Clever Young Woman

I'm still a little bummed(just a "little") that "Promising Young Woman" didn't win the Academy Award for Best Picture, and that Carey Mulligan didn't win for her brilliant portrayal of Cassie Thomas, a portrayal that I loved because it...um...hit so close to home.

I relate to the character with all that wasted potential, who was used for her "brain and personality" and dismissed by misogynists.

The movie made me relive the awfulness of my 20's, when I'd go to bars with my friends in their tight skirts and 10 inch heels, and I'd be in baggy pants with ill-fitting, out-of-style sweaters and no make-up, clutching my 20 pound pocketbook for fear that someone was going to steal my Tums.

Then I'd go for it..I'd fake being drunk in order to lure stupid men back to my apartment with the sole purpose of humiliating them.

I remember once such event as 'though it happened yesterday..

Fade In:

Karen's  (AKA "ME")shared apartment, circa 1981.

Scene One. Act One.

Fade In:

We meet HIM, a devilishly handsome, sexy medical student in his 30's, huddled on the kitchen floor, weeping, begging for mercy.

HIM:  Um..I'm..I'm..OMG!!..I'm so ..so sorry!!   I just thought..I mean..this is all so new to me, I just thought...

ME:  (leering at him, clutching a copy of "The Feminine Mystique")  

You thought..what, exactly??  That I'm going to use this woman for her smarts and sass??  That I'll take all of the wit I can lay my hands on, and then..what?...Why don't you try to explain...

HIM:  What..What are you planning to do with..that..book?

(WE HEAR A THUMP OF THE BOOK ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER)  I'm..I'm truly sorry, but you..you were gathering a CROWD...

ME:  Was I??

HIM:  And..and you were making everyone ..LAUGH..and..and..and they--they  obviously LIKED you, and I--I..I knew..

ME:  You knew what?? That I was THAT kind of girl?  The kind you'd WANT to introduce to your parents?  To be your plus-one for your cousin Harriet's wedding??

HIM:  It wasn't my fault!!  My friends..they were..they were drunk and egging me on!..They said, "look at that chubby brunette and her Diet Coke..She looks..she looks..CLEVER!  It wasn't my fault!  They MADE me go over to you!"

ME:  (tsk tsk)  Wasn't your fault.. What else??  You wanted to be in the friend zone with me?  Were you about to tell me about the good relationship you just got out of??  To tell me, "look..it's not you..it's me?  Or..Oh..I know!  Were you about to say, "hey, if you just lost about ten pounds.."

HIM:  (LOUDLY SOBBING)  I wanted to take you to the MOVIES! The theater!  I wanted to discuss Quentin Tarantino's hidden messages with you..literary classics.. and politics!    And you..(HE SCREAMS AT THE SOUND OF ANOTHER THUMP) You led me on with that minimalist make-up and non-designer clothing!!  Maybe if you dressed differently..

ME:  Dressed differently..Oh I see..So I was ASKING for this??  To be treated as an equal partner??!!

HIM:  I'm begging you..stop!! You had that crowd in stitches..I--I assumed you were some sitcom writer or..

ME:  You assumed?? How dare you!!!?? I am an abused, underpaid, overworked..SECRETARY!!  It's all I ever wanted to be, thank you very much!  I put in horrible hours and can't make ends meet..I worked my unshapely  ass off getting my boss to be condescending..I made coffee!..ALL of that,  just so you can see..professional career potential??  In a coveted position??

HIM:  MY friends were making bets..

ME:  Your friends were making bets..I see..They looked at me..YOU looked at me and saw someone..sober!  And..nice! You thought:  "I'll throw her in a cab and we'll grab some laughs!  Maybe watch a Marx Brothers movie or play Scrabble while sampling three different kinds of dips??  She's the kind of girl that would offer me..home-brewed iced-tea!"

HIM:  Please...don't..hold my interest..you're making me..adore you!!

ME:  Is that what you see when you look at me??

HIM:  No..I--I don't..I know you..I don't know you..I want to..oh..I don't know!!

ME: If you think you  know me...then...  How many words do I type a minute?  Where do I pick up my bosses' dry cleaning? What's my favorite Jennifer Weiner book?

HIM:  (sobbing loudly)  You tricked me!!  You wore a Gloria Steinem t-shirt and if you didn't want me to pursue you and treat you as an equal, then why the feminist icons??  I bet you burn bras!!"

