21 and Other Non-Events

Well, this week went by incredibly fast. I don't really know why. It's not like I was any busier than I usually am (I was actually somewhat less busy). Still, one minute it was Friday and then, blink, Friday again! Anyway, on to the random junk I feel like rambling about today:

-The weather sucked this week. When my radio alarm clock went off at 7:15 on Monday morning, the first thing I heard was, "It's 18 degrees in the city with the windchill making it feel like negative 5! Colder in the suburbs!" Thanks, dude. Because I really love the days when I have to get up at 7:15, and that whole negative 5 thing makes the idea of climbing out from under the covers SO much more appealing. On Tuesday it was cold and dreary. On Wednesday it was still cold and it rained all day long. Wednesday is the day I walk literally 4 miles across campus (two miles roundtrip in the morning from my office to the buildings where I teach, and another two miles in the afternoon from my office to my class and back to the parking garage; yes, there's a bus, but I hate waiting for it, plus I'm usually all for any excuse to get some extra exercise). Walking in the pouring rain sucked as much as you might imagine. I don't own rain boots, mostly because I don't really understand rainboots. I've never lived somewhere where I needed rainboots before. I grew up in the desert, and while it rained fairly often in College Town and MA Town, it was usually warm enough there that having slightly wet feet wasn't that big of a deal. So, rainboots. Do you wear them just to walk to work and then change into regular shoes that you're carrying in a bag or something? Or, in my case, would I just sit in class for three hours wearing rainboots? Because I'm thinking that would look really stupid unless you were wearing jeans (rainboots over jeans looks okay). And I don't know why I'm vain enough to care about stupid-looking rainboots when I don't pretend to actually have much fasion sense, but I am. So how does it work? I can see wearing them if I had an office job where I was then going to stay inside all day; then it would make sense to wear the boots to work, change into nice shoes, then put the boots back on at the end of the day. But I can't see myself standing up in front of my classes wearing slacks or a skirt and rainboots, but who wants to carry another pair of shoes across campus to change into them for just an hour or two? Basically, I don't know how galoshes fit into my lifestyle (Galoshes! What a great word!) Maybe someone can enlighten me on this whole thing, because it would be nice not to have soaking wet, freezing feet like I did all day on Wednesday. Luckily, the weather seems to be marginally improving. At least it's not raining today. Enough about the weather, though. It's February, I think it's safe to say that the weather sucks everywhere right now and talking about it isn't going to make it nicer.

