Coming soon to a computer screen near you; the narcissistic ramblings of a woman with too much time on her hands and too many cats in her yard! I'm coming back after a long hiatus of holidays, birthdays, food, more birthdays, and more holidays with yet, more food. I will be signing up for Blogher, and I hope you remember who I am long enough to give me a passing glance when I come up with bad titles for my posts! Until tomorrow!
Monday, January 6, 2014
Happy New Year (several days late)! I hope everyone had a glorious holiday and made a bunch of resolutions that will go unmet and give you something to feel hopelessly guilty about in March. I spent the New Year and a couple of the following days getting hammered with friends and playing Rock Band wherein I sang every type of song ever written by man and possibly singing some songs written by stoned gorillas.
I might have discovered the meaning of slizzard, as I discussed in Getting Slizzard in my G6 sometime back. I had retained a steady level of inebriation and after all of my friends had been in and out of the house to smoke several times, I decided smoking sounded like a good idea. I have not smoked in two or three years and I have refused to do so ever since because the only way I could stop was with the Chantix pill. That little pill gave me three months of the most terrifying nightmares I have ever had in my life. As a result, I do not smoke simply so I don't have to take that awful little pill anymore. But as I said, at this point, my brain decided smoking was the way to go. I grabbed a cigarette from a package that was lying around in the kitchen and wended my way outside to the carport.
I lit up that little cigarette, inhaled and then promptly forgot I was holding it, as I began to hear music from inside the house. I have no idea what this music was, but for some reason I decided ballroom dancing was in order. So, in my pajamas and coat and motorcycle boots with an unused cigarette smoldering away between my fingers, I began to foxtrot. I counted the numbers aloud as I made the steps and I haphazardly made my way all over the driveway dancing to the music that had now firmly implanted itself in my head. Sometimes I would insert a flailing ballet move in there just to shake things up a bit, so if I felt in my innermost heart that a graceful leap through the air was in order, I would do my best to imitate grace and would fling myself across the driveway. At one point I decided an artistic twirl was just the thing needed to make my dance really stand out so I made a clunkety pirouette right into a basketball goal post. This was not my intention, but I decided to roll with it.
Suddenly I went from dancing queen to NBA tryouts by playing HORSE against the basketball goal. The fact that I had no ball was not a deterrent to me as I undoubtedly couldn't have held on to it anyway. For anyone who doesn't know, HORSE is when two opponents play at making baskets. If one person gets the ball through the net, the opposing person has to stand in the same position and try to make the same shot. If they fail, they get an H, the next fail earns them an O, then an R, and so on until someone has fully spelled HORSE and lost the game. I had no opponent and I had no ball, which meant I made every single shot, so my basketball game was fairly short, but I walked away with a single-handed, unchallenged, championship victory. I always knew I was meant to be great.
By this point my friends began to notice I was not in the house and sent someone to find me. My hands were very red and it took me quite some time to realize this was because I had danced and played ball-less ball in a winter wind advisory where the temperature had dropped somewhere around zero and the wind was blowing hard enough to re-arrange mobile homes. I was probably cold, but I can't honestly recall. I have no idea where that poor cigarette ended up or when I lost it. I never smoked it, but I feel that it still had more fun with me than all the other cigarettes had with all the other people that night.
As for ringing in the New Year, my hosts poured us a Rose' champagne and we clinked glasses as the clock struck twelve. The couples all kissed, and then I realized that my Dan had not come, and I needed him here at this point so I could kiss him. Well, I had to kiss someone, so I looked at the new friend standing next to me, who happens to be gay man, and told him we were the only two not kissing anybody. He agreed and so I kissed him for the new year. I have no idea what sort of confusion happens when you ring in the new year by kissing a gay man that you have only met that night, but it ought to be interesting.
In the end, we all danced and laughed and ate and drank and had a wonderful time. Most of us were kid-free as we are helping to keep the national divorce rate high and our children were at their other parent's house for the new year. We were all old enough to know better, but absolutely too young to care, and that knowledge was very freeing. Also, a friend of mine came up with the best business idea ever. She said she was going to open a gym called Resolutions; it would be a fitness gym for two weeks and for the rest of the year it would be a pub. I'll drink to that!