Yes, folks, I have been AWOL.
Aggressively Waxing Only Legs.
Assuming WordPress Over Limits.
(An) Alcoholic With Out Liquor.
Just now got through the massive pile of inquiries as to why I’ve been in writing remission.
Umm, yeah… none of the above are true. I think all of one person might have mentioned something in passing, during a summer lull. (Bless you, my son.) Really, that’s okay. Having interested readers is frosting on the cake ornaments on the tree, not the ink that instigates me. I’m driven by internal motivation―which is why there is sometimes no one behind the wheel. ;)
I’m not going to waste your time or mine detailing my hiatus. Suffice it to say, through commitments and casualties, I didn’t make it happen. I’ve played around with different themes for my return post, and opted to keep it light and simple. And timely. It’s the holidays, and I am festive of spirit, in a party mood. Deck the halls and sing the classics. Presence of thoughts, and thoughtful presents.
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. It may or may not bear striking resemblance to my past. Any similarities to the author, written or implied, will not be admissible in a court of law. Or the dinner table.
Ah, there’s nothing like heading out for a night of fun, that bubble of excitement ramping up. Primped, polished, and psyched, the road, and all of the evenings’ possibilities, lie before you. “Take pictures”, says your friend who can’t make it. And you have the best intentions of doing just that. Simple enough to snap a few photos, right? Seriously, you’re not a lazy bitch. (Just a defective drunk.)
We now join the party in progress. Let’s take it step by step, and see how daunting a task alcohol-impaired shutter bugging can be:
1. Two and a half drinks down; da gang huddles for a kodak moment.
2. Reach in your purse for your phone slash iPod slash GPS slash flashflight slash “Stepbrothers” soundboard slash [wait for it] ……. camera.
3. Graze against tube of lipgloss, decide you probably need a swipe.
4. Take out phone, see a missed call and two missed texts.
5. Attempt a reply, painstakingly type four letters then erase three…
6. Friend places fresh drink in your hand; texting can wait.
7. Take sip, amazed how tasty vodka is.
8. Chug-a-lug.
9. Two things suddenly strike you: Bladder is full; Line to the ladies room is long. A headache starts to set in (as is usually the case when one is struck).
10. Across the room, Hottie McStudmuffin gives you a wink and a wave.
11. You attempt to get a closer look at him on your way to pee.
12. Standing in line, you can’t feel your toes. Note to self: high-heeled designer shoes were a mistake; must never wear again.
13. Curse the fact that there are only two stalls, both built for Muppets.
14. Observe there is more TP on the floor than the holder.
15. Exit lav to see O’Sexy (was that his name? Twas something Irish…) making out with the runner-up to Miss USA.
16. Take comfort in the fact that she didn’t actually win. Sour grapes.
18. Grapes! Order a glass of wine.
19. Try to remember why you went in your purse a half-hour ago.
19. Say the word ‘purse’ repeatedly in your head, thinking how funny it sounds.
22?. Realize you can no longer count correctly; switch to alphabet.
C. Graciously* accept another cocktail.
(*loose definition: You refrain from dousing the uggo who bought said drink with said drink, while making it clear he’s not getting in your pants.)
D. Yell ‘woohoo’, and start singing loudly to the music while declaring it’s your favorite song―again.
E. Apparently “woohoo’ is code for ‘Let’s do some shots!”. There are now three lined up before you.
F. uggit. Why do you need to order the steps? Slam back that last Barbie-sized drink with full authority.
Three different chicks mention how awesome your Chimmy Joo stilettos are. Note to self: These shoes rock; must wear more often.
Someone pulls you in for a picture. Smile, baby! Blinded by the flash, you stare to the right of your photog friend’s head, asking the empty space “Can I get a copy of that?” They reply in the affirmative, then indicate it will be electronically available for viewing later. (What they actually say, because they’re cool, is: “Sure, check Facebook”. )
You are regretting those last three shots. Strange how repellent vodka is. Joint liver commission announces Last Call. In a flurry of hugs and kisses and declarations to ‘do this again soon’, everyone clears out and heads home.
As soon as the car door shuts (it’s a taxi, cause you’re VERY repsonbile; err, reponsabel; … you’re a good person), you let down your hair and take off those gorgeous, toe-crippling, love-hate shoes. Ah, there’s nothing like heading home after a night of fun, that relaxed feeling of winding down. Brick & mortar is a beautiful sight. Disrobe as you walk to the bed; whatever’s still on when you get there becomes your sleepwear. Hit the pillow and pass out.
What on earth is that throbbing? Feels like you’re being repeatedly probed by a nice prick.
Whoopsee, that should be, your head feels like it’s being repeatedly probed by an ice pick.
And is that the sun, or are your eyes on fire? Oh well, nothing a few aspirin and some coffee can’t fix. Plus you’ve got those captured memories to look forward to; all the fun, none of the fuzz.
You start the computer, load FB, and find your friend’s album. Holy hell!! Who is that hideous beast tagged with your name? Eyes mid-blink, hair a mess, lipgloss on teeth — in every shot. And why does your beautiful pink top look orange? You look dead in orange. Freaking lighting. Untag. Untag. Untag.
Two days later, when that friend who couldn’t make it asks to see pictures of the event, you start your web of lies. So sorry, your phone was on the fritz, nobody else had juice left, etc. It was a great time, though; promise you’ll get pics next time.
They say the camera never lies. Not really a problem in this digital age, since Photoshop is more than happy to tell some whoppers. Funny thing is, the picture you detest today will remind you how good you looked (felt, were…) years from now. More importantly, internal beauty never grows old or wrinkled. Any given day, it’s as young, sweet, and perfect as you will it to be.
Pinkitude:
“Pleasure is the flower that passes; remembrance, the lasting perfume.”
~ Jean de Boufflers
