It's not *really* my party, but I'm still probably going to cry. Of frustration. Or boredom. Possibly both.

Oh, goody. Oh, yes. Why not? Let's have a family reunion.

Please kill me now. Please.

This coming Saturday, there is going to be a party. A party full of relations with whom I am not particularly familiar. It's the Fazzio side--the Italian side--but more than that, it's all the cousins who are approximately the same vintage as my father. People I have possibly seen at assorted funerals over the years, or maybe at another function similar to the one we're about to have, but if you asked me to pick them out of a lineup, I'd be screwed.

Suffice it to say I'm not really looking forward to it. This is my father's rodeo, which means I've been conscripted into making parts of it happen. Centerpieces. Party favors. You know, little arty things. I'm probably going to get saddled with picking up the food as well, because the restaurant catering the affair doesn't deliver. My salad bowl is being commandeered to hold flatware roll-ups. My bocce set is being commandeered for the party activity. I've realized that putting my name on things I'm taking along to help with setup and take-down and serving and whatnot would be pointless because it is literally everyone's name, so I'm going to have to resort to stickers or something. I dropped $200 at the schmancy olive oil store in Lafayette last Saturday on imported olives (which were the object of the trip in the first place) and little cutesy two-packs of curated olive oil and flavored vinegar pairings in baggies with raffia ribbons, because they were there and seemed like a good idea. Well, they seemed like a good idea, so I called Dad. Dad didn't answer. He got me when I was halfway home. Being the delightfully tractable child I am, I turned my sorry ass around and went back and picked them up.

I know I'm going to get stuck doing tech support at some point. We're running a three hour playlist of Italian music and a couple of family videos off my mom's laptop, which is temperamental at best. I must remember to pack my HDMI cable...

If I'm lucky, I'll get to hide behind organizational tasks all day. If I'm not lucky, I'll resort to hiding under a table. I'm not proud. The most likely outcome is that my mother and I will hide in some corner together for the duration of the festivities, when we aren't hiding behind giant trays of pasta or something similar. And the odds of me getting to skive off early are slim to none. Such is life.

Pray for me, kids. I'll do my best, but it ain't gonna be pretty.