10,000 B.C.

Early traces of cerulean date back to cave paintings from the Old Stone Age. The color depicted stone tools, harpoons, and tears from assistants spilling searing hot Starbucks.

900 A.D.

A young Viking aspiring to be a journalist landed a job inscribing maritime manuals. This was the first documented incident when “cerulean” was used to describe the sea. A million Vikings said they would kill for her job.

1666

When inventing the color wheel, Isaac Newton struggled with the blue-green hue of cerulean. In moments of high stress, he was overheard muttering, “I love my job, I love my job, I love my job.”

1789

Cerulean was synthesized by a Swiss chemist with the nickname the Clacker, dubbed for the sound made when tapping laboratory beakers.

1803

While appointed as First Consul, Napoleon Bonaparte got teased for wearing a hideous cerulean jabot his mom bought at a tragic Casual Corner. It was not his height, but frilly ornamental neckwear that triggered the Napoleon complex.

1901

Pablo Picasso grew fond of this color since his grandmother adored her cerulean Chanel boots. This is why every painting used cerulean during his Blue Period.

1910

Halley’s Comet was visible from Earth and had traces of cerulean in its tail. It was regarded as a bad omen as spectators found themselves losing their phones, getting divorced, or reeking of an onion bagel.

1929

While October 24 denoted the stock market crash and is referred to as “Black Thursday,” October 30 is regarded as “Cerulean Wednesday.” This day is also known as National Corn Chowder Day.

1935

Kodak manufactured its Kodachrome color film, which was praised for its vivid cerulean blues. It became the go-to film for fashion magazines and replenishing it was a common errand for assistants named “Emily.”

1949

As the Red Scare brought anti-communist paranoia, Downtown Manhattan was terrorized by the Cerulean Scare. New Yorkers lived in fear of the impossible tasks hurled at them by a devil wearing Prada.

1956

Elvis Presley released the song “Blue Suede Shoes,” which was an ode to his cerulean orthopedic sneakers. Fashion stylists secretly owned dozens of pairs of these sensible shoes.

1964

In her influential essay “Notes on ‘Cerulean,’” Susan Sontag declared that “the hallmark of Cerulean is the spirit of moving at a glacial pace.”

1972

When redesigning the IBM logo, renowned graphic designer Paul Rand blasted Madonna and commenced a makeover montage. 12-year-old art director Stanley Tucci pontificated that “Big Blue” had no style or sense of fashion. He scoffed at cerulean, claiming it was a “Mediocre Blue.”

1980

Pac-Man was introduced as an arcade game. While the blue ghost is cyan and named “Inky,” it was originally planned to be cerulean and called “Dragon Lady.”

1999

Pantone designated cerulean as its inaugural Color of the Year. Since it was a favorite color among editor-in-chiefs, cerulean was assigned the hex code of #THATSALL.

I know it sounds crazy, but if you check the recreational dog basketball league guidebook, there’s no rule specifically preventing humans from playing.

What makes me even think I can hang with the big dogs? I’m glad you asked. It all started last week when I dropped off Coco at the rec center for practice. As I was leaving, the ball rolled in my direction. I’m not sure what came over me, but instead of rolling it back, I decided to take a shot. And wouldn’t you know… the ball went in.

Trust me, I was just as shocked as everyone else on the court. I thought it might be a fluke, you know, beginner’s luck. Pepper, our starting center, he rolls it back to me and I take another shot. And I make another basket. So, I drop my suitcase, call the boss to tell him to start the meeting without me, and I start hooping with the team.

It’s true, ask anyone—Scout or Luna or Daisy—they’ll all back me up. Well, maybe not Daisy, she was spending most of the scrimmage gnawing at her hot spot.

Now, I’ll admit, I was a bit rusty at first, especially compared to the other players. I mean, those dogs have the benefit of—what is it now—14 or 20 seasons together (in dog-seasons, of course). Their chemistry is unrivaled, but I must say, I was holding my own. By the end of the scrimmage, I felt like I was more basketball-playing-dog than man.

You probably have a lot of questions, like, how exactly can I shoot and dribble if I don’t have a snout. Well, instead of shooting with a snout, I shoot with my hands.

