Today was soul sucking, I’m not going to lie. At 10:30 am we traveled for about 40 minutes to Skyzone for our friend’s (and neighbor) birthday. Skyzone is an indoor trampoline facility located in an extremely wealthy area of my city. You can find Skyzone commercials weekly and my sons have been bugging me to go. Alas, their friend who’s parents are much wealthier than us made their dreams a reality. Let’s get this shit over with.
After getting there exactly 5 minutes early, we proceeded to wait an additional 40 minutes until the children could go into the jumping area. It was super weird because unassigned Skyzone officials came out and attempted to entertain the children.
The first employee was clearly smoking something as she had on EXTREMELY tight spandexs, a Skyzone t-shirt, orange Kayne West “shutter sunglasses”, a selfie stick and to round out this entire hot mess: a green super hero cape. Nearing my feeding time, I became increasingly frustrated with the whole ordeal. I needed to feed and I didn’t care if it was Combos, pizza or a Wendy’s salad. I was hangry. Why were we asked to get there at 11:15 if the fucking party didn’t start till noon? I remained unconvincingly impartial to the ordeal.
After watching my children bounce for about 5 minutes, I spied the following out of the corner of my eye:
Sweet mother of God he had a sun visor on, complete with a full head of gelled hair. I blocked out P to the left on his way to the foam pit. For extra credit I noticed that the group Mr. Visor ran with were equally a hot mess. Suddenly this disaster became manageable.
The women of the group were old enough to be my grandmother yet the young children called them mom. They dressed like they were 25 with their UGG boots, braided pony tail and True Religion denim yet the wrinkles Botox couldn’t handle, their chicken like necks and baggy eyes clearly revealed they were at least 50. Visor belonged to one of the seniors. Here is a picture of one of the “True Housewives”:
Despite their glares to my friends who wore Coach shoulder bags, they smiled at me with my $600 Louis Vuitton even though I’ve had it since 1998. It’s only worth that much because it’s appreciated over the past 18 years. I wear cowgirl boots but in their heads it’s because Vogue recently announced this is the year of the Cowboy. Whatever.
After what seemed to be a gabillion years, we were finally allowed into the “party room.” We were allowed into the party room for approximately 40 minutes to eat pizza, eat cake and open gifts. It was clearly a well oiled operation.
After excusing myself to the restroom to NOT pee but instead check messages from my blog (your welcome) I came back in to sit down next to my husband. As I looked to the other side of the room I noticed I was the only mother not sitting on the row of benches across from us.
Despite over the past decade of receiving an invitation to every “mothers nights out” and being included with every “event”of all the moms of the neighborhood, I haven’t really been invited to anything over the past 6 months. I’m not entirely upset about it either.
See, about 8 to 9 months ago I was unemployed. 8 to 9 months ago my husband was unemployed. 10 months ago I found a lump in my breast resulting in Atypical Ductal Hyperplasia. Last summer my sons, husband and I found ourselves uninvited to cookouts, card nights, mom’s nights out, etc. The only thing that affected me was when I told my sons they had to come home because we weren’t invited to an “impromptu” b.b.q. They didn’t understand while crying their eyes out. I didn’t understand how to explain.
Last July while another “last minute” bond fire was taking place in a backyard that backed up to ours, I had had it with my “friends” cold shoulder. Drunk off a bottle of wine, I looked at my husband and said, “Fuck it. I’m done, I’m laying my cards on the table.”
With my security blanket (glass of wine), I sauntered over to the bond fire that had been left now for only the dads. I looked the chief ass hole in the eye and said,
“I want to know why we weren’t invited to last weeks get together? I don’t care about us, but that really upset the boys and that is where I draw the line.” With each passing word I could feel my heart beat faster and faster despite the dulling effects of wine.
“Well first of all,” chief ass hole #1 began,” we didn’t plan it. M and H had baseball at the same time. No one had eaten so K invited us up to get a bite to eat.”
“Your excluding us on purpose.” I said, clearly allowing the wine to form the logic.
“Um, no. Everyone is always invited to everything.” Chief ass hole #2 declared looking around to the other ass holes for approval as well as assurance I had lost my mind.
I knew this clearly wasn’t the case and I was annoyed at his declaration.
“Um nooooo, it is not known everyone is invited. LOOK! I have had the worst time of my life NOT having a job, C not having a job then I find a lump in my boob.” I grasped my boob for affect.
” I mean what the fuck? So look; you can have all your stupid little parties,” I waived my wine clad hand around for drama, “but don’t leave my children out!”
I turned around and walked away. I was COMPLETELY enraged.
I don’t know if they just don’t know how to deal when friends are at their lowest points of their lives or if they just hate us for some reason.
I HATE the saying “I’ll forgive but I won’t forget.” I didn’t understand this statement till I worked through the above last summer. Now that C and I have good paying positions and I’m on medication for the next 5 years to prevent the likely attack of breast cancer, our “friends” are back to normal with their treatment towards us and our sons.