ME:  I don't WEAR bras, asshole!!  I have incriminating videos..you better tell me where your loser friend AL is having his bachelor party!! 

HIM:  Why??  What are you..(gulp) what are you going to do?

ME:  Well..maybe I'll just dress up as a NURSE!   And take his..pulse!

HIM:  You are a merciless bitch!!

ME:  ("ME" PLACES HER HAND TO HER NECK AND UNLOCKS THE LOCKET SHE'S BEEN WEARING ALL EVENING )  I'm doing this for HER  (TWO FACES ARE REVEALED IN THE HEART-SHAPED NECKLACE)

ME: (continued)  I'm doing this for Nina, the Promising Young Woman that you treated with respect and dignity.  I'm going to force you to relive that awful night where you shouted out "Jeopardy!" answers and finished a crossword puzzle together.  You are going to regret that decision--and how you treated Nina--for the rest of your sorry-assed, puny little life"

SHE THUMPS THE BOOK ONE LAST TIME AS WE FADE TO BLACK.

Next:    my unique take on  "Nomadland"

Hey Oscar.. where’s Felix?

When favorite Glenn Close lost to Olivia Colman in "The Favourite" it was a shock.

 When Faye Dunaway named "La La Land" Best Picture instead of rightful winner "Moonlight" it was a bigger shock.

Tonight's telecast was a 10 on the Richter scale!

I thought something was fishy when Best Picture was named before the acting awards.

I miss Jimmy Kimmel, and production numbers, and an "In Memoriam" segment where the names could actually be read, because producers weren't acting like the photo display was a segment on "The Amazing Race."

I miss funny, political monologues and bad hairstyles and clips from nominated films that actually made you want to see the movie.

I miss how one movie dominated so much that you couldn't wait to see the film in the theater, because now..?  Well..you can wait...

You have no choice.

And I'm stealing this observation from college BFF Jim , but it seemed like scholarships were given out at a high school ceremony instead of gold statuettes in  a telecast worthy of those lavish parties of yesteryear.

But OMG..Is it possible that I miss... predictability???

I wanted Carey Mulligan, I did, but I can't say Frances McDormand was not deserving.  She deserved all three of her Oscars, even in that schmatah she wore tonight.

And I'm not disappointed in Sir Anthony.  I would have given it to him...

And isn't last year's Actor supposed to present to Actress and vice versa?

Will Academy members  live  with the guilt that the "sure-bet"  Boseman isn't going to make another movie??

I am SHOCKED!!

Watching paint dry..

Lots of buzz in the Oscar hive today--both on line and on TV. 

Some people aren't shy about movies they consider to be snooze-fests.

 (I don't agree with a lot  of the talk..I liked "Nomadland" and "Minari" and even  parts of  "Mank" but not as much as the other two)

And I actually understand why some people think these films are slow-paced.

But those giving opinions seem to overuse the phrase "I'd rather watch paint dry" and it's a cliche I've always had issues with.

I LIKE watching paint dry!

It's exciting!

There's so much anticipation between coats!

"Oh..is the red dry?  Now can I add the purple?  Can I work some magic with a graphite pencil now that the paint is no longer wet?"

And it's not just at Pinot's Palette..I can't wait to hang a picture back up on a newly painted wall.

(Or get Jim to do it..I'm a total spazz with a hammer)

"Paint drying" to me signifies a fresh start: a new beginning.

There's got to be a better way to describe torturous boredom.

Maybe..like when a  loved one  talks about a medical procedure ad nauseum?

I'm changing my mind hourly as to what name will be called for Best Actress tonight, because every expert  making predictions is doing the same.

I certainly would like to hear Carey Mulligan's name called--hers was my favorite of the five OUTSTANDING performances and her movie was my favorite of the year, but only about one -third of odds makers are giving her the win.

We'll know soon enough..The real show doesn't star for another five hours, so I have to find something to do in the meantime. 

A nap?

A Scrabble game??

I know..maybe I'll paint something and watch it dry

A vaccine for my Oscar fever

I'm supposed to see snow, not awakening cherry blossoms, on the big tree in front of my home during Oscar weekend.

By the same token, I was supposed to see  all the nominated films in a theater, and that didn't happen.