I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Allow me to demonstrate. Watch….

There you go! It’s just that easy. I know it looks a bit silly, but I find this method better suited for my abilities. Yes, I know I need a uniform. I was able to make up this special human basketball jersey. See? Now even you have to admit, I look pretty darn adorable.

No, I just have the one pair of basketball shoes. I was thinking I would play on my feet, instead of on all fours like everyone else. I don’t care how ridiculous I look; I’m willing to do whatever it takes for this team!

Come on ref, we’re desperate. Our starting point guard is out with ringworm, and our small forward got into the chocolate again. I deserve the same treatment as any dog. I’m well-behaved, I listen to commands, I’m housebroken. And my flea problem is almost under control. All I’m asking is you give me a chance, ref. I know I can do it. I mean, it’s not like I’m trying to play dog lacrosse. That’d just be nuts.

We are looking forward to your presence at the 2026 Met Gala.

A few housekeeping items from our coat check staff before the big night:

– ONE hat per person—five chic Homburgs stylishly stacked on top of each other do NOT count as one.

– Non-fabric items may be checked, but on a BYOT basis (bring your own trash bag—we’re still finding sand back here).

– This year, we will be enacting a size requirement. A yassified airport-style sizer will be provided to ensure items are within the 50” by 200” by 20” limit. Please consolidate your 10-foot-long fur-lined cape beforehand.

– We do not accept tips in crypto.

– Sopping wet accessories are not permitted and will be confiscated and hung to dry outside the building.

– Personal assistants and backup dancers are no longer allowed to be checked following last year’s coat hanger incident.

– Our attendants cannot zip, fasten, lace, or otherwise adjust an outfit at the risk of legal liability. They make $19/hour and cannot afford representation, should damage occur.

– Charging stations for electronic gowns are not available—please ensure your outfits have a full battery BEFORE exiting your Cadillac Escalade.

– Our staff mini fridge is reserved for onion and garlic-free staff meals and guest insulin. No temperature-dependent accessories may be stored inside.

– Live insects, fungi, animals, and general fauna must be boxed, bagged, or kennelled before being checked. (Exceptions will be made for animals that are already dead.)

– If two guests appear at the coat check in the same outfit, the looks will be judged by our staff, and the lesser execution will be donated to one of our unpaid FIT interns.

– Tide sticks are available for $10, and for $100 to those guests who chose to wear all white.

– If you lose your ticket, Katz’s Deli rules apply: you will be charged the monetary equivalent of six pastrami sandwiches.

– If you wear a plain tuxedo, management reserves the right to burn any checked items. (Exceptions will be made for Kristen Stewart, Fran Lebowitz, and Janelle Monae.)

– You are expected not to look directly in the eyes of any celebrity more famous than you. Please ask an attendant if you are unsure whether you are more famous (you are not).

– Do NOT mention Meryl Streep. You will be asked to leave.

Like many of you at this fine pine table, I am working. Just like the guy who asked me once to watch his stuff while he ran to the can, and now assumes I’ll look out for his computer and personal belongings every five minutes when he gets up to take a call. He’s “working” as a vibing out-of-work tech bro. Me? I am from a different breed of worker. I am a writer.

I am sure several of you are also writers. You get it. Writing is a solitary act, even in the hustle of a café. When I sit down at our table with my pot of black tea and excessive sugar packs, throw my headphones on to drown you people out, and perch my fingertips upon the keyboard, I am in the zone, feeding off the juicy energy emitting from all of you busy bees. Hopefully, it’s reciprocal, and I’m pulsing some of that sweet, efficient vigor back in your direction. You’re welcome.

So, what’s with the dramatic gesturing and self-talk? It’s not you, it’s me. I’m working on my novel and have come to realize, after I glimpsed my spirited reflection in the window, that I go full Method acting when it comes to crafting my characters. As I write them, I become them, embody them.

