OK. The party wasn’t that bad. And I must have heard “Rumor has it there are bacon cupcakes? I need one right NOW.” at least two dozen times. So it sounds like the Bacon Maple Cupcakes were a mindblowing success. Personally, I think I could have upped the bacon and still been right on target with these little meaty confections. But really. They were damn good as they were. I could see serving these in lieu of breakfast. DON’T JUDGE.

The Boyfriend and I left the party a little over an hour ago because I was exhausted and I think he just wanted to get laid (he’ll have to wait while I blog). Folks were still drinking and hollering like it was the last party they would ever attend. I feel very sorry for my parents. Guess I’ll need to pop in there tomorrow to see if the house is still standing, or to at least count the bodies strewn across the backyard. I was quite surprised to see that my Italian relatives all tapped out early. Yeah, sure, they had a long drive back to the south Bay, but…these people know how to party. One day I will remember to tell you about the rager we had for my great-aunt and great-uncle’s 50th wedding anniversary that almost got us kicked from the hotel we were staying at. And that was a “quiet” occasion!

I am very grateful for the people who took the time to gather around me and celebrate what feels less like an accomplishment and more like a checkbox on a Life’s Laundry List to me. I received more monetary gifts for this graduation than I did for high school graduation, and I’m gainfully employed! What makes me feel even worse about that is that I have paid my tuition off entirely. I refused to build up student loans because that has always seemed like a terrible idea to me. Work to afford your education and don’t build up that crazy debt. Nobody wants to spend the first ten years of their career paying off the pricetag on their degree. It makes success less gratifying for a while. (though really, anyone going into medical school gets a pass on this one because have you seen the price of medical school? Holy shit.)

Not a single person asked what my post-grad plans were. Nobody asked about the layoffs at work. In fact, for the most part people were fixated on The Boyfriend and wanting to know all about our relationship. They didn’t care if I had a job or was going to grad school. It made me laugh and smile and generally quite happy. I love talking about The Boyfriend and will take any opportunity to do so. Everyone should be so lucky to know a man such as him. He’s so proud of me and everything I do, sometimes I wonder if he’s going to put me on too high a pedestal and I’m going to fall and break my neck when he’s not looking.

My favorite part of the day had nothing to do with the party, however. First-thing this morning I had a docent walk up at Lake Solano. I love doing my docent walks because it is as close to teaching as I will probably ever get, and I don’t think the urge to be an educator of some sort will ever go away. Taking a class on designing educational programs my last term at OSU was probably one of the best things I did in my tenure at that school, and it’s made me rethink grad school options a little. My docent walks give me ample opportunity to interact with the public and learn what things they care about and what will or won’t hold their attention. Today was no exception, as I, along with my partner Jessica, worked our way through a standard birdwalk. Neither of us expected much because it was the start of what would be a very hot July day, and often times the water birds will scoot out early in the morning and not return until dusk. But to our surprise, we got the opportunity to watch a young male Osprey diving for breakfast, a double-breasted cormorant buzzing the mallards along the south bank, and a belted kingfisher making a ruckus in the reeds. I could have sat there all morning and watched just those three birds. The only thing that would have made the day complete was seeing a bald eagle. So far I’m the only docent who hasn’t seen one during my walks in the park. Major sadface for me.

The docent walk energized me for the party, even if it meant I was up at the buttcrack of dawn and had to return to my hotel room (and a snoozing Boyfriend) wearing muddy pants and a booney hat that was the unfortunate recipient of some bird deposits as they escaped us from tree to tree. And now it’s my turn to snooze. I’m thinking I’ve finally earned it.

The Boyfriend may have to fend for himself.

I don’t like it when people throw parties for me. This is a well-established fact. Rarely does it ever turn out well, and more often than not it bothers me to have an absolute lack of control over something that I’m supposed to be a very large part of.

So I really am not looking forward to my grad party. First of all, I’m 35 fucking years old. I don’t need a party. In fact, I don’t even need kudos. I have a stack of degrees in my closet that would be an amusing centerpiece for the cake table. In other words, this isn’t my first time in the back seat of this jalopy. This is not an “accomplishment” by any means. I’ve never claimed it was; that’s everyone else’s doing. I just decided to change careers and educational tracks, that’s all. But if it makes people feel good about themselves to champion someone’s cause, then so be it.

