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When we arrived at the

When we arrived at the party I was sure that it wasn't going to be fun. Lots of much-older-than-me suburban couples sampling hors d'ouevres off little trays that were circling the room on the arms of young caterers. But then I remembered that sometimes one must make one's own fun. So I turned my frown upside-down and put on my party mingling smile.

Despite my predictions, there was no gin, but there was an open bar with white wine, Red Stripe, Amstel Light and champagne. I grabbed a wine, Randy a Red Stripe, and we took a tour of the house. I had been there before, so I showed him around: the screened-in porch with the stone fireplace, the master bathroom with heated floors, the family room that is larger than my entire apartment. I got to see Katie, Colette's daughter, who is now 22. I used to go see her perform in musicals when she was in junior high; now she's getting a graduate degree in opera. Crazy!

The party had a slight nod to Jamaica, with a general hint of "Hey, we're really classy." I already mentioned the bar selection; the food included sausage-and-something stuffed mushrooms, beef and chicken satay with a peanut sauce, a selection of unidentifiable stinky cheeses, a delicious baked brie with pesto, piles of roasted garlic (Randy: "As my official date, do you mind if I eat all this garlic." Me: "Please. It's not like we're going to make out."), a selection of salsas that Randy raved about, and these little beef tenderloin thingys on toasted bread with a white sauce on it that I made a mess of trying to eat.

I ended up spending a lot of time on the basement patio with the high school/early college-age kids. It was fairly hilarious. I also got to hear about recent developments in Randy's love life (Me: "Where do you find all these dates?" Randy: "Women...they're giving them away for free on the Internet!")

After I was good and sauced (I hadn't eaten anything all day except for the bacon cheeseburger and a couple of little hors d'ouevres at the party), and had exhuasted my repertoire of jokes for suburban realtors, Randy and I left.

I wasn't quite ready to go home, so I called up Juggy. He and Tommy were at the Herk, so I had Randy drop me off there. I wasn't planning to drink any more, but a beer magically appeared in front of me, so I drank it. I realized it was Saturday night and that the VFW next door has karaoke on Saturdays, so Juggy and I headed over there. We get to the VFW, and karaoke is just ending. Boo! But, we end up staying to talk to Pete and Beverly, two very nice people at the bar. Pete is a 61-year-old Indian guy who fought in Viet Nam, Beverly is his girlfriend (who refers to him as "Pa"). He kept kissing me on the cheek and Beverly would say, "That's okay, honey, I know where he sleeps at night." Pete bought Jerry and I a beer and Beverly and I (and some guy named Pauly) sang songs at the bar. VFW people are good people.

Got home around 2:00am, made a poorly-calculated drunk dial, and went to bed. Woke up at 7:00am with a hint of the hangover headache that was on it's way, and took 3 aspirin and drank a glass of water with Vitamin C in it. Now, here I sit with a slight hangover, hungry as hell. I think The Egg & I might be just what the doctor ordered.

I'm meeting MJ tonight, I think. She, Mopsa and I are supposedly attending a transvestite variety show.

Posted October 13, 2002 11:53 AM