I grew up in a house where cash money monay was scarce. I'm stoked that it was scarce because I think it was instrumental in instilling some of my key values and characteristics. How ever, being so I was never the kid at school that had the birthday parties, between staples, rent and the occasional dagwood dog there just wasn't the bills stacked in our crib. Fortunately friend making was always a strong point so if there was a kid putting on a shin dig in my grade then I often made the cut(usually named Timmy, Kevin or Phillip, I don't know why kids with names like that always had cash cow parents that filled real life love and lessons with gifts and distractions). We all remember those parties, shit was unreal. Pinning tails on donkeys, smacking the absolute shit out of a animal paper mashe only to be rewarded with treats, hitting kids on the head and calling them ducks (and then later in life the RSPCA has the audacity to try charge me for trying to whale some treats out of an animal, you did this, parents!) The games, the foods, in some case's usually philips, the rich turd's case maybe even a jumping castle. Not only was it free but because I was from a family with less scrill I didn't even need to bring a present, then at the end of the whole sugar high experience mother fuckers would give you a bag of lollies to take home and further taunt my already tired mother with energy I couldn't understand or utilise in any other way than screaming and fighting my brother. This was all well and good but the pre cursor was the tits, it was the real rite of passage to primary school in the 90's. The Invitation. They were a thing of beauty, always themed whether it be race cars, beach, carnivals... the colours, the way the names, date and place were hand written in some cases even by the kid himself. When that folded piece of pastel pleasure hit your school desk you knew you were in the elite, this rich little fuck had everything any kid could want but more so he wanted you at his house to enjoy it all and he didnt care what it cost his parents you were going to have a good time and forever be in his debt, forever the funny kid that could be swooned with just some cake and a lolly filled animal. He had you and if you were like me you didn't give no fucks, the treats were to fine.
These days however.....
I get like 80 invites a day. Which if they were pastel pieces of paper and part of, at most 15 piece ensemble then I'd be stoked. But no, they are via facebook, there is usually 300-1000 other people invited.... The really shitty thing that boils my free cake loving blood is they offer nothing and want everything. Cash to enter, cash for drinks, heaps of cash for things that look like lollies. They put music no bible reading human could ever play party games too. Chance's are you'll drop the expensive drinks, regret the expensive lollies and not dance one step to the horrible loud music that is being chosen by someone who looks so aloof that if you were confident enough you could probably steal all their equipment before they even pretend to care.. (guys name is also probably Phillip) All this and at the end there is no doggy bag of treats, these parties usually end with some horrible female being directly rude about your imperfections or worse that girls boyfriend making imperfections to your skull.
I don't know. Those invites just really get me down, they've ruined something I held in such a high regard as a child. I fear that if the invites have been ruined what's next.... Your call internet.
