Pity parties….

I find it odd those two words are together… They are such distinct opposites… Gaiety and sorrow somehow don’t mix…

We all have them, it’s just idiots like me who share them. Some, I’ve observed, throw them pretty regularly… some, only when the steam tells you the water is now ‘for sure’ boiling.

When throwing a pity party - there are no invites, no decorations, no pomp and circumstance.. They are usually spur-a-the-moment kinda things where we ‘throw’ - and soon after we think “oh shit, why’d I do that.”

It’s kinda like sleeping with someone you are absolutely sure you don’t wanna spend the remainder of your life with ---- “it felt good at the time.”

Borrowing from the Urban Dictionary: “Alcohol might or might not be allowed (if alcohol makes you go wild, no alcohol should be brought to the pity party in that case since the point is not exactly to have fun). The purpose of a Pity Party is to dump the pity. Music is also very important at pity parties, including songs like "One is the Loneliest Number", "All by Myself" and any other song that makes you feel like throwing yourself from the nearest cliff…

(continuing) Pity parties usually end after you are done whining or if someone breaks it up. This will usually be a cynical loved one who will not let you drown in self pity and will take you either to have the best time ever, drinking and partying or will just make you crawl out of bed by making you see how pathetic you look and how you should cut the whining and just do something to make things better.”

I’ve noticed a plethora of reasons behind pity parties… co-workers.. bosses.. workload… type of work.. mates (present or former)… children, and actions thereof… money, or lack thereof.. time (not enough… spent too long.. a deadline..)… relatives… inflation… politics… athletic teams..

If you look at alla the above, it’s crap one would quite naturally have fervor for/of… so mebbe not a 100% completely bad thing… just… perhaps a proper time and place for it.. such as…

When you (borrowing from Popeye) are goin’ round with a co-worker, you reach the point “I’ve had all I can takes, and I can’t takes no more.”.. so… you grab a cig, walk outside, cuss like a mo-fo, and all is pretty much better in no time… A “silent’ pity party…

Or… perhaps you call a Sport’s talk show to bemoan the “GD” Kansas City Chiefs… your face is by now the color of your Larry Johnson jersey.. if you were to visit onea those “free blood pressure screening” thingys at the Piggly Wiggly, it might actually burst you’re so pent up with frustration… You say some stupid shit on the air to the now minuscule listening audience, and there - pity party done.

Former mate… ohhhhh these are a sonofabitch to get ridda (pity parties.)… ‘cause, you’re reminded in all kindsa different scenarios how screwed up stuff with life is and “it’s my belief it’s because you/we fugged up.. This would be a piece of cake if we were still “all good.” This pity party usually follows conversations about kids… money… hickeys.. (oops, sorry.. That was onea my specifics.. Know it’s rare!)…

Pity parties are no (close your ears) fucking fun to attend. We allow the pitiful person to pity and then we change the subject to global warming or Hillary vs. McCain… It usually takes several subjects before one is veered off path.
I couldn’t make up a deli tray if my life depended upon it… I can’t spell whore-devores let alone serve ‘em… my artistic skills for decorating are kinda “Jed Clampett” like.. Inotherwords, I ain’t a great host.

However, I’ve thrown my share of pity parties. Thank you for not winging a tray of cheese and crackers at me… I’m delighted you’ve left the streamers streaming, versus wrapping them sumbitches around my neck until I turned Chief’s red…

You sumbitches (said with love)… whenever I do throw a ‘party’ here.. You’re quick to lift… quick to show concern…

I’d mentioned, friends are like the net under the high wire act… Help you when you fall… there to uplift when we stray off course…

A few years back… I went to Renaissance Festival… there actually was a ‘high wire’ act… if performing on a high wire ain’t quite difficult enough, the sonofabitch was a comedian too.. (and very adept at both.)… He called himself “The Great Greek Tightrope Walker: Notesticles.”

Please accept this coupon for “if Victor ever ever throws another pity party, please present this coupon for the gonad of your choice.”

Borrowing now from Mr. T… I pity the fool that doesn’t enjoy life here… Love, Victurd