Thursday, November 09, 2006

You Can Take The Girl Out Of The Ghetto...

Tonight I am going to a housewarming party for my husband's coworker and his wife. They are genuinely great people, but I'm always intimidated by outings such as these. Maybe I should have a drink before we go. Nothing says "class" like showing up bombed. At 6:30.

One drink will get me pretty buzzed these days, but I used to be made of slightly tougher stuff. As a young whippersnapper, I had a penchant for vodka mixed with pretty much anything. During my student days, my roommate and I had a shelf decorated with empty vodka bottles of various sizes. It was something of a focal point in our apartment, pulling the eye from the filth of our carpet. The only vacuum we owned for a year was a Dustbuster, which came in handy all those times we tipped ashtrays and littered the place with butts and ashes. It wasn't good for much else. It certainly didn't do much when we spilled our vodka mixed with Grape Kool-Aid, which was our drink of choice for a time.

That apartment was on the lucky 13th floor. Our door was nestled in the corner between the stairwell door and the garbage chute. Cozy! The view was of the back alley and a parking lot. The elevator smelled like urine and the stairwell smelled like pot and the garbage chute smelled like a rotting carcass on the very hot August weekend we moved in--but just like regular garbage after they pulled the rotting carcass out. The story we got was that it was an animal carcass, and I choose to believe that.

The house we're going to tonight is across town and a world away from that apartment. It's spacious, bright, and immaculate, and I'm reasonably sure there won't be a whiff of rotting flesh, animal or otherwise. So I'll be really embarassed if I spill a vodka-Grape-Kool-Aid drink, or tip over an ashtray.

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