# 3
I hope I'm not one of those people who writes better when slightly inebriated. I guess we'll find out shortly. It is now 11 pm and I have just returned home from an outing to Meier's Tavern in Wilmette with my friend Chris. We have known each other since our high school yearbook days, and have met semi-monthly since my return to Chicago to drink Old Style, discuss relationships and argue over whether Howard Jones, eighties sensation, can be considered famous or not. I maintain that he has never been, nor ever will be, famous. Chris begs to differ.
After an extremely large Old Style ($2.50) and a bottle of Beck's ($3.00 - Old Style has this strange numbing effect on my throat that grows increasingly unpleasant as the night wears on, causing me to panic and order overpriced pseudo-foreign beer), Chris chauffeured me home in his enormous black Cadillac. I admit this is a strange choice for a 28-year-old guy from the suburbs, but Chris has fostered a lifelong love of Big Cars. Who can argue with him? Certainly not our other friend Jim, who used to commandeer us around in a rusty, pastel yellow Oldsmobile that featured an extremely high-tech climate control system called the Comfortron. Now he drives a Honda Civic, and I suspect that Chris believes that Jim has "sold out".
Upon my return to my parents' condo, I noticed that the placement of the decorative bamboo plant on the second floor landing had been changed; it is now placed rather rakishly to the far left of the large circular window rather than remaining centered. Why would someone move it? And more importantly, how much of a life don't I have that I noticed its new position? Clearly this is a sign that I need to get in a car and drive as quickly as possible away from my parents' home in a westerly direction.
Another sign that it's time to leave is that my physical appearance has started to regress. Two months ago, I moved in with my parents as an adult, ostensibly - someone who was generally financially self-sufficient and confident, just in between leases. I looked in the mirror just now and I swear, I have begun to resemble a bookish fifth-grader. Part of the problem is that Lens Crafters fucked up my contact lens order, so I have to wear my glasses. The other issue is that I got this incredibly stylish haircut at the Jubilee Salon in San Francisco last week, but my sassy new bangs, which fell sexily over one eye for the first two days, now dangle annoyingly and constantly in my face. This has caused me to pin them back with a pink plastic barrette from H&M - very circa-1985 and potentially hip on a ...well, on a hip person. But on me it just creates that not-terribly-desirable-pre-pubescent look. I mean pre-pubescent in the old-school sense: the horrific braces, acid wash and Coke-bottle-glasses thing, not the leopard-print-Britney-whore-in-training look that little girls seem to be cultivating lately. Think Dawn and Velma. I guess both of them are fully pubescent, but let's not be overly literal, here. Cripes.
Off to see whether Fox News is finished spouting propaganda and has finally gotten around to airing Seinfeld on a delay after some sort of dumb sporting event. I will grudgingly admit that I'm aware that it's some sort of baseball activity, but I refuse to acknowledge anything more.
After an extremely large Old Style ($2.50) and a bottle of Beck's ($3.00 - Old Style has this strange numbing effect on my throat that grows increasingly unpleasant as the night wears on, causing me to panic and order overpriced pseudo-foreign beer), Chris chauffeured me home in his enormous black Cadillac. I admit this is a strange choice for a 28-year-old guy from the suburbs, but Chris has fostered a lifelong love of Big Cars. Who can argue with him? Certainly not our other friend Jim, who used to commandeer us around in a rusty, pastel yellow Oldsmobile that featured an extremely high-tech climate control system called the Comfortron. Now he drives a Honda Civic, and I suspect that Chris believes that Jim has "sold out".
Upon my return to my parents' condo, I noticed that the placement of the decorative bamboo plant on the second floor landing had been changed; it is now placed rather rakishly to the far left of the large circular window rather than remaining centered. Why would someone move it? And more importantly, how much of a life don't I have that I noticed its new position? Clearly this is a sign that I need to get in a car and drive as quickly as possible away from my parents' home in a westerly direction.
Another sign that it's time to leave is that my physical appearance has started to regress. Two months ago, I moved in with my parents as an adult, ostensibly - someone who was generally financially self-sufficient and confident, just in between leases. I looked in the mirror just now and I swear, I have begun to resemble a bookish fifth-grader. Part of the problem is that Lens Crafters fucked up my contact lens order, so I have to wear my glasses. The other issue is that I got this incredibly stylish haircut at the Jubilee Salon in San Francisco last week, but my sassy new bangs, which fell sexily over one eye for the first two days, now dangle annoyingly and constantly in my face. This has caused me to pin them back with a pink plastic barrette from H&M - very circa-1985 and potentially hip on a ...well, on a hip person. But on me it just creates that not-terribly-desirable-pre-pubescent look. I mean pre-pubescent in the old-school sense: the horrific braces, acid wash and Coke-bottle-glasses thing, not the leopard-print-Britney-whore-in-training look that little girls seem to be cultivating lately. Think Dawn and Velma. I guess both of them are fully pubescent, but let's not be overly literal, here. Cripes.
Off to see whether Fox News is finished spouting propaganda and has finally gotten around to airing Seinfeld on a delay after some sort of dumb sporting event. I will grudgingly admit that I'm aware that it's some sort of baseball activity, but I refuse to acknowledge anything more.
posted by cindym at 9:05 PM
1 Comments:
For the record, I owned an Accord, not a Civic. I now own a Camry. Yes, I've sold out.
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