SalGal and I went to a party last night. The party didn't begin until 8:30 pm, when we're usually preparing ourselves for bed, but we were determined to go. We knew that if we didn't go out for a pre-party cocktail or two, the hour of the party would come along, and we would look at each other and just say, "Fuckit, let's not go." It took us an hour to beautify ourselves and discuss wardrobe and accessories. One tiny upward curl of the lip upon viewing the other's choice of garb will always send both of us back to start if there is the slightest disapproval. When we get a final thumbs up from each other, we're dolled up and ready to go. We say,"Ciao" to the Ancient One (Mother) and out the door we go...insanely happy to be away from our caregiver duties for just one night.
Even though we know that three drinks puts us in that category of 'cute and charming,' a fourth or fifth will drag us into the next category of overbearing and obnoxious, but we're OUT so we throw caution to the wind. After paying $44 for two glasses each of the best Chardanay the bar has, we're ready to go to the party. When we get in the car, we prepare for what the next morning might bring in the form of a midlife hangover, so we pop two Ibuprofen in anticipation as we drive. We forgot to bring a reefer, which is just as well, because it would make us sleepy and we would drive home to bed instead of to the party. The fact that we forget to bring a reefer is further proof that our party priorities have changed over the years.
The party is in full swing when we arrive. There are the outside groups who are lingering in the front yard near the drum circle. There are three women dancing with abandon to the beat. We call this dance form the 'lesbytarian shuffle.' They're fun to watch for about five minutes so we go inside the house where the real drinkers are located. There are 35 different bottles of wine brought by the partygoers so we pick our poison. We're still cogent and sure that the people we meet are completely enchanted with us as we offer up the party description of who we are, what we do and how we think. We've gotten good at going through this ritual in a hurry so we can move along.
The announcement is made that the fire dancer will begin in five minutes. Then the police arrive, which is always fun to watch. If we hadn't been AT the party, we probably would have been the old fuddy duddies who called them to bust up the rowdies down the block. They peruse the crowd, realizing that this is just a group of people who forgot that they lost the peace revolution of the sixties, pose no danger and will probably all make it home without too much trouble. After discussing the situation with the tipsy hostess, they get back into their black and whites and drive away to look for real criminals somewhere else in the night.
After hugging our hostess and declaring our drunken, undying love for her, we stagger down the block to the car. We try to guess what time it is without looking at our cell phone clocks. We're sure it's almost dawn, but the car clock tells us that it's 11:45 pm. We are so proud of ourselves for having accomplished our goal for the evening as we crawl home at 20 mph. It's beyond bedtime when we pop another two Ibuprofens each. We talk about how much fun we had and how adorable we must have been as we hug each other, declaring our drunken, undying love for the other and go to sleep.
Yeah, KK, last night was fun and it did remind me of the sixties. I'm just an old hippie. I've been smoking dope for 40 years and I just don't see any reason to stop now.
Times change though, drugs are so expensive these days. Last week at a comedy club downtown I paid TEN dollars for three skinny joints and a 'That's it, dood!' Sheesh. I can remember when TEN dollars got me a, "Well, hello there, little darlin", and a lid of Columbian as big as a horse's dick.
Groovy and far out,