Monday, June 02, 2014

The pre-White Party migraine

Even the parties in Italy are burocratic nightmares, I tell you. There is a certain amount of social pressure to participate in that those of us who live within the walls will have to stay indoors that night if we don't get our acts together because who wants to be the one loser familly dressed for a funeral who just happens to shlump by all of their neighbors dressed in white, dining al fresco in the immaculate hilarity that is the White Party?

The good news is that the party is sponsored by two organizations for people with Down syndrome, one of which is called Andare In Oltre Si Puo'/We can go beyond. I met the young man named Jacopo who is the star of the show two years ago through my friend Bianca. He is definitely a charismatic kid whose mom, I take it, is a real go getter. After participating in a music program of some kind, Jacopo made a song whose CD was sold to raise funds very successfully. The stupid fancy gym which is supposed to be partners with them is having it's own party on the very same night. Cough cough (bastards) cough cough.



Anyway this part is all good. Then I got to reading the fine print:


This basically says that not only does everyone have to wear TOTAL WHITE, but you have to bring your own folding tables and chairs. They should be white if at all possible. The table cloths and everything on the table that is not food must be white. No plastic, paper, or tin containers, or tableware is alllowed. Only natural or fizzy water or wine are permissable beverages. After agreeing to these not so easy stipulations the head of your table must send an email to a certain address and at a certain time they will send you the coordinates of the TOP SECRET LOCATION.

I had a hilarious facebook conversation with T's friend's Giorgia's mother Cristina about this event in which I told her that all of these rules brought out the inner antiauthoritarian me and, at the very least, all of this talk about white would surely bring me to have my period that day. I can hear them now, I told her, carrying on about "that bloody American" who always messes things up. Cristina mentioned that they had already had similar events to this in Torino and Milan, but I was quick to point out that no one could take credit for starting this white party craze if not one of my favorite rapper moguls the one and only Diddy (Mr. Combs, if you're nasty.)



Some of my top concerns, in no particular order, were finding white pants long enough for F, being devoured by mosquitoes,  and not spending a fortune on this event. Then I remembered that it was my straightforward friend Patrizia's birthday that same day. My doctor friend told me to set everything up and she would meet me there. Um thanks. She suggested that I invite Patrizia, as well, so we could make it into a birthday party for her. Patrizia got one whiff at all of the fine print and she told me in no uncertain terms that she would shave herself bald and sell all her earthly belongings before she would ever go to a party this demandingly exhausting. No, she really didn't say that at all. What she said was something along the lines of thank goodness her daughter had a buono/discount ticket for massages in place already for that evening so she didn't have to deal with (yet another) one of my crazy ideas.

Guess which one I am!
A mixture of Patrizia's negativity and my anxiety made me completely renounce the invitation along with my inital and rash decision to hit the JOIN button on my facebook invitation. This total surrender was made all the more possible by the fact that even my super organized and efficient friend Elena was not returning my emails. I am a pretty organized person, but Elena makes me look like an amateur. She had of course already let me know that she would be away in Rome for work, but I, having failed to note it down, had forgotten. The moment she set foot back in Lucca she called me to calm my nerves. She sent me an email filled with links for cheap white furniture from Ikea, which she needed for her garden in any case, and she offered to be the responsible party to head up our table and send all future communications to those in charge. God bless her. Actual number of things I have done to prepare for the event besides send frantic facebook messages and emails to my friends about this party: Zero.

T and gelato.

F and T. Don't be alarmed, they brought some home for me. :)
Foot note: In other news, the DIM medication that I am taking to balance my system after  too many years of taking synthetic estrogen has caused me to have a predictable but unhappy acne flare up. They say it will get worse before it gets better. I tried to combat it by doing an at home salicylic acid peel which caused me to have scabs all over my face for three days. Don't try that at home, folks. They have since come off and left me with some pink raw patches that is a vast improvement because I know that I won't have permanent damage as I feared. Due to the tension, I had a nightmare. I woke up with a giant black beetle on my face. Unfortunately, that really happened and was not part of the nightmare. The restaurants downstairs were very hush hush about the beetles that took over our courtyard in recent days and the measures that F took to fill up the holes in our stairs were not enough. Upon waking, I screamed for about thirty minutes and was completely hysterical. F taped up the holes in our sinks, put plates over our drains, set traps and salt and baking soda through the stairs and used concrete and door strips to make sure that there is no gap between the outside door and our stairway. Since then we haven't had a one. Don't tell anyone at the White Party about any of this as I am sure it is grounds for immediate retraction of the invitation. Sigh.

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