From Justin Gawel: Eccentric Dirtbag
An extra threatening letter from the gas company, an envelope speckled with blood addressed to a senator, a third subscription to Bathtub Gin Aficionado: seriously, anything would be better to receive in the mail than an invite to this dinner party.
Ugh, and it’s from the Mayfields. I know they’re going to badger me into going; I can’t just cease contact, take the credit hit, and use the oven to heat the apartment until spring like I do with the gas company.
Dinner parties, junk coupons, and Ted Kaczynski—this is why people are no longer excited to receive anything in the mail.
The Mayfields are the overbearing pseudo-friends who insist on throwing these things. Yes, the Mayfields are truly the worst. Their friendship is like that rash I have from losing that McNugget in my long johns—too easy to acquire, but nearly impossible to get rid of.
My laissez-faire approach to distancing myself clearly hasn’t been working. The Mayfields interpret my immature mannerisms as a “cry for help” instead of being non-confrontational ways to get them to stop inviting me. Why do they want a guest who shows up an hour late, brings only half a bottle of fortified wine for dinner, and then eats all of their children’s gummy vitamins before falling asleep in their dog’s bed?
You’d think the three far-from-PG stories I perpetually trod out about the same day in that Sizzler bathroom would scare them off, but they just keep inviting me. It’s like they’re trying to break me and mold me into a fanciful and respectable person—it’s like my first semester at the Attractive Man Magic Academy all over again.
Excuses fail me, I’ve used everything in the book from my dog is sick to Grandma needs to go to the pound to be put down. The Mayfields see right through my attempted ploy, insist they won’t take no for an answer, and assert that I be by at five tomorrow.
I show up at quarter-to-seven and I’m surprised that they’re just sitting down for appetizers. Well played, Mayfields, give me an earlier time knowing I’ll show up apathetically late. I give them the now-two-thirds-empty bottle of a very oaky 2012 drifter wine that only tastes like oak because I accidentally got bark in it on the way over. I let their slave-child take my bathrobe turned overcoat and slump into a chair
This weird root for an appetizer is absolutely abhorrent. I don’t care if you brought it back from your trip to Ecuador, Mayfields; every bite still tastes like a gritty family of un-delicious mice died in my mouth. Fantastic, someone had to ask about their trip—now we’re going to be launched into a twenty-minute story with only minimal explosions, predictable plot twists, and only partial nudity.
We sit down for dinner and placed in front of me is some sort of bowl filled with nothing but ruffage and boiled chicken. Blechh, I can already feel my taste buds drafting a collective suicide manifesto.
Call me old-fashioned, but, instead of chicken, how about hot pocket slices in the salad? And you know what could make that dish even better? Just a hot pocket in its crisping sleeve that I’m eating in a bubble bath as I’m alone in my apartment reading Heaven’s Gate fan fiction while I’m not at this shitty dinner party.
I’m just going to use this bowl as an ironic ashtray, because this salad couldn’t be farther from Flavor Country.
Casserole for dinner lets me know that Mrs. Mayfield is capable of combining measurements together and following minimal instructions to create something that tastes like molten garbage. I promptly empty my plate into the dog’s bowl because if I wanted to eat a bunch of food mixed up with a bunch of other food that together smells like low tide I would have just licked that pool of vomit off the bathroom floor at Red Lobster when I had the chance.
I’m just going see what they have in the fridge—oh, good, they have ingredients for nachos. Seriously, how hard would it have been to just make me nachos, or just not pester me into coming at all?
Eating my nachos with the other guests in uncomfortable silence was the highlight of the evening. Things got much worse when Mr. Mayfield brought out a tray of fruit for dessert. Fruit is not an acceptable dessert. We’re talking about dessert in 2013, not a Christmas present during the Great Depression. God, this fresh watermelon is awful; it doesn’t taste like the Starburst flavor at all. Thankfully, I’ll just have another cigarette for my after dinner treat.
Finally, dinner is technically over and I’m ready to leave. On the way out the Mayfields said, “Thank you for making it, Justin.” To which I replied, “Yeah, I’m going to be honest because you’re clearly not getting my passive aggressive message, but let’s never do this again.”
Mrs. Mayfield weeps; Mr. Mayfield escorts me out before consoling her.
That’s why they call me Bad Company, I can’t deny. Bad, Bad Company, till the day I die.
hahahahahaha. Omg… That was a hysterical representation of the dinner party. Kudos dude, kudos! And, seriously fruit for dessert? That’s just wrong, so totally wrong.
It’s such a cop out to get fruit for dessert when, if you truly don’t want to prepare anything, just buy cookies from the store.
I know!!! right there with ya!
Bad to the bone. Oh my.
Hahaha, gotta love Bad Company!
I’m hungry after reading this.
it’s never too late or early for hot pockets.
Grow a long awesome beard, brush at the dinner table, because beard hair sheds like a mangy mutt. Bring chitlins as your gift and some Wild Irish Rose. You win!
That does sound awesome, I mean, anything involving beards, chitlins, Wild Irish Rose couldn’t be bad
If the dinner inviters don’t like it, then you get to have a good time, with the hopes that they will not invite you back.
