The annual moms’ cocktail cruise, hosted by my marvelous friend Supa, was held on Sunday. This was my third year going. On the first year I had a few drinks and ended up pretty woozy. Last year I had one drink as I thought I was recovering from the miscarriage that turned out to be Strudel. This year I had no drinks and decided just to enjoy the ambiance. Supa is teetotalling (I am not, I just didn’t want to get tired), so we were sisters in sobriety, as they say.
There’s not much to report this year, I’m afraid. As usual, I came armed with current events and celebrity gossip, but the other moms spent most of their time talking about their children. I love my girls to the point of throwing up, but when I get away from them I like to talk about other things. It’s fun to spend time with Supa though, no matter what the circumstances.
When I go on this cruise it’s kind of a culture shock for me. All the moms are homeowners, have money in the bank, and were chatting away about their recent European vacations. The reason Supa knows these mothers is because their children are all enrolled in the same private school, which has a somewhat different philosophy than her school. Their husbands have Important Jobs with Big Companies, and so do many of the moms. I have state health insurance and my most recent job experience (before the thrift store) is temping. This summer I did some…free stuff. My child is at her school by the grace of a scholarship. So it’s fun to me to go on this cruise and eat duck and listen to someone else’s set of problems.
One mom cracked me up. She was blonde and kind of uptight, with a prim ponytail and a twee skijump nose. She’s the type of Seattle mom who sticks in your memory as wearing a twinset and khakis, even if she’s not. There was a lot of talk about real estate and buying and selling houses in Seattle, and she told a story about her experience hunting for her current house.
“Well,” the prim mom said, after they had been discussing the endless tasks required to prepare a house for viewing. “Some people won’t change their houses at all. We looked at this house that was completely decorated in the most awful style.”
“What was wrong with it?” another mom asked.
“The whole house was decorated in hideous black velvet paintings. Ugh!” the prim mom shuddered at the memory. “The real estate agent told us they refused to take down their art.”
“One person’s trash is another person’s treasure, I suppose,” said another mom.
Indeed.
In Other News
Franny’s haircut went splendidly yesterday. She sat very still. We didn’t end up with a pixie cut, but it looks one million times better. I tied a ribbon into it today and she looked very pleased. The lady asked Franny what she wanted to be when she grew up and Franny replied, “a haircutter,” which pleased the lady to no end. But this morning at breakfast, Franny reminded me that she wasn’t being entirely truthful with the hair dresser.
“I actually want to be a bellydancer,” she said. She’s been stuck on this one for a year now, ever since she went out to a fancy Moroccan place.
“Well, aim high, kid,” I said, as I sliced apples for breakfast.
1. Pretty Franny!
2. There was a lot of talk about real estate and buying and selling houses in Seattle, and she told a story about her experience hunting for her current house.
Many of my compatriots who have not spent their lives in school are doing or have done this same thing lately. Sometimes I think it would be nice to be among them, but then I think that I’d actually rather not get into a position for a while yet where I have to freak out — totally — over an olive bathroom versus a taupe bathroom.
Home ownership rocks. It’s a fever. Catch it. But no hurry, I didn’t buy my first house until I was 34. I’m fairly sure you are much younger than that, asshole, if my memory serves.
Also, cute kid.
It’s cool that you treated the Moms’ Booze Crooze as a kind of ethnography. Maybe you can write a new field guide? I need some controversy!
Frannie’s new haircut is very attractive. I think it did a world of good for her poor hair and Mr. Stupid and Bridezilla don’t have a leg to stand on if they complain.
aw i love the pixie cut, and she’s the perfect age for it.
Wow, the cut looks fantabulous! Tell Franny she looks at least 6 with that great hair-do!
I have to admit that I’m crude enough that, when presented with that sign, I would probably pee on the seat on purpose :)
Dude, home-ownership SUCKS! I hate it! I mean, the investment part is nice but keeping up with all the house crap SUCKS! My house is older than I am (it’s 41) and everything seems to be fucking up at the same time now.
If I have my hair cut like that, will I be that adorable? Probably not. I can dream, though!
Thank you for the picture of Gasworks. Born and raised in Seattle, but have lived in So. Cal. for 15 years now. I love seeing familiar hometown landmarks!
Franny’s hair is ADORABLE. That little smiley-smirk is too cute.
Let me guess, the moms are from Mercer Island?
I was 33 when I bought my 81-year-old house with the soon-to-be Mr. Asada. No matter how badly it sucks, it is about a million and a half times better than living in a house owned by two passive-aggressive landlords who were using the dissolution of their relationship and health problems of one partner as an excuse to turn our former garage and laundry room into a non-conforming unit and to move in two surly friends of theirs who thought they were entitled to let their equally surly German Shepherd run loose through the neighborhood, terrorizing the toddlers and, once, chasing my cat all the way through my house and into my bedroom before I could slam the door to keep him out. (They also simultaneously evicted our HIV+ neighbor so they could move in a new tenant and charge more rent for that unit.) I will paint a thousand bathroom ceilings and pay for a thousand termite inspections before I ever, ever, ever rent from a couple of fucks like that again.