misslizzers (misslizzers) wrote,

Is my slate dishwasher safe?

So, the presents have been denuded of their shrink wrap, the world is a whole nother year older and I have landed solidly in my mid-twenties. I'm poised between all of the tabula rasa nonsense and the vacuuming up of pine needles. It was mostly fun, sometimes harrowing. There's a lot to be said for seeing your best friends every single day and doing lots of yoga and getting into screaming fights with your drunken Republican uncles, but it is difficult to put on a happy face in front of your loving and concerned parents when you've got the blues and are feeling as though the holidays asked if they could have you super-sized.

I did get to spend one day away with my errant friend, Kenny, who has informed me that I am a lush - meaning that he left me to navigate the NY subway system at midnight after 7 stiff drinks, because he had no idea I was drunk. "Yeah," he says, "you don't exactly go around putting lampshades on your head. You just get a little quiet, and it's impossible to tell you're drunk until you're standing there, swaying, saying, 'oh, God, I am so drunk.'" Not much of an excuse, really, but I managed to get myself to MetroNorth which after three hours bears a striking resemblence to the trans-Siberian railroad, especially when one is drunk after having eaten $40 worth of oysters. It's ok, all of my conscious moments were fun, and he totally redeemed himself by persistently asking me to spill what's been bothering me, until I finally talked it out with him the next day.

It's a good thing the holidays are over - they really were driving me to drink, and I just don't have that kind of money. I know they're over because last night in New York I looked up and saw a sort of ex of mine and tailed him from a discrete distance until I was sure it was him and that I had nothing to say to him, which serendipitously led me next door to the coolest freaking cafe I've seen this side of the pond - I was a glass of Pernod away from becoming a character in a Jean Rhys novel, but I held fast to my Aranciata, and did not embarass myself in any way. Good girl, lizard. And now I've been rewarded with a snow day. Happy me.

Favorite Conversation:
This is sort of a visual. Yesterday Martin was talking about his five-year-old nephew, who is at a phase where he is intrigued by everything disgusting. At breakfast, he lets out a giant sneeze, and his dad says, hold on, I'll get you a tissue. Instead of waiting, he looks at his hands, and gives each one a giant lick. yum!

Lizard's last five birthday parties:
1. Beatnik birthday party - wore a dress my grandmother wore on her honeymoon, broke into the downstairs apartment, served gourmet dinner in tv dinner trays, played creepy silent super-8 family movies in the chill-out room, drank lots of wicked punch. It all nearly backfired when the new tenants showed up at 10pm ready to move in, but they were so shocked and/or impressed by my Doris Day impression that all was forgiven.
2. '60's protest party - everybody made a banner with their favorite protest slogan, we all ate vegetarian and argued about politics.
3. disco inferno - disco ball, the tunes, cheesy appetizers, and everybody brought pix of themselves circa 1979. And at midnight we took off to see this local funk band.
4. '80's party - I was 20, the idea was to act half our ages. Had it all, from lite brite to an '80's montage and song trivia games. Pretty tame by today's standards, but goofy and rad.
5. Since I've been going backwards, this year (24!)will be my film noir birthday. We'll see . . .
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