-Tuesday was a momentous day in my family. My baby brother is finally, FINALLY 21! This means my entire immediate family can now drink together legally! I realize this probably isn't a huge deal in many families, but as you know, drinking together is a big bonding activity in my family. We're a family that likes restaurants and bars and nightlife. When we were very little, I guess my parents just couldn't indulge as much as they wanted to, which, honestly, they never seemed to resent; all three of us were wanted children, so it's not like my parents didn't know what they were getting into. They'd take us to restaurants with them often, and they drank in front of us, but I honestly don't remember there ever being an instance in my childhood where I thought they had drunk too much to be parenting responsibly. They sometimes laugh now about moments where all the adults in a situation had had a bit too much to drink, but we kids never felt unsafe, which I think is a very big thing about compromising drinking and parenting (and yes, I think it should be a compromise; I have never believed that you have to alter your whole entire lifestyle just because you have a child. Make some sacrifices, absolutely, give up everything about your previous lifestyle cold turkey, no). As we got older, my parents could leave us alone when they wanted to go out. Once I turned 21, though, things got complicated. It wasn't a very big deal, though. I could go out with Mom and Dad if I wanted to, and my brother and sister could do some under-21 thing together and it wasn't ideal but it was alright. Once my sister turned 21, though, it started seeming really unfair. We'd be on vacation or my parents would be visiting us or vice versa, and we'd want to go to a bar or have drinks at dinner, but my brother couldn't be included. For the past couple of years there have been a ton of times when we wanted to go places but had to either leave my brother behind (which wasn't fair to him) or not go at all (which isn't fun for anyone). Once we even all went to Las Vegas for my sister's 21st birthday and my brother opted not to go because he thought he'd be bored. Having to be the youngest sucked for him in this situation, basically.
But now he's finally 21 and he actually survived his birthday so we can all go out together! Which is what we'll all be doing when we go to Las Vegas for his 21st birthday next month! (P.S.-I never got a trip to Vegas for my 21st birthday, I guess because my parents hadn't hit their midlife crisis yet and weren't trying to think up half a dozen different reasons to go clubbing in Vegas each year. Still, I think I'll pull a guilt trip about this in a few years and make everyone go to Vegas for my 30th).
Apparently my brother's birthday celebration was pretty crazy, as it should be. I feel like if you didn't do something stupid on your 21st birthday, then you didn't do it right. I'm a big fan of ritual in life, and throwing up on your 21st birthday? It's not fun, but it's a rite of passage. My brother might win, as far as 21st birthday stories go in my family. My own was relatively tame. As soon as it was midnight, I went to this dive bar with a bunch of random people (seriously, the night was kind of an anomaly: there were several people there that I rarely hung out with, and I also only went to that bar once or twice more in my life). The only good thing about the bar was that if you were old enough to drink they would stamp your hand with a stamp that said "BUS DRIVER". Why does a BUS DRIVER stamp even exist? I don't know. But somewhere there are pictures of me proudly and drunkenly displaying my BUS DRIVER stamp. Anyway, to this day I still can't think about drinking vodka and cranberry juice without feeling slightly queasy. There was a really weird country band at the bar that night. I don't remember much about the band, except that there was a guy playing the spoons (really) and they weren't very good. The last thing I remember is my friend Ian lying to the band and telling them I was his girlfriend in the hopes that they would let him borrow their guitars to play some different music for my birthday. The next thing I vaguely remember is being back at my apartment, sitting on the floor beside my toilet and moaning about how I wasn't going to be able to wake up the next day to go to class, but I HAD to go to class (not for a real reason, just because I'm so flippin' responsible). Apparently I also looked up at my roommate, whom I had been living with for 2 1/2 years at that point, and happily exclaimed, "Oh yeah! You live here!" And I shrieked a lot. That's still true, by the way. When I get very, very drunk, I get excited about everything and very shrieky. Supposedly, there are times when I don't even shriek words, I just shriek. I'm sure that's lots of fun for everyone around me. Anyway, I woke up the next morning in my own bed, wondering who had put me in my pjs (thanks, Kiki and Roomie!) and thinking, "I hope I didn't throw up in Kate's car..."(I didn't). I did drag myself to class, even though I felt like hell, and I spent most of the rest of the day sleeping on a couch outside my department's main office, which wasn't as weird as it sounds. There was always somebody, or multiple somebodies, sleeping on that couch. I was so nauseous I couldn't even drink water until 5:00 that afternoon, but by 11:00 I was ready to go out drinking again. Amazing, how that works. So I made my first of many (MANY) trips to the Pub. Ah, college.
On my sister's 21st birthday we were in our hometown for Christmas, so I took her out drinking with one of her friends and Phil and some of his friends. She wins the prize for being the only one of the three of us kids to throw up in a car on her 21st. At least it was her own car. I was the designated driver, but I (smartly) refused to drive unless we took her car. My favorite moment of her birthday was when she pulled her head back into the car after throwing up as we cruised down the freeway and oh-so-sadly and pathetically sighed, "I'm the throw-up MONster!" To this day, I'll still sometimes say, "I'm the throw-up MONster," in her sad little voice just to make myself laugh.
As for my brother, he apparently drank to the point of throwing up (in a bathroom, at least) and then passing out in the backseat of my sister's car. She ended up taking him to her house and putting him to bed on her couch. But here's the problem with my brother: you know how with most drunk people, once you have managed to get them into bed everything is okay? They'll just stay asleep and if you're a really good friend you stay up and check on them once in a while to make sure they don't vomit and choke? Yeah. It doesn't work like that with my brother. When he drinks too much, he sleep walks. So even once you've successfully gotten him into bed, you never know where the heck he's going to end up, or what he's going to do while he's sleep walking. His favorite thing to do is throw up and/or piss in places that aren't bathrooms. Notable occasions so far: in his closet (my sister had to teach him how to do laundry so he could wash all his clothes the next day before my mom got home), all over my bed at home (thankfully, I wasn't living at home at the time), and all over one of his best friends, who was sleeping on the floor of a spare bedroom at someone's house (gross beyond words). His birthday was the best (worst?) so far, though: when my sister put him to bed, he was wearing his pants and boxers. But he woke up completely naked! And his pants and boxers were nowhere to be found. My sister eventually found them in her garage, of all places. The best part is that my sister's poor roommate got up early to go to work and had to witness my brother's naked body sprawled on the living room couch. Poor girl.
Nobody I know has ever been able to beat Kiki's 21st birthday story, though. The story is a bit lengthy and really needs to be told in person to be truly enjoyed. The short version is that Kiki climbed into bed with the guy she'd been making out with in a hot tub all night and she couldn't figure out how he had fallen asleep so quickly and why he didn't feel like making out anymore. But she was drunk, so she went to sleep, and several hours later when the guy tried to kick her out of his bed she said something to the effect of, "Come on, Brian, we were making out all night, can't I just sleep here for a few more hours?" and he said, "I'm not Brian, I'm Donnie." She had gotten into bed with his roommate! There are so many puzzling things about this story, besides the obviously puzzling element of how the heck Kiki ended up in the wrong bed in the first place. Why didn't Donnie wake up when a random stranger climbed into his bed? Why on earth didn't it dawn on Brian to wonder what had happened to the girl he was hooking up with? This is probably one of my favorite stories ever, and for a year or so afterwards we sould occasionally spy one of the guys at the Pub and gasp, "Look, it's BrianSlashDonnie!", which is how we referred to both of them.
So yeah. My baby brother is 21 now, which makes me feel really old. It makes me feel old because for some reason my brain stalled on 23 and I can't seem to convince myself that I'm older than that, but there's just no way I can possibly be 23 if my brother is 21. Also, I remember when that kid was born. I remember standing on the railing of my mom's hospital bed, eating M&Ms and wondering why on earth the baby brother was so red. I just can't believe he's 21.

