Cancelled Plans (And How Does That Make You Feel?)
Last night, Girlfriend and I were supposed to go to a Halloween party. We were to be the guests of our friend Kate, who wanted us to come because she knew the party's host but didn't know him that well and she wanted some friendly faces to back her up as she was probably not going to know anyone else there. We were more than happy to fill this role because, hey, a party is a party, with all of the free booze and food that that implies.
So, our plans were to meet around 8:30 for a quick bite, and then head off to the event. Around five, we get... the call. Kate is sick; like, the kind of sick you can hear in a person's voice, where it sounds like they're struggling to talk through a throat that's been rubbed raw with sandpaper and then coated in a green phlegm. She can't make it to the party, no way, and that means we can't go either because most people that throw parties aren't wild about folks they've never met showing up and trying to fit as many of the hors 'douvres down their pants as they can before the cops are called. Kate gamely tries to "still be up" for dinner, but it's clear it's not going to happen, so I order her to power-chug some orange juice, we plan a rain-check dinner for next week, and we hang up. I look at Girlfriend, I tell her that the night is ours, now, and then the strangest thing happens: We realize that we're relived.
We don't have to go to the party! Sure, perhaps we're missing out on some free drinks, on some free people-in-costumes-watching, some free potentially-interesting-conversation, but... the reverse of that is that we can stay home! In our pajamas! And we can watch a gory, odd movie and eat sausage parm heros and drink our own liquor and then fall asleep watching the World Series!
The full weight of the meaning of the glee that Girlfriend and I felt when faced with this turn of events didn't really fall upon me until this morning. I lay in bed, Girlfriend and our cat both asleep beside me, and I thought about the previous night's events; was I, C-dog, Party Emperor of North and South Texas '99-'03, really so pleased with having missed out on what promised to be quite a memorable happening? Did this "ain't no thang" attitude really spring forth from my brain? And if the answer is yes to both of those questions, what does that mean??? Am I old, now? Is 27 where the party ends and the flannel sleep-pants and early bedtimes begin?
Hm... I don't know.
What, you expect answers from a blog post written at 9:30 on a Sunday morning? Hell, I haven't even had my coffee yet.
Okay, fine, when you look at me with those Bambi-eyes, I can't resist... I guess, if I have to come up with an answer to the above questions, I'd say that yes, my wild years are probably over. This isn't necessarily a bad thing; my liver, for one, is absolutely thrilled. What's cool, though, is that I'm actually okay with this new, unusually-shaped fact. We all know that "a night in" can be a blast when you've got right ingredients at home, so what's to fear? Besides... the best thing I've learned in the last couple of years is that there's always going to be another party. Being young (and by young, I mean "early-20's") means that every night is the last night on Earth and if you miss the "big thing," you're going to be caught at the world's end alone and bored, which simply will not do. Being old (and by old, I mean "late-20's") means that you recognize the above statement as patently false. Which is nice, because it means you can chill on the couch with your girlfriend and some food on a Saturday night in New York City.
And anything that lets you do that can't be bad. Not at all.
So, our plans were to meet around 8:30 for a quick bite, and then head off to the event. Around five, we get... the call. Kate is sick; like, the kind of sick you can hear in a person's voice, where it sounds like they're struggling to talk through a throat that's been rubbed raw with sandpaper and then coated in a green phlegm. She can't make it to the party, no way, and that means we can't go either because most people that throw parties aren't wild about folks they've never met showing up and trying to fit as many of the hors 'douvres down their pants as they can before the cops are called. Kate gamely tries to "still be up" for dinner, but it's clear it's not going to happen, so I order her to power-chug some orange juice, we plan a rain-check dinner for next week, and we hang up. I look at Girlfriend, I tell her that the night is ours, now, and then the strangest thing happens: We realize that we're relived.
We don't have to go to the party! Sure, perhaps we're missing out on some free drinks, on some free people-in-costumes-watching, some free potentially-interesting-conversation, but... the reverse of that is that we can stay home! In our pajamas! And we can watch a gory, odd movie and eat sausage parm heros and drink our own liquor and then fall asleep watching the World Series!
The full weight of the meaning of the glee that Girlfriend and I felt when faced with this turn of events didn't really fall upon me until this morning. I lay in bed, Girlfriend and our cat both asleep beside me, and I thought about the previous night's events; was I, C-dog, Party Emperor of North and South Texas '99-'03, really so pleased with having missed out on what promised to be quite a memorable happening? Did this "ain't no thang" attitude really spring forth from my brain? And if the answer is yes to both of those questions, what does that mean??? Am I old, now? Is 27 where the party ends and the flannel sleep-pants and early bedtimes begin?
Hm... I don't know.
What, you expect answers from a blog post written at 9:30 on a Sunday morning? Hell, I haven't even had my coffee yet.
Okay, fine, when you look at me with those Bambi-eyes, I can't resist... I guess, if I have to come up with an answer to the above questions, I'd say that yes, my wild years are probably over. This isn't necessarily a bad thing; my liver, for one, is absolutely thrilled. What's cool, though, is that I'm actually okay with this new, unusually-shaped fact. We all know that "a night in" can be a blast when you've got right ingredients at home, so what's to fear? Besides... the best thing I've learned in the last couple of years is that there's always going to be another party. Being young (and by young, I mean "early-20's") means that every night is the last night on Earth and if you miss the "big thing," you're going to be caught at the world's end alone and bored, which simply will not do. Being old (and by old, I mean "late-20's") means that you recognize the above statement as patently false. Which is nice, because it means you can chill on the couch with your girlfriend and some food on a Saturday night in New York City.
And anything that lets you do that can't be bad. Not at all.
posted by Clinton at 9:36 AM
4 Comments:
when you hit 30 you go through a third life "bender" period as well, but it does not last...... well... kind of.
Ah, well I'll have that to look forward to, then. Nice to give my liver some advance notice, though.
I was supposed to go out Saturday as well, but remembered that it was 'Hallowen' weekend which is like New Years; amateur night.
So I stayed in.
It was nice waking up early on Sunday without a hangover.
This post is exactly why I need to be in a couple again. When your plans get cancelled in a couple, you can stay home and canoodle. When you're single, it's just you, a bottle of chardonnay, and some truly crap TV.
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