Also, he does not have a bunch of health problems.
So being a younger thirtysomething, he goes out. Like, at night. When other people are out, also. Apparently, it's a "thing".
I vaguely remember this type of activity from when I was younger.
He came to town for Thanksgiving, and wanted to go see a cover band that we love: The Spazmatics. They are an 80's cover band dressed as nerds. We have seen them live locally quite a few times, and my bro has seen them TONS of times. It's a good show, I know all the songs, the guys are funny, so I enjoy going out to see them. Or at least, I USED TO enjoy going out to see them.
But being 40 has put a damper on my swag. Also, having health problems that make sleeping elusive, being on a strict meds and detox schedule, and being tired constantly has put a kink in my tail. My feet hurt too much to stand or dance for long (thank you, Bartonella), so when I hear, "live band", my first concern is whether there will be comfortable seating. 40, going on 80.
So I was hesitant to say "yes". But like the awesome Big Sis I am, I sucked it up, and went. Even as a Designated Driver.
We drove. And drove and drove and drove. Because they were playing at an Indian Casino, Cache Creek. So the location was almost an hour and a half away. We left right around my normal bedtime. I felt like a little girl that got to stay up late for something special, like a drive-in movie, or an all-night drive to Disneyland.
Stifling yawns, I warned my passengers (after we were on the road and I had control over the vehicle) that I would maybe stay for the first half. They were happy to have a sober ride with a badass minivan, so they did not argue.
We got there, with 3 minutes before the show was set to begin.
Things do not start on time in the world of Nightlife. I guess because they have had all day to get behind. So this meant that I had some time to convince the Blackjack dealers I needed new tires for the Swagger Wagon. I worked that table like a stripper with 9 kids to feed. When I was up half a Michelin, I meandered over to the comfy chairs in the lounge. Did I mention the chairs were cushy? Comfy? Gloriously soft and accepting of my tired ass? :::swoon:::
I got a beverage to blend in with the cool kids----a Seabreeze. Except that I'm old, and no one knows how to make a Seabreeze any more. You'd think I was Don Draper, asking for a damned Old Fashioned. IT'S VODKA, CRAN, AND GRAPEFRUIT, PEOPLE! Instead, I sipped a VERY RED vodka-cran-with-lyme. Which is fine, because it was more cranberry than vodka, so it was practically medicinal. No UTIs for me.
And then, I danced! I brought back my GoGos dance moves. Which fit in better than I expected. It didn't even have to be "ironic".
But Sky King was worried about me. Being out with Normal Adults At Night, and all. We texted for a bit:
SK: Took you long enough to get there.
Me: It's DEEP!
SK: Obvs. Have fun, keep your bro out of trouble.
Me: I will do my best.
Hey, Progress!!! You trust ME to not get into a fight!
SK: Yeah, Fun Aimee seems to be shelved, so I worry less.
:::this is the part where I feel responsible, and sorry for myself, missing Fun Aimee and all the potential altercations and hangovers that go with her:::
So I sang til my throat ached, and danced 3 whole songs. In between, I worked on my kids' college funds. UPDATE: Things AREN'T looking good for college. Maybe a scholarship for sarcasm will be en vogue by then.
I forgot the types that go out late at night, hammer-drunk, dancing in public.
There are the Drunk Chicks. They tend to congregate in large groups. Herds, if you will. They yell, "WooHoo!!!" a lot, and make you dance with them. They are persistent. And they feel accomplished if they can remember your name, song to song. It goes like this:
(all caps because it's too fucking loud there)
DRUNK CHICKS: COME DANCE WITH US! IT'S "COME ON EILEEN!"
ME: NO, I'M GOOD.
DC: IT'LL BE FUN. AIMEE, RIGHT? C'MON, AIMEE!!!! DANCE WITH US!!!!
Fortunately, I did NOT have to drink a drink bought by him. But likely only because I left by midnight. I was not wanting to be in his cologne orbit. is went on. All night. I relented once in a while. They tried to give me their tequilla shots bought by some stranger. Either they were close to puking, or wanted to make sure they hadn't been roofied. Even though I hear that Roofies help with sleep issues, I declined.
Meanwhile, to my right, there was a man with more gold chains than hair. Originally, I was all, "Dude, who's the creepy old guy?". Then, I decided, "Man, forty looks awful on some people". it was a sad revelation. In a sea of sad revelations.
Finally, there was Side Pony Chick. This chick has issues, which seem to be solved with kitten sweatshirts and Mudslides. She dances like she has nothing to lose. And her hair is a testament to her desire to put out the "I don't care about life anymore" vibes. Don't be fooled by her smiles. Always remember you are still in a bar in an Indian Casino. This chick will give you diseases that have been mostly eradicated through better hygiene and life choices----smallpox, The Plague, scurvy.
I finally escaped the night with less than a $40 loss at the tables (sorry, Harvard) and up two drunks. We meandered down the road til fuller bladders prevailed, and found respite at the haven of all Drunk Havens, Denny's.
Only drunk people could possibly order this
Then, we finally pulled into the driveway. I was home! I survived! The kids were still alive! (Can I just say how glorious it is, to have a 13 year old, that will feed and water the 8 year old? GLORIOUS.)
Princess left me a sweet note:
It says, "Avery loves you mom and dad. O and sarah you still o me ten dollers babie sitting chicoe"
Apparently, she said she had babysat the dog, Chico. And she concluded that babysitters get paid. Ten dollars seemed fair.
All in all, she might not need college.
Which works out well for everyone.