My protagonist is narcoleptic, so when I am letting my head drop dangerously close to you and that chai latte you’re holding, I am not actually falling asleep, but rather trying to get inside both the physical and psychological experience of crashing out on a stranger’s shoulder. In my mind and body (note the fluttering eyelids and slouched torso), I am not sitting among you, while you do whatever it is you are doing; instead, I’m seconds from launching into a surrealistic dream-filled sleep on a Manhattan-bound L train in New York City circa 2002. Did you see how my head popped up so quickly as I returned to my writerly state and really went for it on the keyboard? That’s Method! Pure inspo.

Remember when I gagged like five times in a row, and three of you couldn’t help but stare in my direction? I wasn’t actually choking, though. Thanks to no one for coming to my rescue. My protagonist is touch-phobic due to a rather unfortunate event in her childhood involving a certain mammal who likes to roll around in the mud. Pardon the mystery, but hopefully, you are intrigued! The gagging on repeat was my attempt to get into my character’s head. My apologies if you mistook the excessive heaving as an emergency (clearly you didn’t) or my general disgust with someone at our table. On the contrary, I am quite content sitting here with all of you.

I should mention that I’m married. At this point in my novel, my touch-phobic protagonist is hosting a cuddle party (hello, rising action) at her apartment to make some fast cash. Think platonic orgy. So, when I’m caressing my neck, tousling my hair, and purring ever so slightly, I’m not coming on to any of you. I repeat, I’m not coming on to you. Sorry for the sexy vibes, especially you with the Dell laptop at the end, who keeps giving me the wink. And, no, I’m not about to go all When Harry Met Sally coffee shop scene on our table. In my realm, I’m actually two people; I’m two bodies entangled in the classic “koala in a tree” cuddle position. We’re stroking and hugging each other, letting those feel-good hormones kick into overdrive. Disregard my moans.

Thanks to the Method, it’s like the book is writing itself. I probably need to give you a heads up. I’m about to write a scene where I actually puke behind a pillow. I mean, not me, but my protagonist blows chunks. Since I’m so Method right now, my mind is swirling with some pretty disgusting thoughts. You know when you’ve seen someone throw up in front of you, and then you start to feel the spit pooling in the bottom of your mouth, and your stomach caves in on itself? I’m truly sorry, but I’m going all Daniel Day-Lewis on this one. For those in proximity, I would consider clearing your things or anything of value. Apologies, but it’s all for the craft!

Thanks so much, tablemates, for the support. Now scram, unless you want bile on your bag.

I am writing this letter on behalf of the Legion of the Undead Scourge to lodge a formal complaint towards Xarkaz the Vile. In the examples provided below, you will find a persistent pattern of behavior which engenders a toxic and unproductive work environment, and which betrays the prestigious office of Chief Necromancer.

Monday, January 12th

During training drills atop Mount Despair, Xarkaz reprimanded us, his loyal skeleton horde, for lacking a sufficiently menacing glow in our empty eye sockets. Specifically, he referred to their color as “rage red” as opposed to “wrath red.” This comes after previous instructions were made to adopt “rampage red.” Of course, to any outside observer, the radiance from our skulls is not only sufficiently craven, its crimson tint is one of elegance and professionalism. What’s more, our eye hue has remained unchanged since Xarkaz’s appointment last spring, and he has yet to comment on it once since then. So why, we ask, must he suddenly take issue with it, especially considering not one of the victims of our evil marauding campaigns has lodged a single complaint over it?

Wednesday, February 11th

While preparing for a raid, Xarkaz made belittling comments about the resonance of a particular individual’s rattling sounds: “The femur and tibia are supposed to go click-clack, not clack-click. Don’t let it happen again!” When asked for clarification, Xarkax flew into a rage, accusing the company’s bones of grinding rather than groaning, scraping instead of grating, and squeaking when they should be creaking. He went on to imply our enemies would succumb to being “annoyed to death” at the sound of our approach. Not only is such a statement untrue and offensive, it also undermines the numerous occasions in which our enemies in fact soiled their britches upon hearing us advance, an achievement we skeletons are most proud of.

Tuesday, February 24th

Upon arriving outside the royal castle to begin our siege, Xarkaz allowed the Troll Division access to a nicer campground, despite the skeletons claiming it first.

