Ouch.

Saturday night, my husband and I went to a party. It was a grown-up party, the kind you have to pay money to attend (for a good cause and all that.) Unlike the bona fide adults we are, we decided to go to Bar None for a vague after-party.

1. We are too old for any after-party, unless it involves a cup of warm tea and an old episode of Law and Order.

2. Bar None? In Five Points? What were we thinking?

I should have known. The party we attended included shuttle service from downtown, to and from the Lexington venue. We took our car, because I was covering a wedding for Carolina Bride right before and got home too late to make the last shuttle. In retrospect, this was a good thing, because I am way too old to ride in a van with a bunch of drunk kids. To be embarrassingly honest, the only reason I wanted to take the shuttle was so I could have a drink. I had abstained at the wedding, because I was working and not technically a guest. Although the lovely hostess surely would have been happy for me to shotgun a glass of bubbly, I didn't want to take advantage and - if I'm completely honest - my tolerance is so low that one drink when I'm trying hard to act like the professional I am not would not be such a great idea. Anyhow, by the time I arrived home for a costume change, I was ready for that drink. While packing myself into my dress, I announced to my husband I was bringing a toter for the road. Yes, I planned to break the law, but it's a fairly new law, so does it really count? I thought he would tell me no. He didn't and I realized we were way too old to get pulled over for probable cause and get charged with the additional open container violation. Cops don't usually go after dressed-up old people in Priuses driving within three miles of the posted speed limit, all exterior lights intact. TF even uses his blinker.

As the party wound down, some people invited us to Bar None. Or maybe we invited them. That part is somewhat hazy. We offered to drive them there and removed the carseat so all three could fit in the back of the car. My age reared its head again when they had trouble locating the seatbelts. I got out of the car.

"Kids, we are not going ANYWHERE until everyone is buckled in! I MEAN it!"

And I stood there. I even offered to reach between them and dig out the seatbelts myself. I think I threw in a few words about permanent injuries changing your life and how they weren't as warm and fuzzy as they are on t.v. I may have gone off on the evils of television, too. This behavior should have been a clue. I tend to ignore the obvious after one glass of bubbly and two cocktails, no matter how light they were. We drove to Five Points, had a brief debate about the chances of getting towed from the parking lot behind a closed shop and headed to the bar. It was nice, really. Thanks to the smoking ban, some of the charm was gone, but still.

I convinced TF we should take a stroll through Five Points, for old times' sake. I felt pretty darn cute, rocking a new dress, with my hair freshly blown out by the fabulous Wesley. In fact, I felt really cute, thanks to the three drinks and my newfound love for my weathered adorable breasts*. As we walked past a sidewalk full of drunks college kids who probably have parents, one of them looked me in the eye and squalled,

"Happy Mother's Day!"

He might have even added a "ma'am" at the end. Wow. Is it that obvious? Maybe not. Maybe that kid was so wasted he couldn't see straight and we came across as old because we looked so fabulous, right? We walked on, laughing at the folly of youth. Until we approached another group of revelers,

"Yo! Pimpin' old school!"

Ouch. Seriously? Ouch. I don't even know if he was referring to TF as an old pimp or me as an old hooker. Or both. Honestly? I do not want to know at all. I still think I'm cute (enough.) I have no idea how the first guy knew I was a mother or why the second thought I was a hooker. I mean, my dress was tea-length. What kind of hooker wears a tea-length sundress? In fact, I say "Beware the hooker in a tea-length sundress, 'cause that ain't right." And, although I don't know any personally, I bet pimps do not as a general rule wear Hickey-Freeman sport coats. B*tch, pleeze.




I love that skit. It grows on you. You might not have laughed just then, but you will later. Trust me. I know these things, because I'm ancient and have loads of experience.

Namasté, y'all!

* Do you ever wonder if you've had too much to drink? If your sweet grandmother says to you in a very sweet voice, "My goodness! I know all about the history of your breasts now," your final drink of the evening is in your past. True story.

The things you overhear.

I'm nosy. I always wanted to write an advice column, just so I could read people's deepest, darkest secrets. Not that I would have answers for them, but is the advice ever all that great? I'm sure I could come up with something. I can be very bossy if the situation demands it. But I digress.

I'm nosy and so is my husband, so we're all about eavesdropping in public, especially since, after a billion years of marriage, we have very little to say to each other. Good thing he never listens to me, because I've been recycling the same five stories for years now.

"Has a well-built black man been in here tonight?"

That's what I heard the other night, sitting at a bar, sipping my Schug Chardonnay and waiting for friends. I can't help it. I had to contemplate the possibilities. Was he looking for any old well-built black man or a specific one? Was it a blind date*? Was it his long lost son? An old army buddy? His trainer? What kind of hits would I get on my blog if I used the phrase "well-built black man" repeatedly? I also contemplated the fact that he said "black." One of my black friends** once told me they found it highly amusing when a white person tried to describe a black person to another black person. You guessed it: they'll mention anything but his race.

"You know that guy, Steve? He has really, really curly hair, like, really curly and...um...he's really tan..."

She went on, and it was very funny, but I'm not going to type it out here. The guy in the bar was an older white guy in camping shorts (you know, the ones with all the pockets that campy type of people wear). A few minutes later, I saw him on the sidewalk, talking to a black man. I couldn't say if he was well-built or not, because I was looking through a window and it was hard to see, but I hope he found what he was looking for.

The best conversation I ever overheard was a short one just outside the door of a McDonald's in Quantico, Virginia.

Girl Number 1: You know Mandy?

Guy: Glass Eye Mandy?

Girl 1: Yeah. That's who I'm supposed to fight tonight.

Naming a character "Girl 1" implies there was a "Girl 2," which there was, but she had nothing to say. Too busy smoking, I guess. The three kids were wearing McDonald's uniforms, obviously on a break. Or not. They seemed so calm. I can't imagine knowing someone called Glass Eye Mandy, much less scheduling a fight with her. I'm pretty sure I would lose a fight with Glass Eye Mandy. I bet she's pretty rough. The kids were so calm. I'd be all,

"OH MY G-D, Y'ALL! PLEASE GET GLASS EYE MANDY OFF OF ME! PLEASE LET ME HIDE AT YOUR PLACE! PLEASE! I'M SCARED OF GLASS EYE MANDY!"

And I'd be running away while I begged for mercy. Actually, it wouldn't even get to that point, because if I managed to come in contact with and offend Glass Eye Mandy, I would apologize so fast your head would spin. And buy her a cheeseburger. And a Coke. Probably even a whole value meal.

Namasté, y'all!

* Full disclosure: I was sort of on a blind date myself. I had put out one of those internet calls to my blog readers, Twitter friends and Facebook friends, wondering if anyone wanted to meet for a drink. Someone I only know from the internet answered. We actually know a lot of the same people, so it's strange we haven't met already. She was not a big, hairy man in disguise and I was glad to finally meet her. But don't tell my mom I made a friend from the internet, m'kay? And when I put out those random calls for a drink, don't be shy, ok? We had fun!

** Yeah, yeah, I know.