When I last left you, we were off to enjoy a night of sailing the 7 seas of a non-parenting. Lover fo’ Life and I dropped Angry Baby off at her grandma’s and hit the town. Our plan was to dine, party, and come home to a childless house, you know like “the good ol’ days.”
I was ready to booze it up, make some publicly inappropriate advances toward L4L,and GET HOURS AND HOURS OF SLEEP! In other words, a perfect night.
There was only problem with our plan, I missed Angry Baby like crazy.
It started slowly with tiny twinges in what I assume is the location of my tiny, shriveled, black heart…“We sure have a cute baby,” I innocuously said.
“Absolutely, she’s an adorable little nutball.” L4L replied. As if on cue, every cell in my being wanted to tickle her belly and kiss those rosy cheeks. But I couldn’t, we were too busy having FUN.
After a delicious dinner, we arrived at the party held at a local sports bar. The smell of smoke and the sight of boozed up adults wearing tiaras is usually catnip for my people (aka shameless skanks.) However, all I could do was lament the fact that my hair was going to smell like smoke until I showered. I missed mah lil’ baybeh!!!!
“Let’s get some drinks,” L4L suggested.
“Great Idea, surprise me.”
I talked with the guest of honor and met some of the fellow revelers. Five minutes later, L4L returned with a drink in both hands and said the sentence every gin-soaked slag wants to hear…
“I couldn’t decide, so both of these are yours.”
“I LOVE YOU!”
“I know. Martini and Cape Cod for the Madame.”
I quickly took them and sipped the DIRTY Martini (gin, of course.) It tasted like the briny sea. You won’t believe me when I tell you this, but it was HANDS DOWN the most delicious dirty Martini I’ve ever had in my life.
Why? ‘Twas just right in temperature, saltiness, booze ratios, and had 3 large Spanish olives = PERFECTION! Matter o’ fact, it was so good, I swigged it before I could snap a photo for the marble statue I was going to erect (getyourmindoutofthegutter) in its honor. Oh well, I’ll just have to go back and have another, in the interest of accurate documentation through photography, of course.
After about an hour of adult interaction, the guest of honor made her way over to our table again, this time with pearlized cardboard mini-stars and a sharpie marker. “Write your names on a star, we’re then going to draw them randomly when we sing Karaoke.” I obliged. I’d had a cape-cod, and the WORLD’S GREATEST MARTINI so I was feeling…festive.
Ever the prepared party guest, I remembered this bar was a favorite karaoke place for the birthday hostess. So naturally I had prepared something beforehand. Matter of fact, I practiced in the shower that morning.
Real Talk: I have the voice of a young Robert Goulet with the drunken sensibilities of a braying jackass, in other words: I’m the stuff Karaoke dreams are made of.
As the hostess collected the shiny, pearlized star on which our names were indelibly written, (thus sealing our karaoke duo fate) L4L looked at me like a hamster who was being squeezed too hard. “Can we please leave before the random Karaoke begins?”
I scanned the room, our hostess was collecting name stars…
“It’s going to have to be quick, no goodbyes, or you’ll be stuck singing up there with me.”
We were in our car faster than you can say: “Crib Keeper was fully prepared to sing I Love the Nightlife.”
And the rest of our night? We did nothing of note. While it was nice laze about, I kept coming back to the same conclusion, I missed Angry Baby. Buzzed with the world as my oyster, all I wanted to do was look at old photos of Angry Baby on my laptop and wonder where the time went. Wistful baby picture looking is the new drunk dialing.
The next morning, my lack of over-indulging left me hangover free, and refreshed. Lover fo’ Life and I enjoyed the most luxurious and now forbidden vice of our childless days, we slept until we woke up, no alarm clocks or screaming offspring. I finally stirred on my own at 8:57am… In a word? Glorious.
My dreams, sadly, were not so great. I dreamt Angry Baby was furious about our night out. (Spoiler Alert: she was.) Turns out Angry Baby loves to make nightmares come true, vengeance was hers yesterday. She punished us with feces, screaming and claws (perfect title for a JLo. Biography.) Hooray!
Serves me right for missing her. (Angry Baby, not J.Lo)