My Gingerbread Deathbed

The Bartender invited me to a Gingerbread House Making Party today. In the spirit of the season, I told her I'd stop by later in the day.  I was completely exhausted from a weekend of holiday parties but love crafty projects.  Plus, being a lifelong overachiever, I'd probably build a skyscraper in a matter of minutes and embarrass all the other party goers.

Well......I might as well have changed the name of this party to "(Insert My Own Name)'s Funeral.  These people were bad ass - complete professionals.  I've tiled my own bathroom, dug up existing landscaping then planted new ones and built a wooden banister in my house that is not only decorative but would probably pass most legitimate home inspections.  I have a God Damn ornament on my Christmas tree that says I'm a DIY (do it yourself) weekend warrior.  I DUG A DITCH AT A HABITAT FOR HUMANITY HOUSE while an inappropriately dressed, obnoxious volunteer said she was not strong enough. (I may have also thrown dirt on her shoes after she made that statement.  Either go big or go home.)  I was being humiliated by a bunch of strangers and I hated it.

Fifteen minutes into this event, one person admitted they've done this "every year" for who knows how long. Meanwhile, the comments started when I tried to glue my crackers together with a spatula full of frosting.  "Hahaha, she's using the spatula". Apparently there's was some sort of unwritten rule that you were supposed to use the back of a plastic fork.  Who the eff knows what type of utensil is required for this?  Don't they sell kits at all the craft stores that just require a few minutes of assembly? We were making them from scratch.  You might as well have been asking me to perform my own heart transplant.

Thankfully I didn't look at all the finished ones when I first arrived because it would have been seriously intimidating.  I bet most of them bought blueprints on the Internet because you could probably live in one of these houses comfortably.  Some had second floors...

...one was some type of vacation resort.  I even saw a tepee.  Mine had four walls, one of which was at least one inch longer than the other three.  I decided to tell the person next to me that I planned to use that part "for the deck".  I'm not even sure what that meant but I thought it might be believable.  After turning it sideways, my idea was to make a replica of my own brownstone-style home.  The pressure was way too much and it started to bend.  My only option was a ranch.

I drilled holes in green gum drop things and tried to make outside landscaping.  That would really show them.  Other party people?  Snowmen, lawns, fire pits (I am not even lying, someone actually had a fire pit), Gummy Bear residents.  My self-respect was salvaged later when The Blonde mistakenly said  "Wow, that one has wheels"  when viewing photos and seeing graphics on the plate.  Really, Blonde?  Did you think it was a mobile home?  I guess at this party, anything was possible so I can't blame you. (XOXO, you knew that was coming so I don't feel bad.  We all know you're smart.)

This one could probably be listed on realtor.com and sell for more than my actual house.

I managed to let it dry for a few minutes, stuck on a door and a few M&M windows in a panic (which was stupid because nothing really has round windows except maybe a submarine) and stepped back to admire my project.  It was horrible.  It honestly looked like I assembled it wearing mittens and a blindfold.

The party was scheduled to run from 2-8pm.  My attendance?  5-5:30pm. I wanted out of there as soon as possible.  To make conversation, I casually mentioned that I lived only 3 minutes from The Bartender's house and managed to get lost on my way there.  That, combined with my disaster of a project, pretty much secured my spot in the Idiot Hall of Fame.  I know everyone tried to be nice but they definitely assumed I'd probably pull out of my parking spot and crash directly into The Bartender's condo.

Five minutes before I went to grab my coat, the damn thing collapsed.  So not only did I have the worst house, but it turned into a pile of garbage.  I sat on the carpet, defeated, and decided to just eat parts of it.  Why let it go to waste?

Bartender - I'm happy to grace your bar with my presence and invite you to any event at my own house.  But next year, I'm sick that day.  And if any of your friends are reading this, I'm fairly certain you all brought those houses with you and I was secretly being taped for a reality show.  Oh, and I hate all of you.