Car Adoption and the Worst Party Ever

Given the number of comments I’ve received from crickets, the latest of whom claimed my blog is getting, “stale,” I can only assume that I have been missed. Isn’t that nice.

While I’ve been away from you, I’ve been a very busy girl. That first holiday party was absolutely The Worst Party I’ve Ever Attended, involving a rented-out tavern, a vague conglomeration of food offerings, a dj who, without a shred of irony, played Madonna’s, “Like a Prayer,” and an open bar. The limo was overrated, as they tend to be, but judging by the Nas and 50 Cent buzzing and blaring through the blown-out speaker by my head and the bottles of Grey Goose circling the car, I’m not sure the guys in the limo noticed. The only other women who attended with us weren’t really from the same world as I am, so I spent the evening with the boys. And I was overdressed. I wore my hooker boots, thinking that if ever there were an occasion for them, a Christmas party would be it. Then I proceeded to stand in them for four hours. Balancing a drink and a plate full of cocktail wieners, cheese and crackers and a slice of turkey breast, I teetered in my heels. What good are utensils if you don’t have enough hands to use them? Thus went the night. No one seemed able to waste the “opportunity” that an open bar/limo ride home combo provided, so it was a loooong night.

Stopped at a Sunoco in College Park for a bathroom break, somebody’s girlfriend asked to borrow my shoes. I looked down at her bare feet and asked what happened to hers. “I don’t know,” she said, looking genuinely perplexed, “but they must be somewhere.” I zipped off my boots and sat in stocking feet wondering how I got there. We finally returned to Baltimore six hours after we left, and five hours before I had to get up. I vowed never to attend that type of party ever again.

That weekend, due to the Nor’easter in New England, the Mother and her husband did not make an appearance in Maryland, leaving us time to join Costco. Hundreds of dollars later, we had only crossed three things off our list. In the candle aisle at Wal-Mart, The Boy yelled, frantically, “Who ARE all these people?” An innocent passerby suggested that the earlier I learn to accept The Boy’s insanity, the easier my life would be. Somehow, we mostly finished our Christmas shopping.

I baked all day Sunday, resulting in my giving the earliest gifts in the office. When I handed out cookie tins and mason jars of garlic and rosemary infused olive oil and fresh mozzarella, everyone wrinkled their noses. “What are these?” They asked. It was only December 12th. I told them it was then or never.

Classes wrapped up last week, and I finished up with at least one A. The other class was borderline, so we’ll see how that goes. In that class, we all brought snacks, and the only guy in the class brought pretzels and hard cider, thus marking the first time in my life I’ve drunk beer in school. I know, to some of you, I’m about 10 years late.

Two holiday parties and a fake-out ice storm on Thursday, and we headed to Connecticut (again) with a quickness on Friday morning. We have recently acquired a new car for me (and by “acquired” I mean that it has been purchased through an auction, but not yet by us).
I won’t get to have it until the end of February, but I got to visit it on Friday. It felt much like adoption. And you can tell I have no kids.

Friday and Saturday we had the fake Christmas doubleheader, with a 14-year-old’s birthday party thrown in just to shake things up. We drove home separately last night, I in The Boy’s Saab and The Boy in an ’03 Mercedes CLK convertible he is delivering to NC as a “favor” to his uncle. He called earlier today, and I couldn’t hear anything but wind.

“Sorry, baby,” he explained, “tractor trailer.”

Yes, on December 19th, he had the top down.

“You don’t understand,” he said, “it’s warm down here in North Carolina. It’s 53.”

I’m sure the heated seats and heat on full blast didn’t influence his attitude at all. I can just imagine him with his dealer plates, oblivious to all the people driving by simultaneously laughing and rolling their eyes.