I love my cherry tree(but not the fallen blossoms that will coat my welcome mat, foyer, and shoes in the weeks to come) and I hope it's  still in full bloom a week from tomorrow, when Evan can pose in front of it in the tux he'll wear for his BFF's wedding.

It just seems out of place to see it and the Oscar telecast on the same weekend.

It's  anti-climactic to be watching the Academy Awards  in the spring, although  I've hosted and attended many Oscar parties in similar weather. 

 Just never this late in the calendar.

I have so many memories(and buried photos) of those wonderful Oscar parties from the 1970's-1980's.  The day itself was my Super Bowl; even the nomination day was something to get out of bed for.

My raging Oscar fever now is more like a dull ache, and that's partly due to the pandemic robbing me of the movie-going experience, and partly because the awards are pretty much sewn up, thanks to all the televised award shows leading up to the Big One.

Only  the award  for "Best Actress"  has any suspense.  I'm personally rooting for Carey Mulligan, but every one of these ladies gave performances that warrant a statuette. This category is the only one that offers any mystery, unless Faye Dunaway reads the Best Picture winner, and what comes out of her mouth is anyone's guess.

I miss those Oscar parties of my 20's.

I'd decorate the halls with caricatures of all the major nominees, not exactly capturing a likeness but capturing an essence.

  Everyone dressed up as a nominee. 

 Everyone loved my salute to Oprah Winfrey's Miss Sophia in 1986.

 Everyone cringes now, but at the time, we  had no idea what I attempted to do with make-up was so PI.

I loved our betting  pools, which were won mostly by someone who randomly guessed the winner of the  documentary or live action short, which I once considered a joke until I found a venue to show them decades later, turning them into the night's most suspenseful moment.

I remember being Oprah in that terrible burnt-sienna make-up and BFF Jim dressing as her competition, Meg Tilley's  character from "Agnes of God." We stopped for ice at a 7/11, and the clerk didn't bat an eye, even when Jim whispered "bless you, my son" after receiving the ice in a nun's dress and hat.

Everything we  served matched the nominations too, which would be a challenge this year.

What would I bring to salute this year's nominees?

Korean celery in honor of "Miniari?"

Deep-dish pizza for "The Trial of the CHICAGO Seven?"

Cupcakes decorated with newborns, like the baby Borat put into his daughter's belly for pleasure?

Or would I just serve revenge ala Cassie from "Promising Young Woman" which is still my favorite movie of the year?

It'll be close but no cigar for actress Glenn, facing Olivia Colman  yet again, but  experts say they're both going to lose to Yuh-Jung Youn and yay, me!  I think I got her name right without googling.

Eight nominations and no win!

(Although if I were Glenn Close, I'd be kind of embarrassed  to win the coveted prize for this role, a movie so universally panned by critics even 'though I personally liked "Hillbilly Elegy.")

I'll miss the smarmy monologue but how smarmy would it be with no host and  no Trump in office?

Maybe they'll have a host next year.

And we'll return to seeing films in real theaters.

Without masks, and without freaking out if someone coughs.

Until that happens, save me the aisle seat.

Poodle bedtime stories

Me: 

 (every morning)

 "Alexa..what time is it? What's the temperature?  Where was last night's mass shooting?"

Also Me:

(after the potty) 

 "Jim..why the hell does my back hurt so much?"

Last week I blogged about my "California closet" that looked like it had suffered major damage on the Richter scale.

(  until Tami magically transformed it into a walk-in closet that a person can walk in to.)

 Today's tale of woe is about my California King-sized mattress.

It is FINE.

 It has sheets that fit. 

 Jim takes the left, I take the right

(when looking at it from the foot, but I am directionally dyslexic so this part of the story may be a lie, but it's the only one I'll tell today)  We've shared our dreams in that bed for for 33 and a half years--dreams along with  bruises we've inflicted upon one another due to the other's snoring.

 Especially his.

And for almost twelve of those thirty-plus years, we've shared it with a crazy poodle who has gnawed away at the comforter, quilt, sheets, sanity,  pillows, and biscuits he shaped into razor-like weapons.

Lots of married couples sleep with a pooch..either at the foot of the bed, in-between the couple.

Luke has taken over my bed and my life.

We start off fine.  I'm either on my back or on my side when I begin my journey into the land of Nod.

When nature calls in the middle of the night, I am curled into a fetal position, taking up the length of a cot that would accommodate a skinny pre-schooler, maybe.

I tell Luke, "I'm going to pee.  There had better be room for me when I get back.  If not, we're digging out Max's bean bag chair from storage, and turn it into a permanent bed for one of us"

He cooperates, until dawn.

Jim scanned over to my side of the bed today and he couldn't believe what he saw.  There was Luke, snoring peacefully, smack  in the middle of my side of the California King.

There was me, barely on the mattress at all, curled into a ball.

We're convinced he is part border collie and he herds me during a REM stage of sleep.

This would be a great sleeping position for someone four feet tall who weighed ninety pounds.

My goal weight.

From the world of the Flyers and salami

It's been thirty two years since I had to say goodbye to my Dad, and I attempted to write my first version of "The Phone Call", for him,  the vignette I've been doing for a few years now on the anniversary of my Mom's death in February.

My annual phone call with my Mom is always a comfort..I recommend that every who needs to talk with a deceased love one try writing their own conversations. 

I tried, but all I was coming up with was this:

" The Phone Call... With Dad"

The time:  Now

The Place: Not sure--someplace where the Flyers are on a constant loop on a flat-screen TV, where someone refreshes a plate of miniature salamis and hot peppers every hour.

Scene I Act I

ME:  Hi Dad.

Dad:  Hi Agrisinious.  Or is it Felicia now?  If I call you Karen, it means you're in trouble.

ME: Anyone called Karen these days is in trouble. You've missed a lot, Dad..the death of my name, the Trump presidency, a pandemic, the Eagles winning the 2018 Super Bowl..oh..and you've got two beautiful great grandchildren now. It's been thirty-two years since we last spoke..your turn!

Dad:  Hold on..I'll put your mother on the phone..

FADE OUT

If the conversation COULD be a little longer, I'd tell him how much he's still living in the soul of his brilliant, sarcastic, animal-loving, sports obsessed, political junkie grandson who is named after him, my son Evan..

To serve the public.. not a cookbook..

I shouldn't be in a business that serves the public.

Sure, it's a creative outlet for me to write personalized lyrics to well-known songs in order  to celebrate special occasions, but sometimes it can be challenging.

I had to mention the word "manifold" in a  singing telegram  I wrote yesterday, having no idea what a manifold is. 

But then I'll get the impossible to please customer, who nit picks everything, even when I found a good rhyme for words like "anti-biotic" or "dishwasher."

And even with my probing skills acquired as a journalism major, there are people who have absolutely nothing to say about the recipient of the singing gift.

"Tell me about your Mom", I'll ask.

"Well..she's really a nice person" they respond.

"That's really not enough to work with..can you delve a little?"

"Well..she's average height..average weight..gray hair..she really likes her family!"

"Again..that  stuff is a given that she's "nice" and "likes her family."  Can you give me an anecdote?  Tell me about her hobbies!  Does she have a pet?"

"Well..geez..I don't know..I  mean, she raised me and my brothers and sisters but I guess I don't know her all that well"

"And how old is she turning?"

"She'll be ninety-two on Tuesday.  I guess I need to spend more time with her to get to really know her."

Ugh!

What would I do if I had a service job that wasn't fun and creative?  One that required actual  WORK?

Can you imagine me waiting tables??

"I took that soup back three times, lady..first it's too hot, then it's too cold..if you go all Goldilocks on me one more time we're gonna  test the soup temperature  by pouring it on your head"

She'd look at me with pity and say, "I'm sorry dear.  I turn 92 on Tuesday and I'm afraid my kids are going to ignore me..or have absolutely nothing interesting to say about me..Can you bring me something else, dear?  I don't like this soup""

Closet encounters of the hoarder kind

It's about time.

Yesterday, after all these years, I came out of the closet.

Not in the way you're thinking, and not that there would be anything wrong with that, and not that I like quoting "Seinfeld", you gullible readers.

No soup for you.

The previous owners of this home we've lived in for twenty six years were obviously royalty, because the queen designed what's known as a California closet, with slanted shelves and straight shelves and an insane amount of space.

My California closet looked like it had just been through an earthquake--9.8 on the Richter scale.

I used to say I was NOT a hoarder.

I used to believe I was not a hoarder.

My name is Karen, and I am an 'effin' hoarder who is compelled to remind you in every post that I am named Karen.

I used to think I wore the same three shirts(sans bra) and pants every week because they were "pandemic friendly."