That sounds perfect then!
To never get invited to parties, I recommend defecating anywhere other than a toilet. Research shows this works 99% of the time. The other 1% are fecalphiliacs.
Good point, a well-placed poo in a radiator does a lot of damage.
i like to put: anthrax in the mail ,on my list .
Interesting, who is exactly on the list?
no i’m sorry i meant ,like your list of things to be afraid of in the mail.
Oh, I see what you mean, that makes much more sense. My bad!
lol.. no my bad. you probably weren’t living one tiny bridge away from the anthrax scare, to remember to put that on your list.
very true!
Ha thanks for the laugh.
Thank you for reading, I’m glad you liked it!
this was hilarious.You have an amazing sense of humor.Not many people who try to act funny emerge out to be funny.You do.Love your storytelling skills.
Thank you very much, I’m delighted that you’ve liked what you’ve read and I hope you continue to read my stuff.
This is absolutely brilliant. So brilliant, your brilliance has its own brilliance. When something is this awesome, I I want to compliment it so highly that I run the risk of sounding sarcastic. But I am being deadly sincere – this is brilliant. Enough already – now I feel creepy, but I think I have a man-crush on you. Don’t be nervous, I won’t act on it.
I love it, thank you very much for the kind words! I’m delighted that you’ve enjoyed my stuff and I’m flattered by the man-crush.
You’re lucky you’re not a woman…then you’d also get invited to Pampered Chef parties. I may as well stick a fork (or chopper/slicer/other expensive kitchen gadget) in my eye.
True, you’ve gotta have the excuses ready. Not too ready though, then it just seems real contrived. There’s really an art to making up lies to get out of things.
Hahahaha…this made me spit out my milk….well almost because if I did, my laptop would be toast and i cant afford another…..but i did laugh hard after I swallowed….the milk.
Hahaha, fantastic use of ellipses! Very delighted to read that. I’m glad you liked my stuff about how abhorrent I find dinner parties.
I was drinking juice when I read this, I inhaled it into my sinuses from the outbursts of laughter I didn’t expect… your blog needs the warning label “DO NOT READ WHILE CONSUMING LIQUID”
Awesome, I’m thrilled and delighted that you laughed that much at my work! I’ll consider the label, but then I won’t get anymore comments about people spitting juices out of their face!
justin you make me laugh so much while at the same time cringing at your irreverence. let me know if you ever make it to az. i will have you over for nachos and you can pick the desert.
–kris
Radical, I’m delighted that you feel that way about my stuff. If I’m even in Arizona I’ll be sure to drop by for nachos and a Fudgie the Whale cake!
lol, I totally had to google it (what with growing up in a jungle and all) and that rocks. my kids will think you’re the best ever!
Awesome! A very Fudgie the Whale and nachos afternoon it will be!
Tell me this is fiction. I’m laughing yes, but stopping abruptly now and then to look horrified. Tell me you know that you’re just plain horrible. Still chuckling. Awesome read, very vivid. I like
Delighted that you’ve enjoyed it! Sadly, I’m not that horrible in real life, but I am that big a fan when it comes to fortified wine!
I nominated you for the Inspirational Blogger Award! Here is the link to see how everything works:
http://ihaveanopinionidliketoshare.wordpress.com/2013/02/24/7-things-about-me-inspirational-blogger-award/
I’m flattered! Thank you, thank you very much for the nomination!
Hi Justin. I am reliably informed I once in my youth threatened someone with a kitchen knife when they announced fresh fruit for dessert! Loved it John! PS in mitigation people were under the illusion that I was a schizophrenic at the time!”) Love J
Wow, please tell me you have a post chronicling said dessert disappointment; that’s a story right there!
Ha, nice story! I wish I could do something that epic.
I also nominated you for an award._. The one I nominated you for is the Liebster Blogger Award,
http://avisparadisus18.wordpress.com/2013/02/28/liebster-award/ there’s all the info I know about it.
Thank you, thank you very much for nominating me for an award! I’m truly flattered that you have thought of me, however, I’m not the best at awards; I’m much better at ruining dinner parties.
You are very welcome, haha I am still laughing over the ending. I guess they finally got your memo that you are not interested XD
Indeed, hopefully their memories serve them well and remember not to invite me ever again.
If not, bring something that you know they hate for a fact, that might actually help.
I’ll have to dust off my rolodex, but I used to know a Benito Mussolini impersonator who just has the worst table manners imaginable!
I love the idea of making your own food in someone elses home instead of eating what everyone else is. I would have been the perfect idea years ago during dinners with my parents friends/clients. Why didn’t I know you then????
It’s a shame we didn’t know each other then, however, from here on out, I would welcome any of your qualms for future dinner parties though and do my best to answer them!
“Blechh, I can already feel my taste buds drafting a collective suicide manifesto” LOL that line is classic.
Haha, thank you, thank you very much!
“Dinner parties, junk coupons, and Ted Kaczynski—this is why people are no longer excited to receive anything in the mail.”— oh yeah!
It’s true, for every one piece of mail I’m excited about there is about three weeks worth of nothing to sift through.