In Vino, Veritas
May 19th, 2005 at 10:17 am by Susie
Here’s one of my worries: How can I become one of those eccentric old ladies who lives alone with her cats when I’m allergic to cats? Aren’t cats pretty much a mandatory accessory? (Note to self: Get allergy shots next time you have health insurance.)
I can’t seem to do anything right these days; I don’t quite fit in anywhere. Part of it, I suppose, is my long-term estrangement from that great American pastime: recreational shopping. It’s been so long since I had discretionary income, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to buy optional things. And I never got that whole mall thing, anyway. To me, shopping is something you do quickly and then get the hell out. (Unless it’s a bookstore or a music store.)
My friends understand this and most of them are as speedy as I am. I only have one friend I can’t stand to shop with, because she wants to look at everything. (Oddly enough, she’s now a Republican by marriage.) Not only does she want to look at each and every thing, she also wants to fondle it - and talk to it. “My, aren’t you a gorgeous thing? Do you want to come home with me?”
I only talk that way in bars. And only when I’m drunk.
I remember one night in Dirty Frank’s with my friend P. For once, I wasn’t the one driving, and since I’d just broken up with someone, I was a little bummed. And since I wasn’t driving, I was drinking.
Some artist type was fingering my earrings, telling me how much he liked them. I glanced at the clock on the wall; it was shortly after 10. The next thing I remembered, it was after 2 and P. was gently shepherding me toward the door. The next morning, she called.
“Hey, how’s your back feeling this morning?” she said, solicitous.
My back? “My back is fine.” A pause. “Why do you ask?”
Now, P. is a wholesome daughter of the Midwest; she grew up on a dairy farm and is always very polite. She said sweetly, “Oh, well, when you were rolling around on the top of that booth making out with that guy, I said to myself, ‘Wow, that looks painful! I bet her back will really hurt tomorrow!’ I’m so glad I was wrong.”
What guy? What booth? What making out?
“This is a joke, right?” I said, hoping against hope.
“No, no. Don’t you remember?”
Bits and pieces started coming back to me. “Oh God, that wasn’t a dream?”
This is why I don’t drink anymore, just in case you were wondering. That annoying little thing where entire chunks of your life vanish…
People at Drinking Liberally the other week were all like, oh, I thought you didn’t drink? as I sipped my merlot. Kids, a single glass of wine during a social occasion is not drinking; ten shots of Southern Comfort or tequila over a two-hour span is “drinking.” Seven G&Ts is “drinking.” Polishing off an entire bottle of Amaretto is “drinking.” (My 35th birthday. It was a present, at one wild party at a beach house near the Upper Chesapeake. I ended up drinking the entire thing, getting in a boat and paddling out to an island in the moonlight while one of my friends stood on the shore howling, “Lassie, come home!” But I digress.)
I’m so well behaved now. And my life is so boring. Except for the continuing financial crisis, of course.
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Well, based on my own experiences as a small animal veterinarian, you might consider a small dog as an option. Pick carefully, though. You will want one that is clingy but not too clingy and has a great personality…:-)
Gug
Yes - if you can’t do cats, do a small dog. Something really yappy and arrogant - ready to take on the German Shepherd down the block. You’ll take her out for walkies twice a day…
Good move on the drinking. I had the following conversation with a friend just yesterday about a party that happened 20 years ago…
“Yeah, the worst condition I ever played a gig was after your 30th birthday party…”
“Wha…my 30th…YOU were at my 30th birthday party?”
“Sure, remember, we’d started drinking champagne in that restaurant at what, 10 in the morning? I had to leave for the gig at 5. At 5, we were all at your house, still drinking champagne, I was dancing with your girlfriend’s mother, someone reminded my I had a gig that night. They poured me into a car, and poured me out onto the stage. Worst playing I ever did in front of people…”
“I have no memory of you being there…just as well you left when you did…things got really bad later…by 3am I was wandering around on Main Street in my stocking feet looking for my car which had been hotwired and taken by my girlfriend and her brother because I had never returned from ‘dropping off’ this other girl…”…thekeez
We all have these experiences in our past, Susie. I personally will never forget The Night the Black Russians Landed.
Oh, and don’t drink G&Ts when you have the flu. Nothing is worth a 3-day puke-fest.
Oh, and if you eat too many fried bananas and drink too many caipirinhas in Rio, DO NOT barf on Copacabana beach. They take it as a national insult!
This is why I smoke pot.
My back never hurts after contortionist love in public.
In my experience, in vino, a whole other set of lies.
Kids, a single glass of wine during a social occasion is not drinking; ten shots of Southern Comfort or tequila over a two-hour span is “drinking.� Seven G&Ts is “drinking.� Polishing off an entire bottle of Amaretto is “drinking.�
That’s true of chocolate chip cookies and brownies, too. One brownie has no calories to speak of. Maybe 6, but more likely you’d have to eat the whole pan before you’d have to worry.
I don’t drink, but I eat lots of chocolate, so I know.
Did you watch the Menendez trial, the part about the boys going on a shopping spree after killing their parents? The prosecution wanted to portray that as greed. The boys’ shrink testified that it was about the feeling of power and control that you get from shopping, and not about greed at all. The trial was on TV at a time when I thought my life was falling apart. I had always wanted a TV for my bedroom. So I went and bought one. Afterwards it occurred to me that the shrink was right–the purchase gave me a feeling of having more control over my disintegrating circumstances. Otherwise shopping is just an exercise in collecting stuff you can live without.
I’m still thinking lovingly/longingly of Dirty Frank’s . . . haven’t been there in 20 years, but I lived half a block away for awhile.
And I know what you mean about the drinking. Relative to many people in my current life, I’m Wild, what with the experimentation and so on. Relative to the junkies and alcoholics with whom I used to work, I’m practically a church lady.