I'm perfectly fine not being invited to things. You can't know every single person that your friends know, so it's inevitable that they will go to things that you may not be included in. Such as hospital conferences the first year of college, birthday parties for mutual friends of theirs, skating parties of mutual friends of theirs...the list could go on, but that would look petty.
I tried to explain it to Judy once when she called me to see figure out ride situations for some girl's birthday party. Despite my insistence that I had no idea what she spoke about, Judy retracted fully--a task to be sure--and repeated innocently enough, "Kelly's birthday party. We can head over there after we go to dinner."
I knew about dinner. We established those plans earlier that week, but I had to sit down and explain to her clearly Kelly didn't invite me to her birthday, or I would know about it.
"You probably were and just forgot to check your Facebook." While valid, that point is pretty much moot because Judy checks her Facebook less than Charles the Monarch does. Granted, he wouldn't care, being a dog and with more important canine responsibilities to turn towards than a Facebook fanbase, but Judy, as a human, doesn't have similar issues. She's in college, she sometimes forgets to charge her phone so I have no way of contacting her but through Facebook, and she has an account to use. My mother would certainly lecture her about all of the twelve-year-olds in the world whose parents won't let them have a Facebook account and how lucky she was to have one, if Facebook were vegetables that is.
But Judy's the type to load up on messages until she has a fifty marker in the little red flag above the chat symbol. She reads them and then promptly forgets about them, or she'll avoid them until someone brings it up in person. There's something to admire in that, I think, but her telling me that I haven't checked my Facebook seemed laughable, like if Taylor Swift were to lecture me about believing in fairy tale romances when it came to making relationships work.
Even so, I still had to sit her--Judy, not Taylor--down and have that talk with her: that no I wasn't invited but yes I knew who Kelly was. She actually wouldn't believe me for a while.
Judy's just the type to expect that since she was invited, I surely would be. I guess it comes with the mindset that we're a packaged deal. We've been that way for a while, but we're certainly not attached to the hip, although we should probably exercise that more as Judy's become self-conscious of how we're perceived. Apparently joking that we could be mistaken as girlfriends in a bar, thus warding off potential suitors, has gone to her head.
At the same time, I made the joke first.
But this entire Facebook regime is something I just don't compute. Maybe it's my obsession with Regency England, where invitations and society rules are always spoken on. I mean, Elizabeth Bennet wouldn't dare go to a ball if she wasn't invited. It's just not done, surely!
Then again, dem's be modern times, and we're not exactly celebrating a high class party, but how am I supposed to know when it's something I'm allowed to crash or not? It's not exactly a kegger at someone's house before finals.
"No one really cares about that George," Hazel said when Judy brought up some mutual friend's upcoming housewarming party more recently.
"No?" I asked, uncertainly, playing with my Panera* coffee cup.
"Yeah," Hazel said in that calmly-cool way that always convinced me Hazel was more adult than me. "I go to things all the time when I'm not invited." She took a bite of her salad, one that wasn't actually purchased at Panera. "It's really no big deal." I reached over and took a bite from her salmon wrap, which was also not purchased at Panera. Judy sat with no food in front of her.
If Panera were a more confrontational sort of place, I'm sure they would've asked us to leave. Just so, we sat in a side booth, blatantly talking about how good Hazel's food was from the new restaurant she started working at. Granted, we didn't intend to make Panera patrons jealous. We just ended up meeting there because the nearby Barnes and Noble was full, and we took our own food inside with us: Hazel's classy salmon and salad, and my lone box of tagalongs. I purchased the coffee if only to feel justified taking up a booth.
"But that's for college parties. Not something like a housewarming," I pointed out.
"Yeah but you also know her. She mentioned it at the shower," Hazel said quite quickly.
I tried not to look uncomfortable. "I wasn't at the baby shower." I was self-conscious that it might look like I was fishing, and maybe I was a little. It always amazes me how people can't remember certain aspects like my lack of presence. Maybe it's my ego needing coddling, but I like to think that I would remember if Hazel wasn't there. Granted, it wasn't my baby shower and I wasn't integral in the making of it--the shower, not the baby--but a little recognition over my disappearance would be nice.
