Today is the First Day…

…of the rest of my life.  Haha.  Not really.  Actually, I’m fairly hungover today from the night before.  “S” and I went to the north-end compound, or artist’s refuge, owned by my dearest friends, who I will simply call the Golsons.  I met her when we worked up in Stanley, Idaho in the summer of 1999 or was it 2000. 

That was a summer of doom for sure.  I was sentenced to serving grumpy campers at a hotel/resort in a town with a population busting at a whopping 100 people.  All the summer help of the female persuasion was housed in what was dis-affectionately called, “the rock garage”.  To its defense, it was made out of river rock and kinda rustic-chic.  This is where I met the better half of the Golsons.  All my life, I’ve been drawn to Scorpios, and she was no exception.  A tom boy flair, with a fatalistic streak, morals and ethics, and an unmatched sense of adventure.  They’re the most loyal friends you will ever know, and the ones you most find yourself wanting to kill.  Scorpio women never cease to delve into your psyche and make you search yourself for answers to very difficult questions.  Without making this an astrological reading, I will say that my Scorpio girlfriends will drink you under the table, make you laugh till you pee yourself, then break your heart all in an evening. 

I have two major friendship eras.  The high school era, and the Stanley era.  I managed to make strong, deep, lasting friendships in both eras, dating all the way up until now.  It’s often difficult for women to forge friendships when they get older.  We become more judgmental, more picky, less likely to have the time and effort available.  So when life offers you friends, you should always make that trip to the bathroom, even if you don’t have to go pee (if you know what I mean).

The Golsons are getting hitched in France.  Am I invited? Of course.  But the dollar is weak, and my pay check is even weaker.  So I will not be embarking unfortunately.  When they showed me the Chateau the guests would be staying at, I started to tear up.  Not because I was emotional over their nuptials, but because I was missing out on staying at a French palace with french courtyards, and french pools, and french birds that sang you sweetly out of your french bed in the morning.  Not going to happen this time without a budget allocation from Congress.  It will be a beautiful wedding, and I will remotely share in their joy.

“S” and I stopped by the Co-Op to buy wine.  We found a great deal.  3 liters of wine in a box for $16.99…and the box was not obnoxious at all.  It was actually of a conservative size and shape, made out of recycled paper.  At the check stand I grabbed a wedding card for the Golsons which had a sparkly Eiffel Tower on the front.  As we were filling out the card, the check out lady asked if we were getting the box of wine for a French person.  To which we answered yes, then giggled because she seemed to be posturing.  A look of understanding came to her face, then she blurted, “Oh, it’s a joke, I get it.”  Which made “S” and I laugh even harder, as we replied, “Nope, it’s not a joke.”  Apparently this low-brow purchase was very puzzling for her.  And the way she was so outward about it, puzzled us.  As if the Co-Op wasn’t already a bastion of tacit-disapprovingness.  If you’re not eating organic, living green, listening to indie/folk, and driving a Prius, you’re so not cool in their bio-degradable book.  Well we had news for that sista friend.  We love Taco Bell, I drive a truck that gets 8 mpg, we think indie music is produced by people who didn’t get enough attention as children, and hot damn, we love wine in a box!  And, our snooty, north-end French friends love wine in a box too!