Over pancakes yesterday morning, my friend Abby said that she was putting so-and-so on her shit list, which got me to thinking about how I don't have one of those but it seems really fun as a concept, like you've got this little notepad and you jot people down when they cross you, and of course you don't publicize your criteria, because you want to keep the mystery alive that at any moment anyone you know or encounter could be next. Very menacing. Very not me - so of course I've decided I need one.
Regular readers will know that a certain fellow in Mumbai is currently perilously close to being on such a list if he doesn't watch it, but...well, I just can't stay mad at him, really, those eyes and all, and anyway, to forgive, divine, so I should offer him a chance to redeem himself. So here it is: drop whatever you're doing and go, right this minute, and reserve the awesome giant mirrored bar/lounge from Shaan for our fake-pretend wedding.
Because I cannot think of a better setting for the best party I'll ever throw in my life than that room. End of story. If it's fallen into disrepair since its 1980 heyday, bust out the elbow grease. If it's still just as fantastic as ever but is in a less than desirable neighborhood, call in Salman to drive around until he scares off all the derelicts. If it was a set, dig up the loonytoon who designed it and put him to work.
So I've already started sketching out ideas - I'm taking my inspiration from the room itself - think disco ball turned inside-out. As every good American woman knows, part of the fun of a big wedding is fugging out your girlfriends. So, Totally Basmatic, Maja, Babasko, Bollyhoo, t-hype, Carla, Filmiholic, Chronicus Skepticus, and Azuregoddess, you get to wear these little numbers - I know, really cute in a flapper-y way, right? you can totally wear them again -
and dance with wimpy sparkly pompoms on the light-up floor.
But don't worry, there are lots of ringside seats for FPMSOs, so all that rump-shaking you're going to do won't go unnoticed - nudge nudge, wink wink.
For the fellas, I'm sorry, I don't quite have your outfits picked out yet, but I'm thinking a trouser in purple pleather topped with pec-exposing silver shrugs. AoM, Teleport City, Michael - hit the gym. Nothing against you personally, but Hrithik and Sanjay will be there, and I wouldn't want you to feel self-conscoius. Plus it's bound to be page 3, and you don't want Manisha to see the photos with you looking anything less than your very most pumped, na?
Now, since it's my special day, and it's Bollywood-themed, there's going to be a lot of opportunities for musical numbers. All the big names will be there, so you can just mosey up and ask the artist(s) in person for your favorites, and they'll be delighted to stand in the background while you romp around and mouth the words.
I know some of you are worried about this maybe veering towards the tacky, but believe me, it is going to be first class, one hundred percent - with me in a white dress and centerpieces with tapers and everything!
Even Amitabh will be there, adding some establishment gravitas. He'll probalby get a little paternal, making sure that I behave myself and don't do anything to embarass his old buddy Vinod - and people will have been whispering for months that I'm bound to do something inappropriate, since I'm not accustomed to industry galas, and clearly I had an unconvential upbringing - but I'll be too busy to notice, as I sweep around the room to "Chale Jaise Hawein" and greet the glitterati. You girls will stop me before I get too crazy, right, like if I spend a little too much time locked in eye contact with the unescorted Mr. Kiran Rao? And Aspi, can I trust you to talk me up to Vinod? Preferably before "Jaan Pehechaan Ho" comes on, 'cause no good ever comes of "Jaan Pehechaan Ho" + rum.
This in-the-indeterminate-future fake-pretend party's going to town.