The Evolution of Getting Carded

I recently realized that I've reached the age where I don't mind getting carded.

It is no longer causes me to roll my eyes in what my mother calls "youthful indignation." I no longer get a smug look on my face when the person realizes that I'm actually NOT 17 years old. I don't even give them the "are you serious" look of utter exasperation.

Like my former self, some people hate having to take out their ID and get very annoyed by the gesture. Other people are so tickled by being asked for it that they get goofy grins on their faces for the rest of the day. There's an evolution here, I think...

The Evolution of Getting Carded

Age 21-22: Excited about getting ID'd and eager to prove that you're finally of age -- legally. Suck it, bouncers! And waiters! And old ladies at the grocery store! And everyone who's not 21! NOW, SOMEONE BRING ME AN AMARETTO SOUR.

Age 23-24: Smug that you get to prove your legality to the equally smug people who think you're not, but starting to get a little peeved at digging around your purse every. single. time.

Age 24-25: Totally annoyed at still having to prove you're not a damn kid.

Age 26-27: Completely neutral. The annoyance and the flattery are equally balanced -- essentially, it's a wash.

Age 28-29: Flattered -- someone basically thinks you look 10 years younger! Tell everyone and their mother about how you still get carded and, giggle, isn't that hilarious?

30+: Disenchanted and rolling your eyes that some flirtatious bartender is just trying to flatter you. Just pour the drink, buddy.

Birthday weekend, number one

Guess who has the best wife, parents and in-laws EVER?

This guy.

Dave's birthday is on Wednesday, the 27th, so we decided to celebrate a few days early. (I've done this before by accident... I could have SWORN his birthday was on the 25th last year, so when we went to my parents' house for their annual Memorial Day Party/Bocce Tournament, I announced to my mom that we should bring out a cake on the 25th. Eh, close enough.)

Anyway, with Dave's parents coming in town this weekend, I thought it would be good to give him his present -- a Nikon D90 -- before the actual birthday, so we could all see his face when he opened it.

I wrapped a few random "presents" so Dave wouldn't see just one gift. That would've been a dead giveaway. I also decided to crush his soul every time he thought he was getting the camera.


Example: Dave is cooking in the kitchen while I'm sitting at our counter, watching and drinking. He's a little drunk, but so am I, so I ended up mentioning something about his birthday present. Singular.

Dave: I know what it is!

Me: No you don't. How do you know? What do you think?

Dave: I'm not gonna say. But you said "present," not "presents," so I think I know.

CRAP. Must throw him off. Must... lie.

Me: No, I didn't.

Dave: Pretty sure you did. You said "present."

Me: Wrong.

Dave: But, I thought... You really didn't?

Me: No.

His face fell, evidence of the crushed soul. Mission accomplished.


I did that type of thing quite a few times before Friday, just to make sure he would have no idea he was getting the camera. Worth it. He was thrilled.

And now, a few pics from the weekend:

Beautiful weather!

Saturday afternoon in Chinatown.

Most of our weekends circle around food.

...And drink. (Bubble tea! Kinda creepy, but I still like it.)

Club seats, wait staff, vodka lemonades. I hear there was a baseball game going on too.

Dave's folks.

Sunday brunch at Rockit. Dave drank coffee. His mom and I drank mimosas.

And so, our weekend of gluttony and indulgence came to an end.

Next weekend: MY parents come in town. For 5 days. Anyone who knows my dad knows he's the biggest drinker and eater pretty much ever, so it promises to be a continuation of these recent festivities. But with Manhattans.

I know he just lost, but...

I don't know much about basketball.

Wait, start over... I don't care to know much about basketball.

But one thing I do know is that if you don't like LeBron James, then what is wrong with you?

Aside from LeBron being a total beast on the court, he's freakishly down-to-earth and likable. Facts:

1. He always passes the ball to his teammates.
   
2. He respects the players on other teams, even when they're douchey like Kobe.
3. He plays the game without ever playing dirty.
4. He's not all over the media for clubbing, whoring, drinking, sexually assaulting, ODing or hanging out with anyone from The Hills.
   
5. He's shockingly humble when everyone's fawning over him and calling him the best player in the history of the whole wide world.

Unselfish, respectful, honest, focused, humble. What kind of person wouldn't appreciate someone like that?