Clearly a Georgette-shaped hole was there! Clearly the sky was less sunny and the colors were a little faded because I wasn't there! And, of course, there was less singing and dance numbers too!
"Oh," she dismissed. "Right." Then again, Hazel wasn't one for dance numbers, I guess. "But you know Emma from high school. She won't mind."
I looked at Judy for help, and she looked at Hazel, then me. "You remember her right? She did want all of us to hang out." I could tell that Judy was uncomfortable. "Actually," she said, brightening up. "I think you are invited, and you just didn't see it on your Facebook." I realized that this was some sort of defense mechanism on Judy's part, and wanting to avoid any more discomfort for her, I told her that she was probably right, and that I would check when I got home. Though of course that was all unnecessary.
Fast forward a week later, and I'm on the phone with Judy trying to figure out rides. When I get off the phone, Pam asks me where I'm going. "A friend's having a house warming." When she asks for more specifics, the truth comes out that I'm not even invited.
"Well," I begin. "She's friends with Lauren, Judy, and Hazel. I sort of know her through them, and we did go to the same high school together." Pam strongly advises that I bring a present, if only to make up for the fact that I wasn't supposed to be there and that it was the girl's housewarming, and in trying to brainstorm, I realize that I don't know this person as well as I thought.
A candle? Well, some people were picky over their fresh smells, and I know that I am so baffled when people give me candles, that I inevitably throw them out. A coffee table book? Those are as bad as candles, except they come with this guilt that mocks your intelligence. Wine? Pfft, as if I even know how to pick a bottle when I'm just going to a friend's house. Lord knows, that I've been judged too many times for buying a wine that's (a) for old people, (b) named after desserts, and (c) created by famous people.
As I stood near my closet trying to get ready for work and this deed, which was after work, I tossed shirts and skirts onto my bed, trying to find something that was comfortable enough for work and sneaky enough that I could blend into the background of this housewarming. Anything with a potential couch pattern was a go.
Sadly, I already scrapped the idea of a present, not having time and having ended up buying ballet flats when I went to Target for the purpose. Besides, I figured that I didn't know this person that well to give them something. Once, Hazel talked me into going to this baby shower for a couple I didn't know, and when they opened my present--a few onsies with blue stripes--there was this complete awkward moment, where they read the card aloud and tried to figure out who it was. When I was found out, I had to go along, laughing to ease tension, and they looked nervous as bunny rabbits. Exactly who was this strange girl giving us adorable and affordable onsies on the day of our son's baby shower?
This time, I was hoping to avoid that mess with stealth and planning. I even got out of work early and home with a reasonable amount of time to brush my teeth. Only I started to have that queasy feeling again. I called Judy for a dose of reassurance, but she didn't pick up. She would've left by now. I called Hazel, hoping to catch a ride with her**, but she was lying down and ready for a nap, exhausted from work. She didn't think she'd go anyway. She hadn't even bought a plant, the apparent suggested gift on the Facebook event and yet another reminder that I wasn't invited. Taking Hazel's weariness as a sign, I decided to call it quits and went to make guacamole.
Of course, an hour later, I get a jovial text from her. Turns out she forgot to tell her boyfriend she wasn't going, and he persuaded her to go. They got a plant. He bought beer. They were already there.
Did she get a nap at least?
No. She was happy that she went out actually. Did I want to go? The house was off the highway near me. I could go.
I looked at my tupperware of guacamole and my newly purchased book on Kindle. I was leaving in a month, I should go, see friends, but the idea of going in alone, without a shield of an invited party member and late*** to boot, seemed pretty blatant. It would be the equivalent of going with a Hitler mustache or just a really big one, like this:
So I guess the proper title of this post should've been "you try to crash a party, and then you over think it to the point of exhaustion."
*How the crap am I there this often?
**I reasoned that if I was going to do this, then I'd need someone who was invited to be my shield.
***actually I'm not sure. I never saw the Facebook information, so for all I know, everyone was early