Sunday, March 1st

Xarkax denied us our pre-scheduled lunch break, citing breaching the castle walls as the main priority. First of all, just because we do not have the biological need to eat does not mean we do not appreciate an allotted time to socialize. Secondly, at the time Xarkaz made this ruling, the castle wall was hours away from actually being breached. The trolls had only just begun to bridge the moat, at which point the battering ram would need to be loaded, transported, and secured in place. Only then are the skeletons of any use tactically. Finally, and most important of all, Xarkaz using his authority to cancel our lunch hour is a blatant abuse of power, one which is both grossly inconsiderate and undignified regardless of any circumstances.

Thursday, March 12th

Following a successful overthrow of the castle keep, Xarkaz made demeaning and derogatory comments regarding certain individuals’ performance in battle. These comments were not only an overstep of appropriate workplace relations, they also diminished the hard work put forth by everyone to make such victories possible. Specifically, Xarkaz referred to one skeleton’s flanking technique as “bone-headed” while claiming another has “Ray Harryhausen type moves. Bro fights at 24fps for real lol.” Ordinarily, we pride ourselves on our affinity for casual camaraderie and wholesome banter. These comments, however, were deliberate attempts at ridicule and mockery.

Monday, March 16th

Xarkax forbade us from plundering the castle’s armory for superior weapons, shields, and armor. When some of the horde tried looting the weapons of our slain enemies, we were again dissuaded from doing so. According to Xarkaz, replacing our gear should only be done in the most extreme circumstances, as the age and dilapidation of our current supplies enhances our fear factor, while simultaneously increasing infection rates among wounded enemies. While this practice may be common among undead forces, it is by no means policy. Furthermore, Xarkaz refused to account for the individual needs of each skeleton, opting instead for a blanket ban on all war plunder. As a result, some members of our legion have been left with brittle swords and splintered shields, in addition to our already subpar armor options. This has led to both a decrease in morale, as well as workplace safety. Again, we fully embrace an aesthetically appropriate amount of rust when needed, but it is worth remembering that many of us were resurrected straight from the Ancient Blood Plains of Distant Yore; outdated equipment is outdated equipment, plain and simple.

Friday, April 3rd

Xarkaz told a skeleton his smile was “offputting.” This was particularly upsetting, as said skeleton had a history of being told that in life.

In conclusion, we, the Legion of the Undead Scourge, no longer believe a productive working relationship to be possible while Xarkaz the Vile continues to serve as Chief Necromancer. Going forward, we trust the Department of Inhuman Resources to take action in recognizing our needs, accounting for harm done, and ensuring a positive and safe work environment for all skeletons.

Think what you will about our status as neither single nor married, but one could say that not obligating you to attend a wedding was the greatest gift we could have given you. The greatest gift you can give us is a chance to get a uniform sear on our mixed vegetable stir fry.

Cotton Terry Bath Towels

Because we’ve never blown off friends, family, and world affairs for thirteen consecutive months to immerse ourselves in throwing a massive party in our own honor. Because no one has had to book an expensive room at a mid-level hotel to celebrate our love. And because, as such, no one unable to attend was then haplessly on the hook to send us things simply because we invited them—we’d enjoy some soft towels.

Stainless Steel Trash Can with Step-to-Open, Quiet-Shut Lid

We have no photos of ourselves looking thirty times more glamorous than we ever had before, or will again. Neither of us has required a single one of our friends to purchase or wear garments in colors outside of their seasonal palette to suit our “Winter Wonderland” theme. Not one of you has had to pelt us with birdseed to send us off, pockets stuffed with cash and checks, on a week-long Belizean sexfest. We’ll settle for a fancy waste receptacle.

7-Quart Tilt-Head Stand Mixer

We’ve been forced to choose between referring to each other as boyfriend and girlfriend, and sounding like we’re forever playing kickball at recess—or partners, which leaves people wondering if we’re starting a law firm, acquiring real estate professionally, or throwing ourselves into competitive ballroom dancing. We’ve followed the dialogue of over three hundred movies over the din of each others’ snack-induced mouth noises. We’ve continued to field quarterly questions from grandparents about our plans to continue offending God via sinful cohabitation. We’ve listened to each other recount an in-depth analysis of the previous night’s sleep quality over four thousand and seventeen times (and counting), and yet receive no tax benefits. And since our relationship—unregulated and unrewarded by state law—has outlasted both of our parents’ “legitimate” unions, we believe we’ve proven ourselves ready to tackle sourdough.

