My Pal from MA is here. And for the 9943939494 people who emailed me to say, "Did Pal from MA get there?" OH MY GOD, yes, she got here, and let me take five hours out of her visit to email everyone to let them know that. Geez.
Modern technology. Freeing us up not at all.
I got to her hotel, because we are both only children and need our alone time. Even though we have been friends since we are zygotes we know we'd drive each other berserk in my teensy house. After I walked in and we didn't hug, she said, "We need to go get gin."
I have never gotten gin in my life. I mean, I know I sound like some kind of teetotler, over here, and as you all know that has not always been the case, but gin has not been my drink of choice. I much prefer wine or aerosol cans.
In North Carolina, you can't just schlep out to the grocery store to get your gin like in civilized society (i.e., Michigan, where we grew up). No! You have to go to specific liquor stores. And why? Is this going to stop anyone? Alcohol is legal. Why do we have to head on out to a special store like it's clandestine, like we're getting medical marijuana or something?
So I had to go home, Google ABC Liquor Stores, think about which one would be closest to me with my fine sense of geography, decide whether Pal needed rehab, ponder whether to call my friend who works on that show Intervention to see if I could get on there with Pal and finally get my big break, and eventually Pal and I got our so-needing-alcohol-at-this-point patoots in the car to ABC Liquor.
And whoo! Way to go with that creative name, ABC Liquor people! Ima start my OWN liquor stores. You Have No Other Outlet Liquor. Hate Your Life Liquor. You're Drinking a Depressant to Forget You're Depressed Liquor. Said You Weren't Gonna Tonight Yet Here You Are Again Liquor.
Liquor? You Don't Even Know Her.
The liquor store was in a strip mall, but way over in a dark corner, like we were doing something bad. Like we were going to the Little Shop of Pupy Porn or something.
There was a nice sign on the door, written in Spanish, but it showed a silhouette of a woman with a baby inside and we pretty much got the message. They serve baby drinks, apparently. Drinks for the whole family!
Or maybe because the baby was still inside, they serve drinks with folic acid or something, for your baby's health. They should really have that sign in English, too.
Anyway, Pal headed straight to the gin aisle like she had some kind of gin-dar, and then said, "There's no tonic."
"How do you know there's no tonic? We've been in here 16 seconds. I'm looking for the baby drinks."
"I just know. I HATE North Carolina."
"Do you have tonic?" I asked the clerk, who had a delightful eyebrow ring. "No, ma'am. We don't even have vermouth. It doesn't have enough liquor in it."
??
"I HATE NORTH CAROLINA!" Pal screeched. Did I mention she can be screechy?
I drove her to the Indian convenience store near my house, which at this point might as well have been in India, and did I mention we had to be at a dinner at 7:00 with my book club?
"Namaste!" chirped the Indian guy, who might know me too well, seeing as I am often out of the finer things in life such as Spaghetti-Os and toilet paper.
"HAVE YOU GOT TONIC?" screeched Pal.
"Tonic? Like mineral water for health?" I knew he was in trouble.
"I HATE THIS STATE! THIS IS THE STUPIDEST PLACE IN THE WORLD!"
I ushered her out, wondering why she didn't just drink gin straight. Does anyone drink gin straight? You never hear about people doing that. If no one does that, why don't they just put the tonic right in there in the first place? Have I mentioned I am not a fan of gin?
Fortunately for all of North Carolina, tonic was the tonic for Pal at the grocery store, and the screech was tamed. And we were only 39939292 minutes late for book club dinner.
Where Pal had a gin and tonic.
