Brilliant Monster: July 2010

Sneaking off of bed rest for a drive out to the country at twilight on a Friday is genius. I'm a genius. Or Tami's a drunk. Or we can split the difference and say both are true.

The drive is the perfect length: Long enough to listen to the best new compilation in the world.

Upon arrival, Deb and I were greeted by the sweetest little Drew Barrymore bug, with her signature sidelong glance, all snapped up in her sporty red baby butt. I love red diaper covers, they're my favourite. It was obvious that there was no dipping into this pool. The pizza was sliced and the serving ware in its elegant state of preparedness. It was clearly dive-only:

I laughed so hard at this. So seemingly ghetto, yet so brilliant. Clearly, Karinda is a black belt in multi-tasking. I ♥ you!

We were in charge of the sweet part of the night's culinary rotation, which meant that I lay on the floor pissed off and idle, and Debe used six different bowls to make these sick rainbow cupcakes. I mean, these were the kind you don't want to share. They're also the kind that slide on the dashboard and into the windshield, coating the ENTIRE surface, somehow, and even between the two of us, I can just say that carrying an ice sculpture or a harp would have been easier. We gave the embarrassing ones to the kids.

This is not to say that adults can't be embarrassing with cupcakes. Can everyone just always shut up when I'm eating or drinking?!?!?

I'm not a major drinker. It's always Russian Roulette for me. I can either have the time of my life and laugh out of this galaxy, or it hits so hard that a road collision at high speeds would be gentler. Last night I got stuck somewhere in between. I drink seldom enough that I forget that (pomegranate MARGARITAS) take a bit to kick in, so I get super tough and knock 'em back until the point whereupon it feels as if my actual self is slipping down inside my skin, like socks that have lost their elasticity, and I hear "Ha ha Cheyenne's drunk! Look at her!" Or in Tami's case, "Ha ha Chey-Anne's drunk!"

Then I try to pass myself off like some smooth operator and when Karinda ushers us outside to chillax in her hammocks, it sounds like best idea anyone ever had. Hm. Chey-Anne + four pomegranate margaritas + a hammock = "Ohmygod please tell me these flowers aren't precious...(imminent vomit sound)!" Fully prepared to do a face plant into the ground, I heard Debe say, "No! Those are chives! Don't puke!" The ensuing improvisation set a record, even for this mastermind. But, are chives that important for real?

Getting out of the hammock, omg.

After spinning clockwise for a couple hours, followed by swaying, then protecting the chives like they were the goddamned Hope Diamond, I needed to spin counter clockwise for a bit before we left. These heartless bishes were as funny as they pleased, while pouring water on me and whatever other hazing rituals are commonly imposed upon lightweights. The s-p-i-n-n-i-n-g forced my eyes shut, but I wasn't deaf, which I'm not sure they knew. I felt like Shelby in Steel Magnolias, after her diabetic episode, when the others are talking about her and she says "Ddddon'ttt tttalk about me like I'm not heere."

We finally bid these wicked bumkins adieu and made plans to get to the bottom of these bottles soon, and hit the road.

Back story: When Debe recently moved, she bought all Corelle dishes. I was incredulous. "Um, these are shit. These are so flimsy. I'm embarrassed for you. Did you go to Walmart?" Whoa.

"Excuse me? These are Corellllle, and they're amazing. My grandma has had hers for fifty years. They're indestructible, and they came from Target so shut the fuck up!"

"Ooooohhkay, but they suck."

The next day she bought more bowls, and two fell out of the car and onto the pavement. And didn't break. Or scratch. I was 9% impressed.

So back to last night: We pulled in her driveway and I grabbed the serving platter off the dashboard. It had just been at my house, unclaimed, for 40+ months, but after the Corelle lesson, I could tell by the thinnish feel that this was Debe's and returned it. As I was getting out, I asked, "Is this Corelle too?"

"Yayse."

"I knew it. Is it shatter-proof too?"

"Mmhmm. Try it."

"What?" (Am I still drunk?)

"Throw it on the ground. It won't break I swear."

Against every fiber of my OCD, I was compelled to see this nearly see-through platter survive a light toss. "Watch," I said, "I'll be the one asshole who breaks one."

At least I was right.

Thank you ladies, for a night of smashing good fun. Until next time!

-Diane kew5

Deborah is crazy. She's always inviting you over and then springing some completely random and highly uncomfortable idea on you, such as "Let's get out the Slip 'N Slide!" (Meaning us too.) And she is surprisingly difficult to refuse. The other day we took the kids to Pietro's Pizza, which I've long avoided due to the very trap in which I was ensnared. Damnit. I knew we were sending the kids in to play laser tag, but it became clear she was herding all of us in there. "Um. I'm not really playing laser tag Deborah." "Oh it will be fun, just get in here!" Before I knew it I was watching the instructional video. Next we picked our guns. I was reticent. But glad to get #15.

We decided it was adults versus kids.

O.M.G. It was so much fun. Quinn is a straight-up rockstar. Everytime I turned around my target was deactivated and I barely even saw him. And Shannon, that quiet blushing thing? She'll shoot your heart right out. And when they teamed up on us, in the corner of the base, I was laughing so hard I was utterly worthless. Obviously we're going back everyday.

The scoring system was kind of fucked. I scored the most points, but Quinn won.

After the adrenaline wore off we followed Deborah down her rabbit hole, as always.

That's me, Bootstrap: