When I say that I have a reputation for torturing others
with the Rose Bowl parade on New Years day, I am not kidding or exaggerating a
bit. Even in college where the New
Year’s Eve festivities went on until 3 or 4 am, I would pop up in a hazy hotel
room filled with people coating every piece of floor and furniture, quietly
turn on the tv and rejoice in the floral borage through my hang over. I would keep it as quiet as possible
but I desperately needed to know how many 100’s of daisy’s, thousands of tapioca
pearls, and millions of cranberry seeds were used on the animated butterfly on
the Mutual of Omaha float. I know,
it is a strange obsession to have at 21.
I think most people don’t get the weather and tournament of roses
obsessions until they have been on the planet at least 6 or 7 decades.
Needless to say, no matter how quiet the parade announcers
are in their perky morning personality voices, it is not quiet enough for 20-somethings
on New Year’s morning. I was
fortunate to make it through this period of my life with friends. Of course the next period of life was
even weirder. I married a guy who
wore muscle shirts, smoked Marlborough’s in a gold and white package, drove a
1970 Chevelle and though I have tried not to say these words ever, when we
first dated he did in fact have what could have been viewed as a mullet. There is nothing wrong with these
things. But if you know me, this
would be pretty much an exact opposite description of my soul mate. I am sure I was the only one who
was surprised after 9 months to realize this marriage was not going to
work. I put on the black hat and
told this really sweet guy that I was riding off into the sunset without him.
Nothing sobers a person up to adulthood like a failed
marriage. I was now a statistic. I didn’t even have the excuse of
getting married when I was too young to know better. I was mid-twenties when I lost my mind. I walked away from my marriage
and my bohemian Wimberley lifestyle.
I decided it was time to start acting like a grown up. I moved home. I got a real job with people who did not drink vodka and
smoke pot before noon. So after
Christmas I decided, what better way to embrace my new older wiser self, then
to take a trip. A trip to Pasadena
Ca where one of my best childhood friend’s had just bought a house. That is what I needed to ring in the
New Year. A trip to visit the
person who spent hours comforting me when I could not admit to anyone else my
marriage was crumbling. The one
person who would love me enough to be harassed into going to see the Rose Bowl
Parade at 8am on New Year’s Day.
There are trips in life and then there are the
monuments. This was a
monument. When I look back, I am
always amazed that the rock slide incident, the trickle shower, Coronado Bay,
West Hollywood and the Rose Parade were all the same trip. It was the most fun I ever had trying
not to snore and inadvertently suck up lead paint.
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ReplyDeleteYou completely ruined the image of hubby 1 when you mistakenly called his car a Chevellle. That was a tiny four cylinder economy car. He had a V8 Nova. The choice of all wanna be cheap hotrodders.
ReplyDeleteBTW, you do not have to be 60 to enjoy watching the Rose Bowl Parade on TV. Chipper has watched it every year since we have been married. The only requirement is to be a female. Males try to pace them selves for the next 12 hours of games, beer and nachos. Did you see the Sikh float this year? There is no way to edit other than delete. If you go back in 2016, I recommend going to the Huntington Library.
Opps, I was thinking of a Chevette. Chevy had too many similar names back then. Hubby 1 did have a Nova.
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