips and salsa, sour gummy worms, starburst jelly beans, and gummy lifesavers.
5. Didn't think we had enough sour or gummy things, so I bought these Jolly Rancher two-somes sour gummy combo things. They're ok. Below par of sour gummy candies, but the par of sour gummy candies is every other food group's "way below par" so yeah.
The reason I said I may or may not have had a "Red Wedding" themed party is because four guests came dressed like lumberjacks due to one enthusiastic party attender who decided it should be lumberjack themed and emphasized this with three other people. Everyone else, including me, wore normal clothes.
But, I was telling everyone it was a "Red Wedding" theme because I never don't make a GoT reference when given the option. So I did draw up my House sigil and words. Here's the electronic form:
I can't draw trees or cupcakes, and I sure as hell don't own a functioning printer, so I ripped out a sheet of notebook paper and drew a dog made out of circles that my friend taught me to draw in 7th grade and I've been drawing ever since. Thanks, Alli!
Anywayyyyyy - as you do before any party, I was sitting alone on my couch wondering if anyone was going to show up and betting myself that I could, in fact, finish all the candy tonight single-handedly regardless of if any guests attend,when suddenly, I wasn't alone at all. Rather, I was staring death in the eye.
A f*cking centipede was on the wall above my TV.
Excuse my edited expletive, but am I allowed to start a campaign to make an animal extinct? Because I am guessing more people care about obliterating centipedes entirely from our planet than saving some obscure species of bird. Unless the obscure species of bird only eats centipedes.
Do you guys remember when I had a panic attack over the cricket in my hotel room?
Well, it was a similar situation and I handled it with the same amount of calmness. Aka none. Tried to kill it with my flip flop, it fell but didn't get squished, I screamed, never found the body, and will never sleep again.
It was then, when I was recovering from my imminent fear and wondering if I could avoid my living room for the rest of my lease (aka through August of 2014) when I thought about it. I thought about canceling the party, booking the nearest hotel room, and sleeping far, far, away from that demonic insect.
But then I remembered my house words.
Never before had I related to Neddard Stark on such a personal level. (I notably have no bastard children.)
Now, when people started rolling in (the pro: people came! the con: less candy for me), some would venture occasionally to the balcony. This was problematic because when they opened the sliding glass door, hoards and hoards of insects flew in, attracted to my lamp. I'm talking probably hundreds over the course of the night.
It's like the centipede was foreshadowing terrible things to come.
Pointless little gnat things that chilled on the wall until I sprayed them all with hairspray or pounded them with my fist in rage. Some party, I know.
My fear of bugs has been getting worse with each year I get older. Which makes 0 sense. My plan is to have kids and teach them to kill bugs for me before I teach them the English language. (Husband could do this but he'll be too busy slicing apples.)
And also to never go camping. My family's version of camping is making s'mores in our portable fire pit in our driveway and then going back into the house after consuming between 3 and 8 s'mores each.
|back up family words|