Second, not only will I have to deal with the inevitable questions about my academic future, people will also inquire into my plans for my newfound knowledge, and of course people who possess zero tact will also find a way to ask me about the impending layoffs that I’m facing in less than a month’s time. Hooray! Just the kind of shit I want to talk about AT A PARTY. I’ve gone over this in my head multiple times in the past week, and I can’t find a single tactful way to tell people to go fuck themselves and stop being nosy without, well, telling people to go fuck themselves and stop being nosy. See, when someone gets a degree, it doesn’t mean they have immediate plans for anything. Leave them alone. They just finished several years of grueling schoolwork, and in my case, this was in addition to working 60 hours a week and carrying other hefty commitments. The last thing they want to do is discuss their career path with you. Also, if someone’s job is on the line…I don’t give a shit how publicly the company has made it known that they’re performing these layoffs…it is NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS whether their job is safe or not. Again…leave them alone. Unless you yourself have experienced the sudden loss of your high-paying job that you spent almost 2 decades breaking your back for, you have no idea what they’re going through and therefore should just keep your nose out of it.

And again. I remind you. IT’S A PARTY. Stop asking such ridiculous downer questions. Go get a goddamned beer or something.

The big thing that irritates me about this party, however, is that it absolutely 100% in no way reflects me at all. The party is instead a reflection of my mother. I do love her dearly and all, but seriously? If I’d known that my party would resemble nothing more than her own parties, then I would have either requested no party at all or forced them to allow me to pay for it all myself. Because nothing recently has been more disheartening to me than seeing my invitations riddled with what my mother considers “cute” misspellings, printed on the same 8.5 x 11 stationery stock that most people use for barbecues and Christmas newsletters, shoved into envelopes covered in grapevines. I won’t even lie to you, I was absolutely crushed when I saw this. I had selected the exact invitations I wanted to use, and told my parents that I would just buy them and fill them out myself to save them the trouble. Instead they went and did this.

I know what you’re thinking…that’s it? They sent out silly invitations that you don’t like? No, that’s not just it. I was not allowed input into the menu. My parents are having it catered for some reason, and they’ve selected sausage and peppers as the main dish. I hate sausage and peppers. Always have. I am not a sausage fan by any means, and so I am very very VERY picky about which sausages I will eat. Italian sausages are not on my list. I told my mom I would rather have chicken with polenta or baked ziti. But no. I’m getting sausage and peppers. My parents KNOW I don’t like sausage. But I’m getting it anyway.

My mom decided she wanted to decorate the entire house in orange and black paper flowers. I told her that paper flowers were kind of ugly and maybe just some orange balloons would be nice. In fact, black isn’t even officially one of OSU’s colors. OSU’s color is in fact orange. Black and white are allowed to be used as accents. But the school strictly only recognizes the orange. I don’t want people to show up and think it’s Halloween in July. Despite my protests, there will be massive orange and black paper flowers. I am going to end up stabbing my own eyes out within the first ten minutes, I guarantee it.

I told my parents the other day that I would make a playlist for the party on my iPod. I was informed that they were already taking care of the music, as they were going to drag the computer speakers out onto the back deck and queue up KOZT’s online stream. OK, I love that radio station and all. No, really, I do. But I don’t want it as the backdrop for my party. I just don’t. I want an eclectic mix that reflects me completely. When I told my mom this, she said “Well whatever. We’ll get the computer set up anyway. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

And there are more details every day. When I provided my mother the guest list for invites, she balked at me including my uncle Steve, with whom she has had a feud for the last 8 years. I told her that I didn’t care what was going on between them, family is family and he needed to at least be extended the invitation even though we knew he’d not only decline, he’d pretty much ignore us entirely. She relented, but now I’m not even sure if she mailed the damn thing. So now I don’t even get to have a say in my own guest list?

The only bright spot of the weekend is that The Boyfriend will be flying up to join me for the party. He’ll be finally meeting all of these people for the first time, and I know it’s more than just a bit daunting. My family – both sides – can be ruthless when it comes to shaking down a new guy. And since I met mine in an unorthodox way, and he’s already toting his own personal brand of baggage, this should be even more exciting. And of course, it will lead to questions about marriage. OH HOW I CAN’T WAIT FOR THOSE. I should buy copies of Bridget Jones’s Diary and hand them out to everyone in attendance. Just to make sure we’re on the same page.

Maybe I ought to run away and join the circus? I’d make an excellent clown.