As of lately, Gender Reveal Parties have been all over the internet. If you don’t know what they are, basically they’re parties where everyone gets together to find out what gender a baby will be, usually with a creative revealing. For example, a couple will have a pinata filled with either pink or blue confetti and whatever color comes out reveals if the baby will be a boy or a girl. I know, sort of gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
The thing is, this is sort of a new trend, and it wasn’t around when I was born. I feel cheated. Technically, according to social media, I don’t know what gender I am. Sure, I guess my parents were normal non-attention seeking parents who didn’t have to make an event out of me having a penis, but I still feel cheated. With all that said, am I too old to have a gender reveal party?
I don’t think so. I think I have to throw myself my own gender reveal party. You know what they say, if you want something done right, do it yourself. So, I’ve decided to take it upon myself to throw my own reveal. I’ve been work shopping a couple ideas, and have cut it down to a couple finalists. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far:
Have someone feed me blue or pink food coloring for a week, then whatever color I shit at the party, is my new gender.
These days, every shit I take is a surprise, so this is something I’ve been unknowingly training for since I’ve been on my Four Loko/ Hot Pocket Diet. My entire digestive system is just one big game of Yahtzee at this point. So why not use that for my Gender Reveal party?
I’m given a choice of two unmarked pills, one is a Viagra, the other is birth control. If I choose the Viagra, my gender is male. If I choose the BC, my gender is female.
Sort of a role the dice type situation here. I’ll either be spending the rest of the party with a pitched tent, or sitting on my phone googling the side effects of a male taking birth control. Talk about party drugs. Catch me rolling face on birth control.
I watch an Amy Schumer comedy special. If I don’t laugh, I’m a boy. If I do laugh, I kill myself.
I tried to watch Amy Schumer’s new stand-up special last night, and I literally had to turn it off after the first five minutes. Not to be mean, but I’d rather watch her give child birth than watch her tell another vagina joke. And that’s not because I don’t think girls can be funny. They can (wink wink). She tries to play off crude male bathroom humor, and recreate it from a female perspective, the issue is male comics stopped doing jokes like that in 2005. Congrats, Amy, you’re a less funny version of Dane Cook. Tough to do if you ask me.
So those are my top three for now. This will be the party of the summer, so you don’t want to miss out. E-vites coming out soon. (are E-vite’s still a thing?)