Sunday, October 24, 2010

Mixing Drinks and Friends.

Before kids, my husband and I used to throw a lot of parties. We used to be fun like that.  We also have been in the middle of remodeling our home since the day we moved in. I look back now and am slightly embarrassed at the condition our home was probably in at the time, but with enough liquor, you can convince anyone that wire hanging from a hole in the ceiling is "just a new European design trend". For one of these functions we decided to invite a "blended" group, meaning his friends and mine. A little shaky but we went for it anyway. So my friends (all single, childless, city dwellers or SCCD) and the husband's friends (married with children or MWC) arrive and the party is off with a bang! I then picked up the chunk of drywall from the floor and started making drinks for my guests.

We began inside the house where someone asked what our newest project was. Being the type of person that moves furniture "just to see" on a monthly basis, draws floor plans "just for fun" and redecorates every season "because it just needs to be freshened up", something is always different when my friends visit. Being married to a remodeler who can and will do anything is a recipe for ADD and constant change. We end up in my bedroom (which only contains one exit) where I am showing God knows what to a group of my SCCD girlfriends, and in walks one of Brock's MWC female friends. She is standing in the doorway with a  twinkle in her eye and she starts a very gory diatribe about childbirth. Now this topic is fairly taboo for the SCCD type, and also a lot of times ends up sounding like a horror story rather than a beautiful, natural event. After about 5 minutes of the MWC's story, which she was clearly excited about, myself and my other girlfriends start looking uncomfortable. I feel a sheen of sweat on my brow and am considering running into the closet, where I could bore a hole through to the spare room and escape. I see my friend H shifting uneasily from one foot to another, C is looking at the ceiling fan and A is suddenly absorbed at inspecting a book found on my hub's side of the bed (I guarantee it wasn't interesting, he can't even stay awake to read them) . Finally, a natural pause happens in MWC's story and I say, too loudly "who wants a drink? I'll get one for everyone!!!" and I practically mow her over as I rush out the door. I vowed to myself then and there that I would no longer go into any more rooms that didn't have more than one exit. I convinced my husband to put an escape, I mean a second door, in our bedroom. I also decide that it is time to move the party outside since every room in our house has only one exit. 

By this time, I would think my friends would realize that a party at my house is eventually going to end in the yard, standing around our homemade "fire pit" staring into the flames while holding a beer or a sticky plastic cup. Still, my girlfriends, who even though they were raised in Iowa on farms, hear the word party and put on their party shoes. Inevitably I delve into the mudroom closet, which, upon opening, the pungent smell of horse manure wafts from, and pull out my version of "party shoes". Usually these are an odd assortment of flipflops, lawn mowing and painting sneakers, mud boots and cowboy boots. After tossing a few barn coats (again, not the jcrew barncoat, but a coat that is actually worn IN the barn) their direction, they are all ready to zone out into the mesmerizing flames and absorb some bonfire smoke. Taking a party outside is also a good way to weed out the weakest link. Usually, the conversation that ensues around the pit is not polite, politically correct or even civilized in any form. I can't actually say that is any different than normal, but for some reason the pit makes us all turn up the volume. As the stragglers stand around talking about artificial insemination (my friends, surprisingly enough) I realize that it is no longer a good idea to mix like that. And that was the last time I drank wine and tequila the same night.

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