-I'm staying in City A this weekend. A friend who I made through my dog went out of town for the weekend and asked me to house and dog sit. My dog absolutely loves the dog I'm sitting for. She's a hound like him and they are so cute together that it almost kills me. I brought my cat down with me, too, and she likes him as well. I want a second dog so badly, but I know it's going to be several years before I have the space and money to get number two. Being with this second hound makes me realize how very low energy mine is, though. I mean, he likes to go for long walks and he has moments where he's very loud, but for the most part he just wants to sleep on the couch, preferably with a human for a pillow. Poor Molly keeps bounding up to him like, "Play with me! Play with me! Come on, let's go!" but nine times out of ten he just raises his eyebrow at her, grunts, and shifts to a more comfortable position on the cushion. Typical guy.

-Nicole wants to try to hook me up this weekend. She came into class on Monday and said, "So, *A*, I have a proposition for you." I immediately said, "You're going to try to hook me up with someone, aren't you?" She sheepishly replied, "Well, I don't know if you're open to that sort of thing, but...yes?" She then went on to tell me all about this guy she works with at her part-time job, but she started out by saying, "Well, let me tell you about him and you can see what you think. He's kind of little, but you're little, too, so I don't think he'll be littler than you. And, okay, he kind of likes Star Trek, but-" At that point I interrupted her and said, "Why exactly are you trying to hook us up?" and she said, "I'm telling you the bad things first. It wouldn't be fair for me to tell you he's great without also telling you the bad stuff." Fair enough. Nic then went on to tell me all of the good qualities she has seen in him, and she said that he's attractive. I suppose I trust Nic's opinion more or less since I like her boyfriend when he comes to visit, but I'm not exactly enthusiastic about matchmaking in general. I've never actually been set up with anyone before, but I've heard enough horror stories to know it rarely works out well. Then again, I'm not in a position where it's easy to meet anyone at all these days, so I figure I might as well meet the guy. I only agreed to go if Nic doesn't tell him anything about me, and she promised she wouldn't. So I'm supposed to meet her and a bunch of her co-workers for drinks after they get off work tomorrow night. At least it's convenient since I'm staying just a few metro stops away from the bar right now, and even if the guy ends up being a total bust I'll at least get to meet several of Nicole's coworkers, and I like meeting new people.

Alright, that's it. I'm gonna walk the dogs while the sun is out.