Thank our girl Blanche for this one folks. Early in February, Blanche received a tacky save-the-date email from two betrothed friends. At the end of March, she received this email from the couple:
Hi Everybody!
We have decided to cut back the scope of our wedding and are now planning an alternative ceremony with immediate family and will be canceling the July 19 ceremony.
What started as a desire to throw a simple party for friends and family quickly grew into something neither of us wanted and no longer represented the evening we had in mind. Thank you for all your love and support! We love all of you, it’s just really expensive to feed you :)
With love,
(names withheld to protect the guilty)
Where to begin with this? G-SUS. Yeah, let it wash over you. Rub it in your skin. The pair has the audacity to disinvite guests whom they’ve already asked to save-the-date. To add another layer of grime to the email, they dangle the morsel that they will still be having a festive little clan gathering, you just don’t warrant an inner-circle invite. If that weren’t enough, the reason you can’t come is because you eat too much. Well fuck you too then. And don’t expect a gift either. 
Loyal and lovely reader Leah Love wrote me with a request for a Demeter Clarc Manners Moment on RSVP etiquette. Thanks so much for reading and writing to me Leah. I really appreciate your kind words and support. Here is an excerpt of LL’s letter.
Let’s be honest about the politics of the RSVP. It goes without saying that anything involving a written, posted invitation requires a response. Wedding invitations and baby showers, replies are 100% required for events of this nature. 
Proper etiquette gets murkier the more casual the gathering. This is a shitty thing to admit, but sometimes folks wait to reply hoping a better social opportunity comes along. Only the cruel and honest truth delivered here at 
As the host, you absolutely must make your expectations clear. If you want an RSVP, you must unequivocally state in the invitation that you expect the courtesy of an RSVP and when you expect it. If it is really important, add a “bitches” to the end. RSVP bitches, or better yet “Don’t make me hunt down your RSVP you rude-ass bitches.” See why I don’t throw many parties?
I want to propose a different angle that you may not want to hear Leah, and please know I say this with Love. Consider letting go of the need to know how many people will arrive. Regardless of the number of confirmed RSVPs, guest attendance always fluctuates at the last minute. Hosting a sit down dinner? Fine, be rigid about a response. Casual cocktails? Why not just see who shows up? I seriously doubt you have ever really run out of food or drink. Reflect upon whether this is more about wanting to maintain control or about an irrational anxiety that no one will show up to your party. Not to worry, of course they will come, because you are obviously social lava. A relaxed host is a happy host. Focus on your fun. 
Stella turned three and celebrated with a Hello Kitty-themed bonanza on this penultimate episode of the season. Who is eating all this cake? Seriously, that’s enough cake for 300 people. 
Super mellow as usual, Stella enjoyed rubbing elbows with the offspring of Hollywood’s C-minus-list mom cartel which includes Ali Landry and Denise Richards. 
Dean diddled in the liquid nitrogen. Candy’s bodyguards brought Tori’s old dollhouse in for Stella. 
Dean booked an appearance in Toronto - something having to do with honoring Dads. Marvel at our short collective memories. Not long ago this guy deserted his family to run off with Tori, now he’s leading fatherhood rallies? 
Later the whole family took a trip to the top of the CN Tower and Liam got busy licking the glass floor.
Next week for the big finale, Tori gives birth to Hattie. So if this reality show is any indication of actual reality (which of course it isn’t), then basically all the McDermotts did from Tori’s first trimester to her last is throw parties. Somebody has a party planning book to promote. Jeesh. 
So no matter what happens this weekend, we are absolutely forbidden from partaking in the following behaviors.
Drinking and Driving
Dudes, enough with the argyle sweaters. Every holiday party lately looks like an argyle explosion. Blame the Banana Republic clearance rack. A perfectly-tailored suit is always a nice choice. Werk a bow tie to catch ‘em by surprise. Steam or iron — wrinkles ain’t cute at a formal function ya’ll.
Ladies, many of you will gravitate towards some variation on the ubiquitous sparkle. I’m not placing an outright fatwa on sparkle because when used appropriately it can be a powerful way to amp an ensemble. However, keep in mind shine accentuates. If your body ain’t right, a full sequined look will not only add bulk, but draw attention to every lump. Use sparkle sparingly.
