So, both the rapture and the end of the world have come and gone, and here we all are. Sigh. These things are always a disappointment. Remember Y2K and the mass chaos that was supposed to ensue? What a let-down. But there's always next time. The end of the world is bound to happen - right on one schedule or another. What is it about 2012?
At any rate, since a number of my friends predicted that if any of us were to be raptured we would likely be halfway to heaven before being tossed back to earth like unwanted carp, it was decided that drinking absinthe would be the next best thing. There happens to be a Russian vodka bar not far from my apartment serving absinthe - the real stuff complete with wormwood. So away we went.
Unfortunately, when we got to the bar it turned out that they were out of absinthe. We stayed for a few drinks anyway. I gave Sara free reign and she ordered two drinks for me - I started the evening with a Mr. Shakes* and I followed it up with a Boney M**, both of which were fine but not exactly absinthe. The vodka bar soon grew too loud with Russian dance music for our liking, so we headed down the street to a neighbourhood pub, where typically there are tables available, frosty beverages on tap, 90's music playing, etc. It turns out that my local pub has metamorphosed into an ill-conceived dance bar*** - a good place for a five minute party**** but not so good for a group of people looking to enjoy a conversation about Jodie Sweetin and a quiet pint. We left without delay, but not before Sara went to the washroom***** to accidentally walk in on someone inserting a tampon. All Sara said about the experience was that it was awkward - and that the offending girl said that it was probably more awkward for Sara than it was for her. I wonder whether Sara experienced just a little bit of menstrual nostalgia? Did she think back to the time when she had regular cycles, the way others might think back to a really good summer? If she did, she's not talking.
We found another bar, a little disappointed with the evening up to that point, but that was nothing a pitcher of PBR couldn't fix. At least the bar gave us front row seats to the parade of attendees of a nearby fetish party strolling by. Query: are there people with a pregnancy fetish? I presume so. I mean, plushies. Not that the two are at all related, but surely if there are people who want to dress up as stuffed animals and fuck, there must be people who get off on pregnant women.****** I feel kind of bad for them. The pregnancy fetish people, I mean. While there are plenty of pregnant women, I doubt that there are many who are ready and willing******* for the fetishists to indulge. The fetishists probably only get about two periods lasting a few months each to live out their fantasy over the entire course of their lives. Unless they have the luck to hook up with women who want to have a dozen children and don't mind that their uteruses fall and start to hang out. Prolapse. It happens.
Of course, maybe the people with a partiality for pregnancy are content to masturbate to pictures of pregnant women, of which there is certainly no shortage. Why ladies in their third trimester think it's a fine idea to have their near naked photos taken and then post them on Facebook is a mystery. I mean, really. Most of you don't look good.******** Just puffy and jowly with bad skin. Stop it. Just stop it. Or at least reserve the pictures for your baby book rather than publishing them for all to see. Are you really comfortable with the knowledge that out there somewhere is a printout of your cherished photo with dried sperm on it?
*Mr. Shakes was a surprisingly tasty concoction involving schnapps, chambord, rum and champagne. I ordinarily have too much respect for alcohol to order anything involving schnapps - apart from the summer that I worked at a bar where the staff were all liquor pigs who liked to drink while they worked. Peppermint schnapps gave us all very fresh breath, so by the end of our shifts we smelled like we'd recently brushed our teeth, rather than stale and boozy like we'd been drinking for the last six hours or so.
**The Boney M tasted like blueberries and made me think of the Boney M Christmas album that my mom used to play incessantly during the holiday season. My brothers and I smashed the cassette with a hammer. It was immensely satisfying. Parents: keep your collection in a secure location. Children are ruthless. If it's not quite to their taste, they will destroy all the music that you play all the time because you particularly like it.
***Katy Perry....
****more about that another time
*****she's going every ten minutes on average these days
******well, maybe not directly on them
*******I have no doubt that they're able
********Except Sara, of course, who is adorable. When she's sitting down you'd never even guess that she's knocked up because her shockingly enormous bosom blocks the view of her swollen abdomen.
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