The truth is, one needed the Herculean strength I lack to negotiate the mess of tangled wire hangers that were probably donated to me by my dearest mommie decades ago.

  It was easier to grab a pair of pants with stains or rips or disintegrated  elastic at the waistband then to try to move a neighboring garment a fraction of an inch.

I justified it by saying nobody would see me during a pandemic.

I justified it my saying I'd break a finger..or have a cardiac incident..if I tried to move the slacks even the distance of a strand of hair.

My tops were color coordinated, but toppling over, which meant the pinks and turquoises were co-mingling, even if they chose not to.

(I have a LOT of tops in these colors.  My brain thinks I live in Turks and Caicos year round)

If shirts could talk, they'd say, in unison, "OMG..it's one thing to overstuff her gut--that's HER personal choice--but our foundation WILL collapse, and then we'll be on the floor with the dust and stray hairs and old handbags and totes  forever!"

The novelty shirt I never wore because it was too much trouble to reach, the one Jim gave me for my last birthday that mentioned Karens and managers, was bursting at the seams with rage.

  So was her pile-mate, the novelty shirt I got while touring Warner Bros. Studios in Burbank with the "Luke's Diner" logo from my beloved "Gilmore Girls"..that one was being "saved" for "vacation."

The shelves against the sides of this closet were suffering too. No room to breathe, no room to move, no  way to believe that some of them would still fit.

The dresses looked like they had too much to drink the night before; so overhung(my attempt to be clever with the word "hungover") that they practically screamed, "this is a hook up only..a one night stand."

And don't even get me started on the floor!!

I should have learned my lesson the weekend we got Luke in 2009.

 We had to go to an out-of-town funeral early that day and he managed to find a Roach Motel that was probably buried in there since the house was built in the 1960.s

I needed to say goodbye to my wonderful Aunt, but I feared my new dog would have an adverse reaction and uncover a lot worse than an aging Roach Motel.

And no..there were no actual roaches..I'm not an effin' ANIMAL!!

Tote bags.

I had about 45 tote bags with different logos.  Sports teams, TV networks, vacation places we've been to, 'though God only knows how I managed to pack a suitcase for any of those said vacations..how did I "find" the right things to pack?

My totes were totally full of..Karen.

Things I've written that were never published.

Camp memorabilia.

Arts supplies.  Writing tablets.  Pens that worked.  Pens that didn't.

Empty cans of sunscreen. Old daily schedules from Woodloch.  Old coveted medals won at Woodloch. Combs. Hair ties.

OMG..How did I NOT KNOW I was a hoarder?  Just because nothing dead was uncovered?

I am a hoarder!!

And like those pathetic losers you see on TV, that swear they're going to change once the experts come in, I WILL change, because my closet NOW looks like a chic boutique for plus-sized fashionistas.

My walk-in closet is finally a walk-in-closet.

It is beautifully, beautifully organized, color coordinated, garments  separated by season.

I would have taken before and after photos, but those who read my blog regularly know I am afraid of cameras, even simple to use ones, ever since my parents sent me to Montreal in 1972 with two rolls of film and I came back with 24 photos of my eyeball.

My closet is a work of art and no, WTF are you smoking??..I did NOT fix it myself.

This is the wizardry of Tami, my former neighbor, my closest closet friend, my personal shopper, stylist, and organizer.

She knows me so well that she knew what to toss on sight--what won't fit, what is outdated, what cannot be worn even to do housework in.

(Like I do housework)

She could teach a master class.

She is to organizing what Lebron James is to basketball.

And I promised her, with every fiber of my being, with every fiber on every clothing item that now sits or hangs with grace and dignity, that I will maintain this stunning work of art.

Which I will.

As long as nobody calls me a hoarder.

The game of the name

If I don't learn to be patient, to wait one more week until I'm good to go( vax-wise) to contact  my hairdresser, I'm afraid I will go all Britney and shave my head.

I woke up this morning looking exactly like Roseanne Roseanna-Danna..or Alfalfa--or Cameron Diaz in THAT scene from "There's Something About Mary."

Man, I wish I paid attention is science class..I would LOVE to understand the physics behind this.  

How does hair defy gravity this defiantly??? 

(And no, I'm not sending photos..it's bad enough I have to look at this..innocent FB friends should not have to see something they can't unsee)

So glad the days of high humidity are coming soon...

