surPRISE!

Last month, I came up with the perfect way to celebrate the cute neighbor's upcoming birthday: throw him a surprise party. As soon as I got the idea, I went full-steam ahead with the plans. I think I might live to regret this.

First, I picked the theme: Neverland. Absolutely perfect. The cute neighbor just won't grow up (seriously, he looks like he's about 22. He's in his mid-30s. And he thinks farting is hilarious, and does it with alarming frequency.) There is also no shortage of costume ideas with Neverland.

I enlisted the help of two good friends of mine who have known the cute neighbor longer than I have and could give me guest list suggestions and could also help out with food (and thus expense). Last week, I sent out the invitations. I've been in a slight state of panic ever since. Here's why:

1. People don't fucking RSVP. Seriously, people, when you get an invitation, and an RSVP is required, please RSVP. Don't wait to see if something "better" shows up (and seriously, what is "better" than a surprise dress-up party featuring Things Wrapped in Bacon and a keg? Nothing, that's what!), if you can make it, say you're going to be there. If you can't, just say no. That's all. Even worse than not responding, is responding "maybe" and saying "I'll try to make it." That really doesn't help at all. I really can't throw a surprise party with a handful of people. Thus the panic.

2. Last night, the cute neighbor suddenly decided he should plan his own birthday outing for Saturday night (the night of the party). I reminded him I was making him dinner (the ruse to get him to my house for the party). He told me I could just do it on Sunday or Monday, closer to his actual birthday. OooooK. This could get tricky. Luckily, I've invited everyone he knows in this city, so everyone he would invite would have already gotten my invitation. I'm just going to tell everyone to play along, then create an emergency to get him to my house at the last minute. Namely, the cat got out, and I need his help to corrale him so my roommate doesn't kill me. It better work.

Between now and Saturday, I have a to-do list a mile long, on top of two jobs and trying to keep everything a secret. I think I might have a mild panic attack before Saturday.