I’m barely awake this morning – we went to see Star Trek at the IMAX last night, and, even though all I did was sit on my butt and still get to bed right around my normal time, I’m still kind of tired. I must be getting old. Or it had something to do with the two martinis at Clay Pit before the show.
This morning, as I was puttering around the kitchen (forgot to set the coffeemaker last night, dammit), I remembered–for once!–that it’s garbage day, so I began gathering up garbage bags and the varying detritus from Ray’s birthday party on Saturday night and hauled it all out to the curb. And then I stood back and realized that our neighbors must think that we’re total alcoholics.
It doesn’t help that the sturdiest boxes one can pick out of the bin at Costco are the ones that are used to ship wine or beer. And this morning, the trash cans were full of discarded six packs and right on top was a box that had once held 12 bottles of Glenlivet. (For the record, while I don’t know what was transported to our house in this box, I can assure you that the Glenlivet never made it to the party. I’d make a point of remembering.)
On the other hand, the neighbors on either side never talk to us, so it’s not like I care that much.
What did get brought to our party was a variety of beer, wine, tequila (cheap, cheap tequila. Whoever brought it needs to sit down with me and have a discussion about the merits of not buying handles of “blanco.”), and one extremely confused (and drunk) twentysomething gayboy.
The gay boy was brought in the company of an acquaintence who had had a bit much to drink at a wedding earlier in the day and picked him up. The problem here, as you will readily see, is that said acquaintence is female. And this boy was the kind of gay you can see from outer space. Margaret Cho would have described him as “fanning the flames of his faggotry.”
So, what does a twentysomething gay boy do when he gets picked up at a wedding by a woman who brings him to a party where he doesn’t know a single person? Well, in this case, he borrows her makeup before he arrives, and then spends half of the evening whining to everyone who will listen that no one loves him (because the hunky groomsman he was staring at all afternoon pretended like he didn’t exist), and the other half of the evening asking everyone if they have a joint.
Let’s face it. We were all twentysomething once and confused about the best way to deal with (and express) our sexuality. While I wouldn’t choose to do so the way this young man did, good for him for having the guts to do it, and in Texas to boot.
On the other hand, it was a birthday party to which all of the guests had been invited because they knew us and we wanted them to be there to celebrate Ray’s birthday. I wasn’t particularly happy that our acquaintance just decided to bring along someone that she’d known for all of four hours (and that he then proceeded to ask everyone if they had a joint). It wasn’t that kind of party.
I will admit to having emitted a sigh of relief when the female acquaintance sobered up enough to realize that she needed to get rid of him. Now. And then made that happen.
Sunday was spent recovering and asking the post-party question that I always ask: why do we do this? We spent parts of Thursday night, Friday night, and Saturday cleaning the house so that our guests wouldn’t think we were slobs, and then spent Saturday … OK, technically very early Sunday morning … and the other part of Sunday re-cleaning the house up after everyone. It’s sort of like when you clean before your family comes to visit and they managed to undo all the cleaning within the first 10 minutes of their arrival. All you can think is, “Why did I bother?”
On top of it, Mocha apparently was unhappy that we weren’t paying enough attention to her and acted out all weekend. Between trying to dig a new hole in the backyard (which, it turned out, was to access a baby bird hiding under the AC pad … which I later found decapitated elsewhere in the yard), tracking mud all over the house, eating food right off the counter — including a bag of rolls that she took out back in the middle of the night and devoured — and just generally being a bad dog, she’s … well, she’s in the dog house. (I hate cheesy puns when they come so naturally!)
Anyway. Saturday brought a cold front through. Even though it was still damp for the party, I’m loving the weather – we’re in the 50s at night (low 10s C) and in the mid-80s during the day (high 20s C). If it could just stay like this for a while … that’d be perfect.
Get on that, will ya? 
Everything’s better with a bag of weed.
