Friday, August 17, 2007
This photo was taken when I was roughly half the age I am now.
Big thanks to everyone who sent me well-wishes. Of course, at 6am yesterday the phone rang, and I thought, "Who the hell is calling me? Has the call center for the Democratic National Party gotten that aggressive?"
And then I realized it was Sven, who has elevated the birthday to an art form, making sure to be the one to start off my day. I got an earful of "The Birthday Song," which made me very happy, as I was later at work when I got a phoned-in reprise. Of course, I'd already received the first phase of present deliveries at my office, and have been told that the rest are on their way. Horrified at the only slightly rusted cheese grater he'd seen in my kitchen during the last visit (you know the kind: like a metal pyramid), he'd sent me a shiny new one.
Oh, yes, and Sven also sent me The Secret Life of Lobsters.
And another gift, sent by him and his boyfriend, Andrew, which I opened at work, and was instantly grateful for my tall cubicle. (Hint: I have two already, but they run on hay, which this one does not.)
Last night was another Odyssey cruise, since we had to use up a credit that resulted from an uncanceled deposit. This time it was 10 of us admins, and it was a blast. Since it was the dinner cruise, it was a bit more formal, with lots of couples, etc. in addition to a few other business groups. Late into the evening our organizer, we'll call her Jackie, went from couples table to couples table asking people if they were going to finish their champagne. She managed to collect several half-filled flutes and poured them into her own wine glass. One table just gave up and gave her he rest of their bottle. Several in our group asked the woman who fronted the band if the drummer was single.
"My daughter is an alcoholic," the woman next to me slurred. I watched her suck down her fourth Cosmo in about 40 minutes and decided the apple and the tree were in close proximity.
We had an absolutely great time - the band played "Car Wash," and we all washed on/washed off. We were tacky and we didn't care. Jackie and I hit the dance floor, and I kicked of my shoes - they were too clunky. At one point I ran to the table for something and a waitress told me I had to put my shoes on. I assured her I was heading back to them, and then returned to the dance floor, where I continued to dance shoeless. I was careful to make sure she didn't see me.
"I can see it now," I said to Jackie. "Security to the Sapphire Deck. We have a toe incident."
We finally went back to our table (I put the shoes back on), and a couple of men came to our table to chat. We're talking late fifties to early sixties. Much older, and not in the good Patrick Stewart/Clint Eastwood/Rutger Hauer way. One had a moustache.
(A word here about moustaches, Gentlemen: unless you wish to look like a.) a 1970's porn star, b.) a pedophile, or c.) Ned Flanders, lose the moustache. )
"So, what company are you girls from?" they asked, leaning on the table.
Turns out they were attending the National Association of Realtors convention in Chicago. (More reinforcement that giving up my license was a good move.) Pedophile Porn Flanders said they were from Connecticut.
"You know what they say about Connecticut," I said. "It's a great place to raise your kid.....to be a cop!"
He looked at me blankly. "I don't get it."
"That's because you're from Connecticut," I told him. And in a flash of insight I realized: THESE are the guys who post on Craigslist: "In town this weekend, looking for fun, sexy lady to take out for good times." I had never, ever, been tempted to answer these ads, and felt vindicated.
We were docking, so I told goodbye to Pedophile Porn Flanders and Pal, and asked them to say Hi to New England for me, and headed for the door. I turned to one of the other admins.
I came pretty close to saying, "Dude, it's just not going to happen."
"You read my mind," she said.
I mean, really. Thanks to Sven and Andrew, I have all I need at home in my goody drawer.