Vintage Mid-Century Modern Crystal Spirit Decanter with Teardrop Stopper

Having stayed together despite zero legal or contractual obligations to do so, we’d like to imagine ourselves decanting a spirit, but never doing so, as often and stylishly as our married friends.

12-Piece Ceramic Glazed Dinnerware Set in Turquoise Panic

We’ve adopted and co-parented two now middle-aged domestic shorthair cats, one of whom required a full seven months of team-training to tolerate their asthma inhaler. We managed to compromise on names that we both like and that suit each pet’s unique personality. We cherish Olive and Clover enough to use our own plates to feed them but would enjoy some unchipped, matching (human-only) dishes from which to eat nachos while we rewatch Gossip Girl.

Quasi-Professional Espresso Maker

If either of us is hit by a car tomorrow, the other will not automatically be granted the right to make important medical decisions for them. And certainly not if a certain mother-not-in-law-equivalent has anything to say about it. A shining coffee-making mechanism doesn’t change that, but we like making coffee for each other and this would complement the “minimal” kitchen we’ve decorated in a manner that neither offends nor delights either of us.

Cash

It makes perfect sense for what I do. I’m a therapist. A family therapist. I see clients in person once or twice a week. Divorce, death, grief, life transitions, mental health, trauma—I cover it all.

Historically, people have had all kinds of breakthroughs while staring at water pooling around their ankles. According to legend, the shower is where W. Thomas Engleberry III had his Promethean idea for his invention that would change the world: packing peanuts. According to Hal Shapiro’s biography, 1599: A Year in the Life of Tommy Engleberry III: “The idea just arrived. Kinda like the shipments my packing peanuts will safely protect.”

The shower is actually the perfect setup for my sessions.

With the door locked, there’s privacy. My kids know that when they hear the water running, Daddy is seeing patients. And probably talking about abuse and trauma. And nothing says “you’re in a safe space” like warm water, the hum of the exhaust fan, and my decrepit bottles of Selsun Blue Medicated Maximum Strength Anti-Dandruff Shampoo.

We’ve had some real breakthroughs lately. “You’re not actually fighting about sex,” I told H and T, a troubled married couple in their 30s who come to my shower twice a week. “You’re fighting about power dynamics.”

Both nodded.

“Also, H, you’re hogging all the water again. We talked about this.”

To a man with unresolved grief over his father’s death 10 years ago, I asked, “What did your father represent to you? What part still feels unfinished?” When he started opening up, I had to stop him: “Before you go any further, I’d like to ask you to do one thing: Can you pick my diploma frame off the floor? Sorry about the suction cup fail.”

One thing I wasn’t prepared for was patients relieving themselves in my workspace. I don’t mean emotionally. I mean biologically. I mean urinating. Even in a place where there are no judgements, I totally judge. The sound of running water is not an invitation for you to urinate, Mitchell (real name changed).

And it’s certainly easier to speak with clients about intimacy when we’re in a space that’s only 60 inches by 30 inches.

I peeped the Yelp reviews recently. One caught my eye:

★★★★ Actually listened and didn’t attempt to put labels on things that were already diagnosed. And the vanilla & sandalwood dissolving tablet steamer was restorative as hell.

Things are going so well that I’m contemplating adding a second showerhead. And scaling up. I already have my kids’ bathroom bookable on Zocdoc. It opens up as soon as Connor finishes pooping, give or take.

The HOA does not approve of my new workspace, which is weird because they didn’t say jack when, during pandemic, my wife moved her workspace into the garage. She’s a surgeon.

Secondly, is your courtyard cobbled? I only ask because Mabel (since died in childbirth) had the most dreadful time getting her crinolines caught in the spokes and she swears it was the cobbles. Though she did say that a penny farthing cobble ride does marvels for the hysteria.

