Can't think of a good title. Sorry.

Gather 'round the computer screen, children. Have a drink with me.

Anyone who's tried to follow drinking-for-two at all probably noticed in late November that I seemed to have disappeared.  Your senses are not deceiving you.  drinking-for-two is has been on hiatus.  I've been busy, see.  And, I haven't felt like it.  I won't keep it a secret:  hiatus is probably* permanent.  Which isn't to say I've been, or plan to, go on the wagon - god forbid - I'm dipping into a carton of Pinot Grigio as we speak - not that we're speaking - but you know what I mean.  I've actually been doing quite a bit of thinking about... stuff... and none of said thoughts would really translate well here, and I don't think this particular train of thought is going away anytime soon.

It's kind of a shame, because I had some great holiday material - but time is not limitless, and attention spans are short... so there.  There may have been some Frosty and Rudolph drinking games**, and maybe the establishment of the new holiday tradition of doing unspeakable things like tea-bagging a light-up Virgin Mary in somebody's front-yard nativity scene***. There's also the most horrifying moment of my life****.

Anyway.

Who would've thought that the end result of all this binge-drinking would be a life-lesson learned?  Apart, perhaps, from a life-lesson about the perils involved in binge drinking?  Through my alcoholic haze, I've actually been thinking really hard about childbearing/rearing and why people do it, given that pregnancy is both disgusting***** and disfiguring, you lose a certain amount of freedom after you have babies, and... well... you have to share.  Your time.  Your living space.  Your money.  Your snacks.

I could be sentimental and explain what it is I've figured out.  But instead, here are some favourite quotes from Slash****** that sum up the last couple of years better than I can:

"I don't think there's anything better than hearing your favorite band live."  (True, but kind of irrelevant.)

"I thought to myself just how hard it must be to be a girl."  (True again; considerably more relevant.)

"We did amazing things every single night that were godlike."  (I dunno.  Did we? Sometimes, at least?)

"If there is one thing I am, it's 'the eternal teenager.'" (true again.  it's both a blessing and a curse.)

and last, but not least:

"That's a wonderful side effect of leather pants:  when you pee yourself in them, they're more forgiving than jeans." (mental note.)

So there you go.

So long.  It's been fun.  Drink responsibly.  Or, you know, don't.  Do whatever makes you happy.  I won't judge.




*yes, "probably".  who knows what the future could bring?  it's folly to think that there's anything truly permanent in life.  don't, like, hold your breath, or anything, though.

**it's easy.  when watching Frosty, every time the snowman says "Happy Birthday!", or the magician says something in triplicate, or you see the bunny, you drink.  When watching Rudolph, every time anyone acts like kind of a dick, you drink.  A good time will be had by all, promise.

***After viewings of both Frosty and Rudolph.  Still, though.  Blasphemy!

****Nope, it wasn't a positive pregnancy test.  The condensed version:

My parents thoughtfully drove me home on Boxing Day because I had way too much stuff to take the train.  When my dad went to use my bathroom on arrival, I had the uneasy feeling there was a reason I shouldn't have let him go in there.  Then I had one of those "oh good god no" moments, rushed upstairs to my bedroom, checked a drawer, and then had another one of those "oh good god no" moments, this time to the power of ten.  I wasn't sure whether I should die of shame or burst into helpless laughter.  Yes, you've guessed it.  Or maybe you haven't.  Or maybe you already know this story.  I'd left a rather high-end vibrator in my bathroom, in full view, by the sink.  I don't think my dad will ever be able to look me in the eyes again.

*****Though, come to think of it, it's not like the menstrual cycle isn't disgusting.  And sperm.  Come on.  It's gross.  And dangerous.  Especially if you get some on an eyelid.  It's like Crazy Glue.  (Sorry, mom).

******Chilling, how easily I'm able to relate to a man who literally died from excess.  He came back to life, though, obviously, so maybe there's hope for me yet.














Secret footnote:

Maybe I'll be sentimental after all.  I think I established long ago that I must be lacking whatever brain chemistry leads to the urge to propagate our species.  I've always said that I didn't want to rule out the idea of kids altogether, I might change my mind when I get older, biological clock and all that, etc.  Maybe I haven't been saying so on this blog, but whatever.  Since I can't say that I've definitely changed my mind about any of it, it's reasonably safe to say that if I have a biological clock, it's not plugged in.  Still in the box, even.  I've had an epiphany all the same.

