Bad Ideas

The Blog Broad is broke.  She’s slow, resistant and doesn’t seem to want to work.  Actually, I’m having a lot of pain.  The past two days I’ve had Painsomnia where the pain doesn’t let up long enough for you to be able to sleep.  I’ve caught a few winks in the late mornings/early afternoons but I’m dragging my ass a mile behind me.

My wrist is still healing  after badly spraining it.  I still have limited range of motion and blogging and texting is still quite painful but here I am because of FOMO (fear of missing out).  My love took care of most of the household chores while I recuperated.  Thank God for her, I don’t know what I’d do without her.

Over the weekend, we had passes for a rock show that was being sponsored by her work.  The problem was that the show didn’t really start until 10 pm.  Now, I’m 43 years old and 10 pm to me is usually, hair in a pony, jammies and face cream.  I haven’t gotten ready to go out that late in a long time.  I was already in pain from my body and wrist but I pushed through it for the show.

During the getting ready process, a couple of “C”‘s friends came over to have wine before the show.  So I said, “Sure, pour me a glass.”  Little did I realize, the wine our guests had brought was homemade and very potent.  Two glasses later I was inebriated.   I was woozy, spinny and all around barfy.  My partner was in even worse shape.  We snuck out before the show to grab a sandwich to help ease our ailing liquor bellies.  Two drunk broads in a Subway shoveling 6 inches down our gullets like we hadn’t eaten in a week, then stumbling out, giggling like teenagers on Prom night.  At that point it was almost 11 pm and normally, “C” is passed out by that time of night as her days begin at 4 am.  Even though we wanted to see the show, we ended up making our way awkwardly and drunkenly back home holding each other up as we made the seven hour journey by foot back home.  Ok, it was 15 minutes but it felt like seven hours.  We missed the show.

Bad Idea
(Not actually Us)

I was reminded of another time like this.  Back in 2008, I had tickets to go see one of my favorite bands of all time Queens of the Stone Age.  I was so excited for the show that I didn’t really eat much.  While I was getting ready I downed three Mojos.  Those were those Guarana Caffeine vodka drinks that went down like pop.  Before leaving I thought to myself, “Well this isn’t going to end up well at all.”  But I went anyway and hopped on the bus.  By the time we got to our friend’s house, I made a mad dash for the bathroom.  I don’t remember much after that.  Except waking up in my bed about five hours later realizing I missed the show.  I was devastated.  I am still devastated.  This was by no means a band like Queens but still.  Alcohol got me again.  When will I learn??

 

Can you still handle alcohol?  Have you ever missed something really important because of a bad idea?

 

Live Humbly, Be Charitable, Live Graciously,

(Drink Responsibly)

Sam

 

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Drunk Girls  http://metro.co.uk/2007/11/05/drunk-girls-proving-a-facebook-hit-474899/

I Used To Be Pretty 

Ugh. I used to be pretty.” I mumble to myself in the mirror as I tweeze the stray hairs from between my eyebrows.  Like most women, my eyebrows are not naturally perfect.  In fact, I have a unabrow that I have been taking care of since junior high.  I really don’t care who knows because there are pictures of me floating around out there sporting big black thick caterpillars so I’m not fooling anybody.  In the nineties, it was all about the skinny brow.  I wore those too.  Back then I looked constantly surprised.  We all did.  It was a frightening time.  That’s where The Macarena lives.  I take my eyebrows seriously now.   I have left specific instructions with my partner as well as close friends that if I am ever hospitalized for any length of time, for the love of all things holy, please have someone come in and do my eyebrows.  Anyway, moving on, I used to be pretty.  I’m really noticing my age now when I look in the mirror. 

I have creases and lines around my darkened eyes that I try to hide with concealers and light eyeshadows.  I have noticeable lines around my mouth from laughing out loud and deep frown lines in my forehead from wincing in pain, and from saying “what in the actual fuck?” too often.  I have coarse gray hairs sprouting where my soft wavy auburn ones used to be. 

Things creak and snap and pop in a much older, much rounder version of a girl that used to dance with reckless abandon alone in her room to the B52s.  The girl who used to stay up all night finishing a Stephen King novel before she went to school now, at 43 holds that Stephen King book much farther away and prefers e readers because you can make the font large and these days, I’m all about less squinting.

I’m aging.  It seems to have snuck up on me somewhere between season 1 and season 7 of Game of Thrones.  

One night you’re washing your bar makeup off and when you splash your face and look up, it’s 20 years later and there’s some old broad standing where you once were with an “I’m too old for this shit” look on her face.  She thinks your music is too loud and that young people suck.  

I guess I’m not at that aging gracefully stage as there seems to be nothing graceful about it. Things drop, sag and hang and all the push up bras and Spanx in the world can’t hide the lie forever.  Why are my hips widening now?  The time for babies has passed.  It really seems like overkill.  

I’d like to conclude by saying something like, “oh but I am so much wiser.”  I am.   I’m wise to the fact that I’m looking and feeling haggard and old.  


This blog post brought to you by Queens of the Stone Age Villains.. On repeat. Thank God for Rock and Roll…

Live Humbly, Be Charitable, Tell Her She’s Pretty,

Sam
Sam Clattenburg