How big are your barrels of whey? Are they quite watertight? We’ve had some dreadful accidents with our barrels over the years. Though I must say, having 55 gallons of whey drop onto one’s head from an overhead press position gives one the most shiny and impeccable Drooping Pompadour the next day.

What is your largest barrel of whey? Maude and I curl a full imperial gallon in each hand but are looking to work our way up to hogshead each. Will this be possible? We will only need one really since Maude has now also died in childbirth.

What type of mud pits do you provide for the pig wrestling? I have a preference for clay pits but Edie says she rather prefers gravel because the grit helps dislodge her smallpox scabs and means she saves ha’penny on the triannual bath she no longer needs to take.

Our current gymnasium offers a very great selection of husband rasps for the effective removal and disguisement of our callouses, so as to conceal our immense strength and capability from the delicate minds of our husbands. What grain increments do you offer for your husband rasp selection? My left palm currently requires a coarse #2 rasp, and my forehead a much finer #15.

It is of note that the greater my incredible strength grows, the coarser my forehead rasping requirements will become. Every time my husband catches me lifting the axle of our haywagon I am forced to feign a swoon, and am no longer able to delicately place the back of my hand to my forehead (again, due to my immense size and strength), and am now developing impact callousing on my forehead as a result. I have tried Dr. Barnabus’s Lead & Arsenic Liniment for Beautification of the Discerning Lady, but find it leaves me with even more of a headache than physically rasping my skull with a metal tooth file.

What is the schedule for the weekly emptying of the communal slop bucket—do we each take turns? Is the leaking vat of human effluence buried in a pit somewhere in the gymnasium grounds or emptied five paces away from the entrance to the gym directly into the drinking well, as is done here in London? I only ask because Ada (since died of cholera) had the most splendid idea of incorporating the slop-hole digging into our workout regime; spade work is simply a miracle for the latissimus dorsi.

Finally, I note in your advertisement you describe your monthly membership fee of £20 as “very reasonable.” However, as a milkmaid, it will take me 19 months of full time employment to earn this sum. Please advise.

Son, as much as we’ve enjoyed being your parents, we all need to face the reality that there’s only one way to survive in this economy: being an AI company. That’s why, effective immediately, we’re shifting from the parenting sector to strategic AI infrastructure investments.

We’re proud of the work we’ve done in Parenting You. Seeding the business was a genuine pleasure, and, after months of development in our in-house incubator, your birth marked a crucial innovation in our domestic field. As with any new venture, the initial phases involved a lot of unexpected hiccups, but by the toddler unit of our collaboration, we had unlocked unparalleled levels of disruption.

Our initial angel investors, Nana, Pop-pop, Meemaw, and the other Pop-pop, expressed satisfaction with their early returns. We invested in brand awareness and marketing, with a targeted social media campaign promoting your milestones and annual mailers featuring several cute photos. By the sixth year of our venture, we were ready for an Initial Public School Offering, pulling back on our strategic daycare investment just as our valuation was at its peak.

However, market conditions changed. Nana, Pop-pop, Meemaw, and Pop-pop 2-but-we-pretend-he’s-the-primary-Pop-pop continued as shareholders, but they became less active as they turned to other interests, like gardening, attending physical therapy for a cascade of joint replacements, and crocheting blankets for their newer and more exciting grandkids. Furthermore, once you’d learned to read fluently, there simply were fewer innovations you brought to the being a child market. While we initially showed promise in the youth soccer enterprise, our immediate competitors Theo and Dashiell proved better positioned in a crowded field, and you only made the B team in travel (which, incidentally, requires the same capital outlays). Most importantly, “trying again” followed by several rounds of costly but ineffective IVF proved that even the successes we experienced with Parenting You were not scalable.

In short, Parenting You really plateaued during the elementary school segment. As our market cap slipped, the company no longer saw growth potential.

Ultimately, we realized that what mattered most wasn’t the industry itself, but the mission that brought us to Parenting You in the first place: to develop a portfolio of market-ready deliverables to the public.

That’s how we settled on AI. It’s the best way to improve our capital valuation, because it’s currently the only industry in the entire economy.

