The man (the one I fuck, not the one I damn) and I made the most of the two different worlds we live in this weekend. At 25 and 28, we still like to stay up late and wake up with regrets, bruises and a tangible drinker’s remorse. As parents we endure enjoy a number of domestic duties as well. (I do consider drunken shenanigans a duty, ps. Where else would I get the fodder?)
Friday night we hit the freeway with two friends for a unique type of double date. The kind where the goal is to create real friendships out of forced and mandatory ones… because you used to screw one half of the other date. It was very fun and not forced at all. There was good food and much, much laughter at the Laugh Factory in Long Beach. Every sixty or so days, I give away my O Negative and sometimes the Red Cross gives me free VIP tickets to a comedy show for it.
Do check out Darren Carter. I just downloaded his album, That Ginger’s Crazy, on iTunes.
You know when you ascend the levels of drunk from ‘buzzed’ to ‘code red’ to ‘oh fuck’? By the time we hit a dueling piano bar after the show, Washington Apple in hand, I realized I’d gone overboard. But in alcohol there’s no Ctrl+Z so I threw it back anyway.
Saturday was a strange day for a hangover. We had 1st, 2nd and 3rd birthdays to attend. We stocked up on Pillow Pets (best toy EVAR) and hit the road:
The first and third birthdays were for the adorable daughters of boyfriend’s (okay, his name is Josh) friend, Charlie. We wore festive leis and all was merry.
The 2nd birthday party was for my girl Kristine’s little lady. The day she was born I had one hand on Kristine’s left foot as she pushed and pushed and total tunnel vision. Birth is beautiful… but not pretty. It’s incredible to see the little blonde cutiepants running around and high fiving and baby talking at two years old now. All full circle and shit.
This morning we were up early so Josh could make an appointment at a sensory deprivation… place. While he floated and went to mental places that scare the absolute shit outta me, Kiddo and I played in the sand and bought more handmade jewelry than we’ll ever need.
I could personally boost the ecomony in Venice with contribution to the crafts on the boardwalk. I am such a sucker. Although I was not having all seventy-seven street musicians pushing their headphones at my face, all CHECK OUT MAH SHIT AND GIMMIE MONEY!*
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Heh. I can see that.”
“Seriously, dude? No.”
*I respect the art and straight-to-the-people marketing. It’s the pushiness.
We made it home and realized we were completely fucking wiped out. I plan to spend the rest of this Sunday in a sedentary state, at some point moving to shovel Josh’s awesome jumbalaya in my mouth.
That is so not a euphemism.
-CJ
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