It has been almost a year since my moniker was maligned in a meme, which is why my opening paragraphs today have Karen written all over them.

Speaking of names..

 I was looking at my recently-cleaned up FB friends list.  I only eliminated duplicates or people that never post.  I kept deceased friends, and friends with insanely different politics than those of my own.

 I've been unfriended by at least a dozen people and have no idea why.  Maybe they heard me ask for the manager once too often.

Facebook divided my friends' list into two columns, and it really amused me to read which name was next to which name.  At first, because I have way too much time on my hands, I decided to make it into a game, like "which of these two do I like more?" but the "random" (??) sorting would pit my favorite cousin against my favorite camp friend; a stranger I never met vs. a person I haven't seen in fifty years.

It got old very quickly..as quickly as FB posts where I am pre-occupied with my unmanageable 'do do.

I then tried to amuse myself by counting the most popular names on my friends list.

I have thirteen Debbies! 

 (Lucky me!)

That's including all the Debs, Debbies, Debbys, Debras, Deborahs, and DEBacles.

I also have lucky thirteen Susans, but that's cheating a little, because I've included a Sue, a Sue Ellen, a Susie, and a Suzette.

Next come a nest of Robins(and Robyns) and a slew of Cindys and Cynthias.

Suffice to say I know a lot of Baby Boomers.

Karen isn't the only name to  be on every pregnant Mom's possibility list in the 1950's, but it's the one that's paid the greatest dues.

Just curious..does anyone have an abundance of any one particular name on their FB friends' list(s)?

I'd be interested in feedback from Gen-xers and millenials--tell me Jennifer, Emily, and Haydn(I don't have any friends named Haydn, but I'm sure someone reading this does) what's the most popular girl's name on your list?

I didn't even bother compiling boys names..they're all Michaels.

Every single one of them.

Pandemic-cure

Yay me!!

I remembered how to drive!

(If "driving" is what you call that thing I do with a steering wheel)

I remembered where the brakes were after ten months!

I remembered where my house is!

I remembered where I get my pedicures!

My nails are neat, trimmed, and polished, and now that they're no longer lethal weapons, anyone can be comfortable sharing a bed with me.

My eyebrows will no longer have me mistaken for Eugene Levy in public, so yeah..come share my bed. 

 We'll watch "Schitt$ Creek"

Next stop:  Converting my hair from something you scour pans with to..hair.

It's beginning to smell a lot like normal/everywhere you go!/folks are doing their chores and tasks/donning their fitted masks/as life returns to life that  we all know...

Hamming it up on Easter

because I never say anything like normal people do,  I will send a greeting to all my friends who celebrate Easter with revised lyrics to "Easter Parade"--and a deep apology to the estate of  Irving Berlin:

I sit on my keister/to write a song 'bout Easter/enjoy your cured ham feast..and pass those sweet yams..around...

I can be so blunt friends/enjoy your dyed egg hunt friends/of course, I'll really want some of that chocolate..you found..

How I envy you!

I envy you!

The clothes that you wear..

fancy holiday hair!!

See, I'll get no ham serving

although I am deserving..

Because,  like writer, Irving

MOTS can NOT eat..this fare

(I think I probably read too much MAD Magazine growing up)

Vaxing poetic

Karen'll get  a grooming!  She'll also  get a wax!

Correctly, you're assuming, that she got her.... second VAX!!!

She's feeling more protected! She's feeling slightly wiser!

'Cause wisely, she elected, to befriend a certain Pfizer

Her  toenails now are weapons..but soon they will be gone

it was worth the extra schleppin'...and  it's time to party on!

she knows she's gotta hang on now for just a few more weeks..

and freak, because her forehead bangs are flipping up in peaks

but, soon she'll  get to tame them--she's so happy she survived.

and it will be a shame since she's forgotten how to drive(!!!???)

well wouldn't THAT be ironic?..she obeyed the quarantine?

But since she's so moronic..she might cause a traffic scene?

Soon, she'll go to movies where she'll welcome crowds and lines!

And won't this year be groovy?..She'll go back to Woodloch Pines!

To hug and greet the staff there..and one night, don semi-formal

to soak up tons of laughs there as her life returns to normal

greeting every friend there.. it is just  like normal times!

(She'll finally put an end  to all these lame, insipid rhymes:)