I think I should start using this LeBron Likability Barometer to see whether or not I should be friends with someone. Or if my sister should date someone. If they don't like Lebron, I think I should get to drop my drink dramatically, twirl away from them with a defiant stomp and storm out away in a huff while ranting about The Kids These Days and how they don't appreciate a genuine, honest worker!

Of course, I guess it's possible that I'm missing something here. If you'll recall -- from only about 3 seconds ago, because, let's be honest, you're just skimming this -- I don't know much about basketball. But, based on what I see in ESPN snippets, articles that Dave leaves up on my computer, Cavs games I'm forced to watch, etc., LeBron James is a godly player without an attitude problem. That's a rare thing nowadays and I don't understand how anyone wouldn't respect that.


Next time, Cavs, right? Say yes. I can't bear to watch my husband collapse on the floor again in defeat.

Why Rachel Getting Married annoyed me

I saw Rachel Getting Married this weekend. I actually ordered it from Netflix a few weeks back, before my precious pup passed away, before my good friend from high school passed away, before I was just generally depressed.

Ironically, the one potentially disastrous thing in my life that's really going well right now is my sister's recovery. She's 7 months clean, got a job, going to school, going to meetings, almost acting like a mature adult most of the time. It's pretty sweet.

So, I popped the DVD in and prepared to be completely at one with the movie that supposedly mirrors my own experience.

For those of you who don't know, Rachel Getting Married is about an addict just barely out of rehab who attends her sister's wedding. This was my life... except my sister had relapsed during my wedding.

I expected to feel some emotional pangs and difficult memories while watching RGM, but, actually, I was kind of annoyed by it.

Sure, the movie really captured the selfishness and the OMG LOOK AT ME, I AM THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE thing that addicts have going on, but it really fell flat in a lot of other areas.


Addict Behavior

First of all, addict Kym was supposed to be 9 months clean, yet she was acting exactly like my sister in the midst of her relapse. Self-absorbed, combative, wildly moody, over-the-top dramatic and always the victim.

This is not the way someone 9 months clean acts. At least, not in my experience.

At 7 months clean, my sister is a completely different person than she once was, and she's really been improving every month of her recovery. Maybe she's just kicking major ass, but I still have a hard time believing that someone with even more clean time under her belt would behave like such a user.

This movie would have made a lot more sense to me if Kym only had 3 months of clean time -- and was in her "pink cloud" right before it comes crashing down into a whirlwind of reality, responsibility... and relapse. THAT is more believable. And just as tragic.


Whiny Sister

Rachel, the older sister, was someone I could simply not relate to. Yeah, she had kind of a wacky, nontraditional wedding, but I'm not talking about Bride Rachel. I'm talking about Sister Rachel.

1. She did not make her sister maid of honor.
2. She did not let her sister sit at the main family table.
3. She was really pissed off that her family focused all their attention on Kym during and after her drug use.

On drugs or not, my sister was my maid of honor. I did not have any expectation of her in terms of party planning, helping out with details or gushing about any of the excitement swirling around us. But she's my sister.

I knew that the MOH position was going to be whatever she made out of it, and if she didn't give two shits then I knew she'd be the one who looked back on it with regret. Not me.

What'd she do? She helped tremendously with the rehearsal dinner when the buses weren't showing up, she helped day-of when she demanded that the hotel bring bar stools to my room for the make-up artist and she gave a fantastic speech at the reception. She deserved the opportunity to be a part of the happiness and she took it.

As for the fictional Rachel not letting her sister sit at the family table, that was just ridiculous. I understand being so completely pissed off and hurt by your addict sister than you just want her to go away, but it creates so much more tension and so much more drama by being such a bratty fucking bride. Enough already.

And as far as the last point -- Rachel whining about not getting any attention -- well, I don't really relate to that either.

Trust me, I'm a needy first-born with a stubborn streak and a princess mindset, but when you've got a family member in crisis, EVERYONE is focused on her -- including you.

When I'd call home, my greeting would always be, "How's she doing?" When my parents would call me, they'd often give me an update before I could even ask. There wasn't time to feel neglected. There wasn't any energy to throw my own tantrums. The family rallied and that was that.


The Tiptoeing

Maybe this is just a personality thing, but I'm pretty blunt. Especially with my sister. It's an older sister's job, is it not?

In Rachel Getting Married, Kym was all whiny and pissy about how her dad was constantly watching over her, always asking where she was going, offering to drive her. She felt like a prisoner and couldn't understand why she wasn't being trusted.

The movie answer? "He does that because he loves you."

