with Lynne and Leslie

Marriage means never having to smoke pot with some weird drunk girl…

by SweetMidlife

Well, at least it does for me.

Thank God.

This is Leslie. I’ve talked about “Up All Night” before, and how the parents on the show are continually reconciling what they always thought was cool, hip behavior with their current sleepy parent reality. Their first priority is no longer the right car, or the cool bar, or staying up all night. It’s staying  awake, which doesn’t mean that they don’t look back at yesteryear and think “Holy Hades, what’s happened to me?”

I have those moments too, but unless it’s about what’s happened to my butt that it no longer fits into my favorite chocolate suede skirt (I’m working on it), more than not I look back at that stuff and don’t miss it. I still love getting dressed up and going out sometimes. I just don’t care like I used to. My happiness is somewhere else.

Sometimes, I even mourn the time I wasted on crap like going to parties I never wanted to be at in the first place, or chatting up some idiot just because my friend was macking on their friend. If I had a dime for every idiot I wasted time on..well, I’d be paying someone else to write this.

This all came to mind back in September, when my husband and I took a work-related vacation in the St. Pete area.  We had been there before, and happened upon a fantastic Baltimore Ravens bar in a small town on the beach. Knowing we were going to be there during a game against arch rivals the Pittsburgh Steelers, we were psyched to meet other Marylanders to talk trash with and to celebrate the Ravens right by the Gulf of Mexico rather than right by I-395. And we did – Scott found a guy he played Little League with! And we also found Maria.

And quickly lost her.

I heard about Maria before I actually saw her, because she was apparently the person who rendered the ladies room unusable for a long time, as the result of her drunkabilly ways and….their results. She was very pretty, somewhere in her 20s, and apparently took a shine to me. Maybe it’s that she liked my hair as she told me. Or maybe it’s that I was a new face who didn’t know what a drunken crazy mess she was.

“You should come back to my house,” she drunked, trying desperately to keep her head up. “I live a block away. You should come back and we’ll smoka the ganga.”

I honestly can not imagine a time where that would have been an attractive offer – I smoked pot exactly twice in my life, and both times I just wanted to eat inappropriate things too late at night and sat around with other high hungry people staying stupid crap nobody meant. I can do that completely sober. What do I need pot for? And why would I wanna go to some stranger’s house to do it – that’s the basis for every other episode of “Law and Order: Bad Stuff Happens to Stupid People.”

The thing is, even though the prospect of hanging out with some strange drunk high girl who can’t even hold her head up would always have been repellent, I can admit that there are times in my life that I could have been talked into thinking about it – if I were with friend who were driving and my only ride home. If a guy I was crushing on was going. When I was stupid and in my 20s.

I probably still do stupid things, but at 40, I never think about going places with people I don’t know, or doing most of your “SVU” victim behaviors, because I’m smarter. And…this is your “Bride at 35” tie-in, folks…I’m married. I bring my own fun with me and he’s a bald stocky Ravens fan. I no longer need to meet new people or guys or a ride, because he’s my companion and we are enough. Not that couples never do stuff like that – isn’t that where Cinemax gets their late-night plots? But we’re old and boring. My hair may look adventurous, but the rest of me falls asleep at 9:30 and keeps her vices to Manhattans and cheese wontons.

I thought of that last week when Hubby and I attended an awesome VIP club/restaurant/fabulous freaktorium opening featuring half-naked performers, a caged tiger, and free passed appetizers and cocktails. Guess what was more attractive to me? Even five year ago I would have obsessed about what I was wearing, who was there and if they thought I was cute. Being single was hectic. Skinnier. But hectic. And stressful. But that opening, for us, was a people-watching scream. I noticed young attractive men looking right through me  – they were looking for young and hot, and I didn’t even come up on their radar. And I didn’t care. I have a man. And…what does that song say? I know who I want to take me home. And he has to. He’s got the car keys and it was a long walk from Miami.

I’m not saying that it isn’t nice to be thought of as attractive. But at the end of the day, I don’t stress because some hipsters don’t notice me among all the impressive barely dressed hotness. I notice the bad dresses and the poseurs and the things that make me touch my husband’s sleeve and whisper “To your right. With the doily masquerading as a skirt. Yeahhhhh.” And then I told him what direction the guy with the shrimp was going. We had a ball. It’s a different old married people ball. But it’s a ball nonetheless.

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