Sunday, October 14, 2007

Friday With Friends ...

It has a lot to do with my hair.

Some days, I feel very schlumpy, just “blah.” But there are other days that I feel very together, and I attribute at lot of that to my hair.

I’m like a modern-day Samson. Only, I’m not a man. And I don’t know anyone named Delilah. And this isn’t a Biblical tale.

But Friday, my hair was in fine form. Just the right amount of lift without being high, just the right amount of fullness without being big.

I needed good hair that day. I had some very adult things to tend to and I’m convinced they would have been harder if I hadn’t even been able to get my hair right before I left the house.

But I did. And I did my very adult things. And then I met Kelley for a drink. Scotch for me. Neat. A very adult drink.

And then I walked to Scoozi! to meet Doreen and Angela for dinner. I meant to get a cab but it’s damn near impossible to get a cab at 5:30 in the afternoon on a Friday in the heart of the city. So I walked. Which was a good thing. Helped burn off the scotch.

I love Scoozi! and I haven’t been in ages. I had my 30th birthday there nearly eight years ago and I’m considering having my 40th birthday there, which I’ve already been thinking about, because if I throw a big bash, I need to be thinking about things now. But I digress.

We had an early reservation because Doreen and I had tickets to The Goodman to see “Passion Play.”

I had a glass of wine, breaking the “no sugar” rule, but a glass of wine was part of my reward for comporting myself earlier in the day in my very adult way. And I had a fabulous salad with walnuts and gorgonzola and pears and greens that were tossed with the most delightful vinaigrette that had a surprising hint of garlic. And, because I’m being good ‘n’ healthy, I ordered the grilled salmon with the arugula, tomato, and corn salad. I love arugula. You can pair it with anything and I’ll order it.

Doreen ordered the squash soup with mushroom garnish and the squash ravioli. I joked that she was going to turn orange, that she’d wake up looking like an Oompa Loompa. Angela heeded my suggestion and ordered the smoked chicken rigatoni which is prepared with spinach and mushrooms and topped with a cream sauce that will make you weep.

They demurred when it came to dessert, but I ordered an apple crostada (the epitome of fall) and the waiter smartly brought three spoons.

Angela was far too generous in picking up the check. But we’ll get back at her for her kind and stubborn behavior, as we had all agreed that we would go dutch three ways.

Doreen and I hopped a cab to the theater and took our seats, remarking on the very Zen set. The play, I’d learned, was three and a half hours with two 15-minute intermissions. Which adds up to four hours. For a play. With an 8 p.m. curtain. I’d already told Doreen that I wasn’t opposed to leaving at the second intermission.

We left at the first.

It was just too weird, and my head wasn’t in the game. But there was one scene in which the man portraying Jesus went full frontal on the stage and, well, let’s just say I can’t imagine anyone more qualified for the part. Later, as we were walking through the lobby on our way outside, Doreen asked, “Can we send a thank-you note to Jesus?”

Which, I decided, was the funniest thing I’d ever heard and burst out laughing, and then clamped my hand over my mouth. But really, what we’d just seen was so absurd, I had to laugh about something.

I had a 9 a.m. session with Brandon Saturday morning and my hair was still behaving. I wanted to wear it down, to the gym. But that would have been impractical. So I put it in a ponytail.

By the way, as an update to this post, Brandon showed me pictures from a competition this past July. And he was at least twice as big as the picture in my earlier post. Really impressive. He was only 19 in the shot in the post. And to answer the question everyone is wondering, no, the shot wasn’t staged with the pizza boxes. He said that’s what his apartment looked like every morning, thanks to his roommates the nights before.

7 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

All these references to "very adult things" are rather disingenuous, coming from someone who's pushing 40. Not to mention from someone who, if memory serves, has just seen a parent through a brush with mortality.

Lady, GROW UP.

6:07 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Just a thought: maybe playing at not really being an adult is a way of denying the seriousness of what happened to your father a couple of weeks ago. Maybe it's a burden you aren't yet ready to take on.

6:58 PM  
Blogger Beth said...

Well, it's certainly no fun to face the fact that your parents aren't immortal. That said, my "very adult things" references were a) me just being colloquial, and 2) allusions to something that I'd not faced before, and therefore did feel rather adult for the way it had to be handled.

Yes, I'm pushing 40. Yes, I'm a grown-up. I'm aware of that. So, Anon 1, there's no need to get snarky.

7:03 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

My own opinion is you're not an adult until you have your first colonoscopy.

(make this Anon 3)

10:08 PM  
Blogger Beth said...

That's a good threshold, Anon 3!

8:39 AM  
Anonymous Doreen (a real person) said...

All this anon crap makes me want to vomit - judge not lest ye be judged or however that goes ... come out of the shadows and use a name if you are going to shoot missives like calling someone non adult and all the rest of your judgmental CRAP!!!!

On to MY "gripe" LOL ... you did not elaborate on Angela's stubbornness :)

9:56 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I'm older than 40 and have faced a lot of responsibility and a lot of tragedy in my life. A lot. But I didn't feel like a real adult until three months after my dad died when I was 42. It hit me one gray, March morning as I was sitting at a traffic light, on my way to work. It landed on my shoulders and I thought, "Well, if you never thought you were an adult before, you are now."

4:49 PM  

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