Parenting You has left us with many core competencies that translate perfectly in the AI sphere. First, we are already excellent prompt engineers, having observed that prompting you to “put on your shoes” was less results-oriented than “Let’s start a timer to see if you can put on your shoes faster than yesterday!” We’ve frequently had to verify your unrealistic-sounding claims and demand you reveal who told you that. We’ve also had to be careful not to admit you’re a monster before asking someone (Meemaw, for example) to take you—although, like most AI CEOs, we’ve sometimes botched that one.

To mark this transition, please immediately start calling us by our new names, NextMomAI and DadBoost Robotics.

While we will maintain majority shareholder oversight of the Parenting You venture, we’ll be turning most day-to-day operations over to our new strategic subsidiary, Mandy, more familiar to you as the teenager who lives across the street, who will babysit before and after school and on weekends.

Even though we’re moving on from Parenting You, we still want you to thrive. That’s why Mandy will guide you through the process of restructuring your assets from Childhood to becoming a small-cap AI company all your own.

The host of Gina’s 33rd Birthday Celebration Potluck sent out a Text Blast:

10 A.M.
Hey party people! So excited to see you tonight. Please comment with the item you’re bringing so we don’t get any doubles. Also comment with any dietary restrictions.

12 P.M.
Hey all, I noticed a few of you just commented “tree nuts.” Please specify whether the item is your dish or your allergy. We wouldn’t want anyone to get confused : )

4:32 P.M.
Hi!! I know it’s last second but I thought it would be really fun if the party had a theme so I picked “90s Prom.” Please show up in your best semi-formal attire! See you soon!

The host changed the event name to “Gina’s 33rd Birthday Celebration/90s Prom Themed Potluck.”

7:45 P.M.
A few of you offered to grab any last minute items so if anyone could bring forks or a balloon arch on their way over I would be sooo appreciative!

8:01 P.M.
Guys I’m so sorry but I need to push the party to 8:30pm, I got locked out and my roommate isn’t responding to my texts (classic Haley!). Hopefully she’ll hear me knocking on the door soon.

8:32 P.M.
Haley if you can see this please respond!!

9:01 P.M.
Dave, are you still dating that locksmith? You should invite him!

Dave Chambers commented: no we broke up : (

Gina Taylor: wow your timing SUCKS

The host of Gina’s 33rd Birthday Celebration/90s Prom Themed Potluck changed the party location to “Roof.”

9:17 P.M.
Good news bad news! I still can’t get into my apartment BUT I was able to sneak onto the roof. My landlord doesn’t like it when we go up here since the door automatically locks behind you and the only way to leave is an extremely rickety fire escape but who cares what that party pooper thinks!

9:19 P.M.
Bring umbrellas! It just started raining!

9:45 P.M.
Dave is here AND he brought a balloon arch! It doesn’t match my prom dress though so I’m sending him back out.

9:49 P.M.
Actually the door locked behind us so we’re trapped on the roof in the rain with only tree nuts to eat and a subpar balloon arch so it would be really cool if someone else came to let us out!!!

10:03 P.M.
Hey, does anyone have an EpiPen?

The host of Gina’s 33rd Birthday Celebration/90s Prom Themed Potluck changed the party location to “New York Presbyterian Brooklyn Emergency Unit.”

11:52 P.M.
Sorry guys! Turns out Dave is allergic to tree nuts despite bringing them to the party and willingly consuming them (people pleasers amirite?)

2:07 A.M.
After three bags of IV fluid, passing out, and having a life altering conversation with his dead grandma Dave is ok! We’re going to grab sandwiches at the hospital cafeteria in case anyone’s hungry!

3:30 A.M.
Listen, I’ve been thinking about it and I’m kind of hurt that no one except Dave showed up. I get that he’s been trying to recruit me into Scientology for weeks and really needs a win but I still think the rest of you could learn a little something about consistency.

3:32 A.M.
I just wanted you to know I’ve come out of this experience a stronger woman than I was before.

Haley Roth commented: Sorry girl I’m out of town! Isn’t your bday next Friday though?

Gina Taylor commented: OMG wait you’re right! See you all next week!

You have RSVP’d “Not Going.”

You have blocked Gina Taylor on Partiful.