Select a look that errs on the side of classic and conservative. Think Betty Draper not JWoww. If a fleeting thought enters your head that your dress is too short, your cleavage too deep, or your pants too tight, honor that voice, and for the love of Jesus on his birthday change your fucking clothes. Better to dress comfortably and appropriately than look like you suffer from the worst faux pas of all – poor judgment. 
Also, I’m sick of this pretty princess curling iron shit. Try a new ‘do this year. This look is so over.
This week on “Tori Spelling’s New Career,” Tori fancied herself a professional party planner. Apparently, publisher Simon & Schuster’s got a rock hard boner for Tori’s party planning book. She beckoned her homoservant James to pull together three fake photoshoot parties for the book, and assigned Dean to organize an actual Ghostbusters-themed 4th birthday for Liam.
The subplot this week centered on hiding Tori’s first trimester pregnancy from the outer circle. Intel on Spelling’s womb is apparently so sought after she cannot murmur a word to anyone for fear that her secret would be splashed across the pages of US Weekly without a payday. While she claimed to want to keep the news on lock, her persistence in wearing unnecessarily indicating maternity garb made it seem as though she was both encouraging and enjoying the speculation.
The true Tori emerged on set during the photoshoot for her party planning book “Celebratori” (vomit). Someone staged a shot that Tori didn’t care for, and she turned on her best Beverly Hills bitchery to remind the photographer that Mz. Spelling prefers to serve her sparkling water in a pitcher, not a milk jug.
The staged spa party was as clichéd and tired as you can imagine. The idea was an inexpensive DIY spa night, but between the flowers, booze, beauty products, and baked goods, it would be cheaper to go to the spa.
The second fake party was themed “game night.” Yeah, I know, she’s a ground-breaking party-planning genius. Why hasn’t someone given this girl a book deal?
While shooting the ultra-pivotal dessert table, both the sweets and Tori began to melt in the southern California sun. She and James bickered over details and mistakes. The argument escalated to a full on cake debate and concluded with James storming off in a puff huff.
The next day James and Tori kicked around sand and made easy amends in the desert. They exchanged apologies over losing their patience the day prior. Then they set to work on staging a fun but unrealistic “old west party” which culminated in a marshmallow roast.
While Tori shot the book, Dean planned Liam’s Ghostbusters party. Of all the parties, Dean’s party for Liam was actually the most creative. He handmade Proton Packs that shot Silly String, and he constructed and painted a haunted house for the kids to enjoy. Where’s Dean’s party planning book?
After fussing to the photographer over whether she looked preggers in the photos, Tori divulged to her mother the news of their expanding family. Candy looked surprised, but painted on her best happy face. Tori looked satisfied by her response and the two shared a rarely seen tender mother-daughter moment.
Tori wrapped the book shoot with a 70′s Caftan Party complete with fondue. They shot in a house that looked a lot like Aniston’s recently sold overpriced shag pad. Post-shoot, Tori gathered the gang for a toast and shared the news about the latest McDermott. The next morning the parents informed Liam and Stella that soon a new sibling would join them as two of Hollywood’s most exploited children. Mazels all around.
For some of you skanks this advice comes too late, but for those who can make it through the first couple weeks of school without hopping into bed with a stranger, let me compliment your self-control. A flurry of upheaval and excitement accompany the first few weeks of the semester. It is easy to get swept up in the fervor and make regrettable decisions. 
Maintain a bit of mystery. Consider a 90 day moratorium on casual sex during the first three months of school. Let the insecure desperadoes jump at the first offers. Watch all the messiness unfold. See who is who and what is what before you take your pants off. Get too slutty too quickly and risk reputational damage and Facebook-style humiliation that could haunt you for years. 
Don’t rationalize bad behavior with over-partying. We don’t accept such fuckery here at Demeter Clarc. Keep it classy this fall and take your pick of worthy muffins by Thanksgiving.
This past weekend I was reminded just how much I hate buffets. The worst is when you have to balance a plate, utensils, and fill your dish without dropping anything. What is more unappetizing than industrial-sized containers of food that bunches of other people have breathed over? Buffets feel so dirty and contaminated. 
Messy motherfuckers (like me) leave a nasty trail from serving dish to plate. Others pile everything on their plate like they are hording for the apocalypse. 
And let’s be honest, buffet food is never that tasty or adequately hot or cold. To make a bad situation worse, after completing the undignified process of lining up and scooping your own dinner, look forward to navigating the humiliation-rich minefield of obstacles standing between you and an empty seat. Don’t forget your drink, buffet bitches.
