A Night of Anthropological Study

What did you all do for New Year’s Eve?  Ava hasn’t checked in yet, and it appears that Isabella was plotting bodily harm.  The lack of patience and general good will that the Sisters often exhibit makes me think that we should put bail money in escrow.  Fortunately, the Sisters also married well balanced and friendly individuals that keep us in check. 

I had a wedding to go to and then, after it was determined that The Bandit was no longer going to throw up,  we went to see Sherlock Holmes.  I enjoyed it by the way.  I’m so happy to see Robert Downey Jr back with us.  I’ve always loved him.  I couldn’t get My Honey to sneak into see Avatar.  What a wuss.  I can never get him to do that.  My mom, on the other hand, is my favorite movie-sneaker-inner.  We never go to see just one movie.  I remember one specific incident when we went to see Philadelphia with Tom Hanks and then snuck into Schindler’s List.  I swear we were dehydrated by the end of that day.  We have since taken more care in choosing our double features.  

Anyway, I’ve taken a couple of days to put this post together because I wasn’t feeling snarky enough.  There has been a resurgence.

After the movie, My Honey mentioned a house party that his friend’s band was playing.  Now like Isabella I also don’t want to be old, in fact I rebel against it in tiny little ways.  I could tell that My Honey really wanted to go support his friend, so I relented and agreed to be the designated driver.

Besides, the party was at the house of a guy named Phlegm.  As in mucus or snot.  How could I resist that?

I was warned about the house as we drove over.  I learned that Phlegm was a punk rocker.  Also, that he was married and had kids and they also were punk rockers.  I came to expect that his house was covered in spray paint – on the inside. 

His mother must be so proud.

Once we arrived, I thought the house looked alright – from the outside.  I followed the guys into the house and holy shit the entire inside of the house was spray painted with graffiti.  And it smelled.  I mean it SMELLED.  It smelled so bad my nose hair caught on fire and my lungs imploded.  I couldn’t even determine the cause of the stench it was so atrocious.  It wasn’t until we all fled back outside that I came to understand that it was cat pee.  In the 12.7 seconds that I lasted in that house, I noticed no discernable furniture and yet there were three broken refrigerators.

We stood around in the carport slowly freezing our tushies off.  My Honey kept asking if I was alright.  And for a while I was.  It was sort of like I was a member of National Geographic and I was there studying a native tribe or something. I even took notes on my cell phone.  If I thought I could get away with taking video I certainly would have.  I  watched   the girls with Mohawks and the many facial piercings.  I blended right in with my Tinkerbell sweatshirt and pony tail.

There was one particular guy there I recognized as the “Impressive Guy”.  There is always one at every party.  He’s the guy that says things like: “I don’t believe in belief systems.  They’re segregating and dividing”.  Well, I believe that you’re an idiot.  He felt the need to say to me as I fidgeted in the cold, “Oh, this isn’t really cold.”  My response was, “I’m not going to stand here, in the cold, and discuss the merits of ‘cold’ with you.  Go talk to someone else.”  Maybe I used up all my snark that night which is what took me so long to write this.

Well, by 10:45 I’d had enough.  My Honey arranged for alternative transportation home.  I kissed him good night and retreated to the warmth of the car heater.  My 11:07 I was home and  fairly desperate for some culture.  When midnight came, I was watching Emma from the Romance Collection.  Oh my dear Mr. Knightly – so much better than Phlegm.