I'd originally planned for the big finale of drinking-for-two to be the birth of the twins.  They're walking now.  Sort of.  Yes.  Sort of walking.  Since the births, I've wondered, off and on, why it is that I've kept on drinking/writing.  I assumed for many months that blogging was a crutch to me in the same way that cooking sherry is a crutch to an alcoholic.  Those lines have blurred, a bit, sometimes, obviously, but hey.  I am what I am.

But then the urge to write drinking-for-two just went away.  Over the last couple of months, I've wondered, off and on, how/why it was so easy for me to stop so suddenly.  Here's where I get sentimental:  if I've been on an unintentional voyage of self-discovery, I think I'm done.  

Bear with me.  It's kind of hard to explain my exact sequence of thoughts.  Especially when three-quarters through a carton of wine, like I am.

I've maybe mentioned (today, even) that I've been mystified by the desire to have children.  I've always known that people say that their kids make them ridiculously happy and are worth whatever sacrifices they have to make.  Until recently, these were always people that I could not relate to on any level.  It was one thing to hear it from people whose goals/interests/etc. are/were completely foreign to me.  It's entirely different to witness it, first-hand, in your peers, in your closest friends.  That didn't tip some kind of balance in favour of having kids, understand.  But I started to wonder whether I was missing out on something incredible.  So I made the transition from "ew, no way in hell" to "maybe".

Other girls seem to have known all along that what they were looking for in a boy was somebody that they were so into that they'd let them make children on them.  Maybe not in so many words, but still.  Since I've not really considered having babies, I've been selecting my boyfriends on criteria like, "you look really good in that T-shirt" and "you like Dinosaur Jr. too?"  And/or maybe I've just been living a little too much in the moment.  Not that I have any regrets about that.  Not very many, anyway.

But even after I made the shift from "hell no" to "maybe", I still knew that creating a mini-me that I wasn't even sure I wanted because I was afraid I was missing out on something was not a good idea.  Especially when "I like my breasts where they are" would feature so very prominently on a pro/con list, should I ever make a pro/con list.  Especially when I could potentially wind up with someone that I wouldn't want to make babies on me.

It surprises me, now, that it was weeks and weeks later that that last thought came together with this next one:  kids are so not the point.

In a lot of ways, I'm really quite okay with being alone, but that doesn't mean that dying alone is my long-term plan.  But that I'd even entertain the thought of "settling down" with someone that I wouldn't want to make babies with, just because I wasn't sold on having babies, was completely insane.  Shouldn't I be looking for that much, at least?  Someone that I'm so into that I'd consider letting them make babies on me, regardless of what I may decide to do with my uterus in future?

The answer, of course, is a deafeningly loud YES.  Maybe I'll have kids at some point, maybe I won't.  If/when I'm post-menopausal and someone asks me why I never had kids, I don't want to flinch and gesture towards my partner and ask, "would you want to?"  I want to be able to look over at my partner and smile and explain, "we decided that it was more important that my breasts stay where they are."

And what am I going to do with this new-found perspective on things?  What any normal woman in their thirties would do:  I'm going to barricade myself in my apartment studying cultural theory while listening to Air Supply.

Cheers to Chris and Sara, and Jack and Molly, and me.

See ya.  I'm really done this time.

Birthday. Again.

Now that I'm older, let me impart some of my hard-earned wisdom:

First:

Parenthood has not turned Chris or Sara into nicer people.  Thank you for my birthday Motley Crue drinking cups.

For anyone who needs explanation:

1.  I hate Motley Crue.  Like, really HATE.

2.  Since the cups were a gift, I'd feel bad about throwing them away, so I won't.

3.  The plastic they're made of is likely indestructible, so I'll have them forever.

4.  Every time I open my cupboard, from now until the time of my death, I will see them and experience a few seconds of rage.

I've been using one of them today, incidentally, and feel both angry and dirty, sort of like I'm being molested.

Fuck you guys.

Second:

Drinking shots is rarely a good idea, even if it is your birthday.  I owe someone a punch in the face.