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ABOUT ME

About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.

Sunday, July 27, 2008

I couldn't stop meowing

The only thing worse than a hangover is a having to visit an old age home with a hangover.

I broke free of domesticity last night to grab drinks and dinner with Sassy and this chick, Lauren, we meet through meetup.com. Charles actually signed me up for meetup.com because he was tired of listening to me complain about my lack of a social life. But hell, four of my friends moved last summer. And visits to Mulletville from those who remained were getting less and less frequent. So, like an eager parent offering his awkward child to kindergarten, Charles threw me to the bowels of meetup.com.

Luckily I found Sassy. We’re like mail order brides without the language barriers or creepy age difference.

It’s that right.

On my way out the door I thought I was looking pretty foxy until Charles asked me, “Why do you need the cardigan?” I looked down at my stupid capris and cutesy sweater set. I resembled a librarian.

Then and there I decided to get good and loaded.

So I headed over to Sassy’s and chugged some wine.

When Sassy’s kitty appeared from under the couch I had to contain my excitement. I am so used to putting on my high-pitched, joyous, sing-song voice when Junior sees our kitties that I actually kept hearing it in my head: “KIT-TEEEY! Meeeoooow. Look at the KIT-TEEEY!”

I couldn’t stop meowing at it.

Then of course my mind wandered to all the other animals on the farm and the noises they make: What does the cow say? Mooooooooo. Moooooooo. And the sheep? Baaaaaa. Baaaaaaaa.

The only thing that quieted the voices was, yes, more wine.

After we polished off a few bottles, Sassy, Lauren, and I walked to a restaurant downtown (I’ve never walked the streets of Mulletville before; I felt a bit like a hooker but maybe that’s because I had removed my trusty cardigan). Hungry from our harrowing jaunt (the sidewalks were like rock quarries), I decided to treat myself to a hot lobster roll which ended up costing $18. Wretched Mulletville! How dare you charge $18 for a lobster roll on a white hot dog bun!

Thankfully Coronas were only $4 a pop. And the wine back at Sassy’s? Free. Free and plentiful.

Which leads me to this morning and my pounding head. In a few hours we’re leaving for the old age home to visit Charles’ grandmother. I have dibs on the couch in the lobby.

And Charles? Well, like an eager parent offering his child to kindergarten, he’ll be busy throwing Junior to the bowels of the assisted living community.

1 comment:

Practically Joe said...

What about the pig? What about the pig? ... oink, oink, oink

Just thought you needed a reminder.