2003-06-08 - 1:33 a.m.
I’d be lying if I said the past two days were idyllic, but I am in one sweet delightful mood tonight. You've got to love spending a chunk of your day with someone who gets equally as excited over her pink-glitter velcro sneakers as she does over telling you she rode a camel named Sally that morning. Ah, Aubrey. We’ll get to her in a minute.
First, a brief synopsis of Alyssa’s birthday party at ‘Easy & the Fifth’ on Friday night. Messages got crossed, friends were thought lost, $10 cover cost, people got sauced, but nobody was tossed, all went home & teeth were flossed. That pretty much tells the whole story. I can already see that I’m not finished rhyming today. Brace yourself.
Saturday was my own personal comedy in four acts, which I will recount for you here.
Act One: Consumption! Coughing! Calamity!
A late night at a smoky club, frenzied dancing, and the clash of penicillin and vodka has left our protagonist in a bad way. She awakens at 3am, 6am, and again at 9am to congestion, coughing, and very possibly consumption. A liberal application of tea and reading allows her to settle back down for a late, long snooze well past noon. Roused at last by a call on Steve’s cell, they are summoned off to brunch without delay.
Act Two: Saint Anger and the Miracle of the Runny Brunch
The patio at J.J. Muggs is fraught with danger and disappointment. The crowd we are meeting took all the non-wickery seating, so Steve’s bum takes a reed-beating: our orders need repeating and the coffee needs reheating. Tardy food gives us time to brood and grow rude. Runny eggs look like the dregs at the bottom of kegs. But the company is great, so we accept our fate, tolerate our sorry state, and pontificate in a loud debate about Metallica’s new album ‘Irate Prelate’ (or was it ‘Saint Hate’?); we can’t wait for the release date.
Act Three: Stroll of Sin
Sauntering up Bathurst to Dupont, three hedonistic wanderers – a splinter faction from the brunch crowd, who didn’t want to stop at ‘anger’ - indulge in a sunny afternoon of sin. Upon reaching ‘CPUsed’, they covet their neighbors’ flatscreen monitors and synth equipment extensively. Afterwards, trolling the Annex for yard sales, they slothfully lie down with shaggy dogs, lust over babies, envy homeowners with real estate in the area, and take vain delight in their newly ‘acquired’ sunglasses. Seized by gluttony, they purchase frozen delights at a corner store. God does not even see fit to punish their excess with the usual penance of leaving tiny freezee lacerations in the corners of their mouths. Amen.
Act Four: Cousin Doghead and the Waggs
Original plans for the day included a trip to the zoo with Amy’s niece, 3½-year-old Aubrey. Once again left to be a Studio Widow, our protagonist calls her girlfriends to see how the safari went without her. They tell her to come out for dinner and a m-o-v-i-e so she can have the zoo animal stories reenacted with sound effects by Aubrey herself. Within five minutes of her arrival, Aubrey is so moved by the shared qualities of pink wardrobe and sparkly fashion accessories, she declares, “You know what? You’re my friend. I love you.” This, despite not being able to pronouce my name.
Of course, the sweetness of such instant camaraderie is tempered by Aubrey’s tenuous 3½-year-old grip on identity, time, and reality at large. As demonstrated by such charmingly disjointed outbursts as: “Have you met my Grandma? You’re my Grandma! No! You’re my COUSIN!” “Would you like to go upstairs and meet my dogs?” (said while in a car, driving through Toronto, three hours from her house) and “Would you like to hold my baby brother or sister?” (referring to a sibling still in her Mom’s womb, who is also three hours away). Also the fact that everything in her life to date happened ‘yesterday’. “Yesterday? I went for a pony ride. And to the zoo. And to school. And to the movies.” The best comment of the evening was my naming ceremony, which went like this: “Do you like my hair? I do. It’s pretty. And I like your hair. And dog hair. You have dog hair! Doghead!”. And so Cousin Doghead was born.
After dinner at Licks, Aubrey, accompanied by Cousin Doghead, Aunt Amy, Aunt Rufi, and the Aunty-Christie, head over to the Queensway to see ‘Finding Nemo.’ The adults enjoyed it thoroughly, but sadly the little one, fueled by a single purple gumball and nine pints of Sprite, missed large sections of plot due to a sugar high which caused her to run on the spot throughout the trailers and then take pee breaks for the rest of the movie.
Afterwards, just when it seemed she’d run out of steam, Aubrey went on a mad butt-punching spree, giving each of us a sample of her fists of fury, and also getting one in with an innocent bystander for good measure. To her credit, the lady whose posterior got punched turned in shock, but then mildly remarked, “I probably deserved that.” A full and lovely day.
Today’s motto: Just keep swimming.
