I had a little happy hour wake last night in honor of Prince’s passing. It was a fitting send-off in my own, small never-met-him-never-saw-him-in-concert-living-in-Boulder kind of way.
The only kind of party I like to throw is the kind that starts at 3 and ends at 7. It doesn’t matter how
drunk loud we get because really, who can complain about a party that is over by 7:00?
I don’t have to worry about my neighbors getting angry or my renters complaining. And the kids had a blast because they ran all over the block like a Nerf-weaponized pack of marauding guerillas.
Naturally, everyone had to wear purple, if they loved Prince which clearly Loony and Amy do not.
The more we drank the louder the Prince music got and the better my singing sounded. To me.
I sang a version of Purple Rain that I doubt anyone would be able to tell wasn’t Prince himself singing.
It’s scary how much I sound like him.
Dan, my Best Frenemy Forever (BFF) did some hardcore bonding with Bartleby. He wants to steal him.
He carried him around all night. It was seriously weird. And then there was this …
This morning I texted him a clipping from the paper where the city is working on a new ordinance to make co-op housing legal.
To be clear, I am totally for co-ops. Live and let live.
What chaps my hide is the proponents of co-operative housing at City Council meeting were in the “slight majority” but the city is steaming ahead with legalization …because that’s what council people are supposed to do … represent the will of the majority, be it ever so slight.
But at the meetings regarding short term rentals where proponents of STRs were in the vast majority – as in 145 to 2 – they barely passed the most punitive, bullshit, legal in name only, legislation which pretty much gave the finger to at least 75% of the people in the room.
People, like me, who stand to face financial ruin, and not because my investment property isn’t cash-flowing, but because I am not allowed to rent MY OWN HOUSE! THAT I LIVE IN as I see fit even though complies with existing parking, noise, and occupancy regulations.
(Whew. Deep cleansing breaths. I’m not going there again.)
So I had to angry text my BFF.
And there he goes with the dog again. YOU CAN’T HAVE MY FUCKING DOG!
Anyway, last night was a perfect afternoon/evening, topped off by Loony opening the extremely valuable wine for people to taste.
He started with the 1963 Chateau de Rothschild, a “tragic” year.
Exhibit A: the cork
Pretty much the perfect specimen. Are those mold spores?
Exhibit B: color and clarity
Brown wine, it’s a thing.
I’m going to let this short video document the crowd’s reaction:
And this is kind of funny. I was in the kitchen when people started yelling for me to come outside.
“Viv, get out here! Radish is in deep shit!”
When I found out that Radish was a rooster, I asked Huong to dispatch him quickly given that she was really good at it when she lived in Vietnam.
She refused, citing religious reasons. In retrospect, I’m glad she didn’t turn him into a hotpot because everyone really likes him.
Oh, and Loony removed the stitches from My Parasitic Twin’s dog’s ear. Because that shit happens.
Rest in peace, Prince. You are already missed.