My answer, when I had this exact conversation with my sister? "You haven't earned back any trust! You lost it all on your own with your reckless, addict behavior and you have no one to blame but yourself. You want more trust? Prove you deserve it. And here's how..."

Harsh? Perhaps. Bossy, even. But she needed to hear it.

I don't tiptoe arround the addict thing. I don't tiptoe around the "I'm a victim" rationalizing. I don't think it does her any favors to sugarcoat the reality of the situation she's put herself in.

Addicts are used to blaming other people. Sometimes, they need to be reminded that they are responsible for their actions in order to grow in their recovery. Being responsible means you're in control. And that's a good thing.



So, overall, I wasn't too moved by Rachel Getting Married. Parts of it were heartbreaking, but so much more of it wasn't relatable to me. At all.

I guess I had expected a little too much from it. Expected too many parallels. In that respect, it simply wasn't there.

That said, I'd watch it again with my sis. Would be interesting to get her thoughts on it. You never know, maybe I'm way off in my review. (Doubt it though because I'm the big sister and big sisters are ALWAYS right about little sisters. Aren't we?)

Would be interesting to get your thoughts as well. Maybe I'm just too close to this whole scenario to appreciate what the movie was trying to do...

Oh, 5 years definitely counts

Today is my 5-year anniversary.

Yep, Dave and I have been together 5 years.

When I kindly reminded him of this last weekend, he stared at me in silence for a moment, almost as if he was trying to figure out if I was serious or not.

"What?" I asked. "Thursday. May 7. 5-year anniversary."

"Right..." he said carefully. "But..."

BUT NOTHING, DAVE.

"...But," he said, "That kinda doesn't count anymore since we got married."


FALSE.


"Oh, it counts!" I spit out. "You bet your ASS it counts. Come on, Dave! 5 years!"

Blah, blah, blah, I went on a rant, he gave in, now we're going to dinner.

But seriously, men, why would you think a 5-year anniversary doesn't count? It's not like I'm celebrating 6.75 years or 28 months. 5 years. 5 years always counts!

I don't know about you, but I haven't stuck with any one thing for 5 years (well, except gymnastics). But not a guy, not a hobby, not a job, not a hair color, not even a grudge. 5 years is a big deal for me, therefore we must celebrate. We must celebrate and he must like it.

So tonight, we're off to dinner for some good Italian food right here in the neighborhood. (Nowhere near the peeing guy, for any of my tweeps. God, that word is retarded.)

Anyway, I was all set to end this post right there when Dave came home. Yes, we're all in for a treat.




"Hey, how's it going?" he said as he walked in.

"Good," I said. "How are you?"

"BAM!!" he shouted, pulling some flowers out from behind his back. "You're not doing 'good,' you're doing great!"

I, of course, exploded in a fit of laughter as I jumped up to give him a hug.

As he hugged back, he said, "Here's to 5 okay years. Let's be honest, they were really just kinda ehhh." *Squeeze*

WHO CARES? I GOT FLOWERS.

"Yeah, can you reach the vase up above the fridge?" I asked, breaking away.

"That's exactly why these years have just been ehhh," he joked, without missing a beat.

Well, he's got me there.



I'm sure the rest of the evening will be just as magical. And now, off I go to force my husband to celebrate our ehhh anniversary. :-) Marriage is fun, no?

Don't let this happen to you

Dave and I went to dinner last night farther north on the Brown Line, at the Western stop. We went with our fabulous wedding photographer and his girlfriend, so it was worth it (even though the tequila did a number on me in the morning, gahhh) -- and the train ride was almost as entertaining as dinner itself...

In general, the Brown line is one of the least exciting lines for me. It's not like the Blue Line where there's an equal mix of homeless lunatics and unintentionally hilarious hipsters. It's not like the Red Line where there's an equal mix of homeless lunatics and homeowning lunatics. It's just rather vanilla.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE not getting harassed on the train. It's heavenly to ride somewhere in peace. But the Brown Line can sometimes lack the character that the other trains have.

Except for yesterday!

Yesterday, on the way to dinner, I saw this lovely lady. I almost felt bad taking her picture but it was just too perfect not to.



Yes, that's an issue of Cat Fancy right there. The magazine, the cloth bag, the oversized (floor-length) coat, the lack of wedding band -- god, I wanted to hug her!

Instead, I snapped a quick picture with my phone and made a spectacle of her on my blog.

Same thing, right?