Cracking Nuts and Karaoke

This weekend went just as quickly as weekends always do. (I wasn’t sure, seeing as how I'm on a sort-of perpetual weekend, these days.) My friend M came down from Summit County (waaaay up in the mountains, where I used to live) to get a taste of the city life. Unfortunately, the city tasted something like dirty asphalt, what with the snow and ice not being completely gone, and her being all fashion-y and whatnot in her boots trying to maneuver the glacier-like sidewalks I *hear* there may have been something like a wipe out involved. I’m not saying. So after the pavement debacle and the lack of Tattered Cover (sadly, she never found it) she came to our house. Where I greeted her with wine. Not just any wine. THIS wine.

That made things a little better.

So we chugged our glasses and got dressed to go see The Nutcracker. The Funasaurus was, naturally, devastated that he didn’t get to go, and licked his wounds by leaping (!) for joy and playing some violent video games. He really was sad, under that delighted-appearing exterior.

Having learned absolutely nothing from M’s experience earlier in the day, I also donned some high heeled boots and we drove to the local performing arts school, where M knew someone who was in the performance. We parked on the wrong side of the building, though, and after teetering like drunken old ladies across the icy parking lot only to discover a sign that said, “Parking for Nutcracker on WEST side of building” we promptly decided to Ignore That Shit because NO WAY were we going to make it back across the very cold parking lot. So we tried to detour through the dark school, like the almost-30-something delinquents that we are. We were stopped by a very surly lady who told us the interior doors were locked, and that we should drive around to the correct parking lot.

No.

We were not doing that. How far could it be? It’s a school, right? We’ll just go around the outside. OF THE HUGEST BUILDING EVER. We teetered. We slipped. We giggled. We froze. We swore. We promised second-born children to the please-don’t-let-me-fall-gods (M already has child #1 and apparently doesn’t want to part with her, just yet) but we were only halfway there. We eventually made it, having only lost half of our appendages to frostbite, quite pleased with ourselves that we didn’t kowtow to that dumb ol’ sign that would have made us DRIVE, heaven forbid.The Nutcracker was lovely, as always, and we were totally THOSE girls who snicker through the whole thing. Because we are classy like that. We laughed, laughed, laughed when the doll was replaced by the dancer because whooo-boy, those were the skinniest set of legs on stage (and when said stage is populated by emaciated, teenage ballet dancers, that’s saying something) and coming out from under this HUGE cardboard nutcracker head, well. It was a little more than we could handle, silently. We took bets on whether it was a prepubescent boy or an anorexic girl. (Not funny, no, not funny at all, I know.) Hee?

So twiggy turned out to be a very young boy, but he did very well, as did M’s friend, who was the leading ballerina, who danced the role of the Sugarplum Fairy. She was very bendy and twirly and whatnot in all the right places. M gave her a kiss, and we were off to the second part of our night.

Namely: karaoke.

Now, I don’t sing, but The Funasaurus is a HUGE fan of all things dive bar-y/Air Supply-y. And M is a fantastic singer in her own right, having gone to school for talented people blah blah. So M and The Funasaurus have had it in their minds to get together and sing sing sing their little hearts away at karaoke. I had it in mind to drink drink drink and laugh laugh laugh at them, but I only managed the laugh laugh laugh part since I am still not quite over what happened to me last Monday. Our friend S joined us, because he and M met on MySpace via yours truly, and they have decided that they are each other’s favorite drinking partners that they have never met. So. Game ON. Naturally, S felt he needed to buy at least one round of Jagermeister shots and I almost died trying to get it down. I ordered a lemonade, and became THAT girl. The one who drinks lemonade at karaoke.

Having stooped to that level, I had no choice but to have fun (which I did) while The Funasaurus sang some mean Faith by George Michael, and M slaughtered Alanis Morissette beautifully. We made it home (with only a short detour to McD’s drive-thru [despite the fact that I am still boycotting them since they took away the dark meat Chicken McNuggets- fuckers]) by around 3:00 a.m., and wow. I have not seen 3:00 a.m. in a LONG time. It’s fairly similar to 2:00 a.m. except more blurry.

Who wants to join us next weekend?