Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Today is my Birthday, so my Booze Committed Suicide.

This year's birthday is the last one before a significant one (I'm not trying to be coy about my age, I'm just not sure it's prudent to give up my birth date online, especially in light of next week's "this is my social security number" post).  Yesterday a friend asked me if there was anything I wanted to get done this year.  You know, before the big ??.  This question is strange to me.  What happens next year?  Is it like a reverse height limit at an amusement park?  "You must be under this age to dance on a table in a bar on the Sunset strip."  "All those wishing to ride out the sunroof of a limo while screaming 'You're hot!' to passerby, must be younger than this line."  What can I do this year that I can't do next year?

I'm just not willing to let preconceived notions of what is youthful or cool, be dictated to me arbitrary parameters.  For example: the minivan.


Recently, while at a birthday party at a children's museum, my car was broken into and my wallet was stolen.  Feel free to keep your lectures about leaving wallets in cars to yourself.  I remembered my phone so there weren't anymore Nelson-incidents this year, didn't I?  Now while my car is in the shop, I've been tooling around in a red Town & Country minivan which The Kid has named Ruby the Rental.  And, I freely admit, it's awesome.  I'm not sure I'll do greater homage to the minivan than Mommy Man did here, but I'll try.  For one thing, you can squeeze into tiny parking spaces because you don't need room to open doors - they slide back like some futuristic awesome spaceship.  Sure the people you've parked next to probably can't get into their cars, but you can't make all the people happy all the time.  For another thing, the driver and passenger share a cumulative six cup holders.  That means there's room for my coffee, and the two cups of coffee I've left in there from previous mornings, plus my chapstick and The Kid's half eaten banana, with room to spare!  I won't dote on the fact that getting kids in and out along with things like strollers, and beach bags, and giant over-sized pizzas, is a breeze because the entire car is built at mom-height.  But I must tell you about the divine-ness of a DVD player that keeps children quiet while stuck in hour two of a traffic jam on the 405.  There is something so sweet about looking into the sports car of a single man with the license plate "sex mchn" who is about ready to blow his top at the bumper-to-bumper pile up while I'm signing along to Kiss da Girl in my best Calypso-voice and sucking on an iced latte being kept cold by my 10 air conditioning vents.

Proof this guy really exists.  We were like the before and after of cars on the freeway.
With all this awesomeness driving me around I couldn't help but profess a little minivan love to The Husband, who immediately scoffed at my domesticated and antiquated nature (I am a full month older than him he likes to point out at almost every opportunity).  I went so far as to even suggest a new (used) minivan would make a good birthday present.  I did not care that driving a minivan was a sign to the outside world that I'd hung up the towel on my youth.  I could still rock pleather pants at a midnight showing of Rocky Horror even if I drove a minivan - hell, I could drive all my friends to the show with me.  I knew the new cool was comfort, and I was ready to embrace it!

This was my battle cry as I backed Ruby out of my driveway (something that requires a 16 point turn due to its size) and headed to the pediatrician for the kids' annual physicals.  What I returned to, however, was a wake up call.


All of my booze had committed suicide.

Due to recent real estate adventures we had stored our alcohol in the garage so prospective buyers didn't confuse our quaint and cozy family home with the set of Shameless.  This, coupled with my increasing age and new found love of all things function over form, proved to be too much for my old friends to handle.  Using some force of nature I am not familiar with (I'm not a scientist, damn it) they used their collectively dissapointed will to topple their box over and end it all.  It was an horrific scene to come across, as you can well imagine.  Their crippled forms shattered.  Their lifeblood pooling on the dirty floor all around them.  I can only imagine the conversation went like this:

Tequila: 
Did you guys hear that?  She wants to keep that monument to awful because it's convenient for the kids.  It's time to admit, we have no place here anymore.

Goldschlager: 
No!  I can't beleive that's true.  She loved us so much.  You can't just forget a love like that?!

Brandy: 
Like the time she drank my upper half and and sang "Brandy, You're a Fine Girl" to the kid selling Girl Scout Cookies?! 

Triple Sec: 
Or that time she made herself three Mai Tais in two hours and spent the rest of the afternoon on the floor of the kitchen sun bathing inside because it was too hot outisde?  THAT was a great day.

Tequila: 
My point exactly.  The last time she was on the floor of the kitchen was to clean up baby puke.  Not her own!  We're done, we should at least go out in party fashion!

Husband's Jim Beam: 
Leave me out of it.  The guy has a gig coming up next month he's going to need me for!

Firefly:  
Fine Jim.  Jump as we go over, you may yet survive...

And then everything went black.

They took with them a skull shaped shot glass and eight Benihana Buddha cups I stole in my twenties.  (I may not have actually stole them so much as paid for them drunkenly and then re-remembered that I stole them).  They spared a case of wine as they knew I'd need it to get over their loss.

It is in their memory that I say to you now, I will not go gentle into that good night.  I will rage, RAGE against the dying of the light.  The minivan goes back at the end of the week.  I will never again slow down in front of the window of a Chico's and think to myself "Hey, that's not half bad."  I will commit to losing the weight instead of relying on spandex undergarments to do it for me.  I will flash my rack at my husband's upcoming show while I ride on the shoulders of a random guy I let buy me a drink at the bar!  That drink will be a kamikaze.  And I will toast to lost friends...

Don't believe me?  Come see Candygram for Mongo on October 29th at The Whiskey and I'll prove it.


I'm giving you ample time to book a babysitter, and don't worry, they're on at 9:00pm so we'll all be home nice and early so our old-people bodies can get a good night's sleep.

1 comment:

  1. The paragraph that begins "Due to recent real estate adventures" and includes the phrase "their lifeblood pooling on the dirty floor" had me shaking laughing. Lord, that was funny.

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