Names are preposterously changed to protect just about everyone

You know what helps you quit drinking? A hangover, that's what!
My friend was in town, let's call her Rosalee, and she said "Let's go out for drinks!"  Now, I had no reason to be scared because she'd said this before and we'd gone uptown to an empty bar and had 2 drinks before going back home to our kids. I swear to you, this is what I expected this time.
So I did my hair (and by "did" I mean I didn't pull it back into a soccer mom ponytail and I put leave-in conditioner in it), dressed up (and by "dressed up" I mean I wore real shoes and my best paisley tee shirt) and we went to the bar. And it was empty, and we had 2 drinks, and we talked. It was nice. Then we went to another bar. This one was less empty, and oddly well-lit (since when are bars well-lit?), and we had 2 more drinks and talked.  Then we went to yet another bar. And the more I felt like it was getting late and the bars were getting louder, the more Rosalee seemed to be in her element. And by "element", I mean twenties, even though she is the same age as me. See, I always forget that while I'm a the-mom-from-Home-Improvement mid-thirties, Rosalee is more of a Robin-from-How-I-Met-Your-Mother mid-thirties. And I cannot keep up with her.
At the third bar we ran into so many people. The neighbor kid who just turned 21 was there and of course Rosalee, who'd only been in town a week, knew him and convinced him to stay and hang out.  This lady who used to work with my mom at the courthouse until she threw the entire probation office into a drug fueled sex scandal was there (I use no names but trust me, there haven't been all that many drug fueled probation department sex scandals here so it shouldn't be hard for locals to identify her). And some old guy who kept falling off his bar stool, crying, and whose nose ran down into his beard the whole time we were there, was there. (Seriously, this is why bars need to stay dimly lit!)
So then we left the bar, but we went to Rosalee's friend, let's say Umberto's, place.  Umberto's place had, and I am not making this up, a laboratory in the kitchen.  Not a lab-ruh-tory. A lah-bore-atory. Like mad scientist shit. I don't know what it does but he says it's legal and it involved odd glass jars of colored liquids.  It looked nothing like Breaking Bad and it didn't smell, plus I was drunk, so I wasn't worried.  I think Umberto may be an alchemist.
So we're sitting at Umberto's place, Rosalee and the neighbor kid and I, and this girl walks in whom I only know because I know her parents socially.  Now this may make sense for Robin-from-How-I-Met-Your-Mother types, but I'm a Jill-from-Home-Improvement type and I feel really out of place here.  As the night wore on I was feeling older and grayer and fatter by the minute.  I may have started out Jill-from-Home-Improvement but by the time we left I felt full-on Doris Roberts.
And then we left.  And the neighbor kid drove us to our homes. And I went to bed at 2:30am for the first time in years. And the next morning I woke up to find a text I never recalled sending to my brother on my phone, and a horrible case of the bed spins.  And after I laid in bed for an hour, a full hour, before I could sit up, I thought to myself "I am too old for this shit, and (say it with me) I am never drinking again."
And guess what Rosalee texted me.  This:  "Last night rocked! Hope you had as much fun as I did."

As the night started.

As the night wore on. Minus Shooter McGavin with the gun there.

A goal has been reached

I got 4 inches cut off my hair today, mostly by way of new layers added. It's shorter than I usually wear it but I can still pull it up so all is well. The big thing is that now it's finished. I am fairly certain that it's all my own natural dye-free hair now. No more embarrassing ponytails that don't match my head. No more trying to figure out what colors look good on me because I'm a "cool" tone with my hair up and a "warm" tone with it down. No more hearing "About time to touch up those roots, don't you think?"  It's finally finished, a goal has been met, and it's a very satisfying feeling. My hair is, without the red ends to lighten the look up, darker than I thought it would be. But the gray strands are a silvery white and they sparkle.  Also, as short as it is now, it has waves in it so it almost resembles a deliberate look when I wear it down rather than just middle-parted mom hair. I really like it. I hope I never get used to it and always feel this happy with it as it changes and gets lighter.

I have the most boring case of multiple personality ever

Deep down I want to be  Sikowitz from VicTorious. Or Spencer from iCarly. Or Phoebe from Friends.  Or  that weird guy from Taxi who became Doc Brown in Back To The Future.  I want to be the funny one who sees things differently from everyone else, a creative person, artistic.  But there is a very, very large portion of my reality that is Bev from Roseanne, and maybe on a good day, when I'm particularly funny, Sophia from Golden Girls.  I'm a fuddy duddy who dreams of being a freak.  It's an inner conflict I fight all the time.  I always see cute little floral wallets and think, "I should buy that to replace my old worn out wallet."  But my old wallet is punk, with nautical stars and crowns and handcuffs all over it.  My mid-thirties is like a second puberty, in reverse, and I have to find myself all over again.  It kinda sucks, in a way.

A small distinction

There's a big nationwide news story about a group of up to 28 guys (older teens) who gang-raped an 11 year old girl. It's a horrible thing that, sadly, happens far too much these days. A large part of the story now seems to be how it was reported. The New York Times story made it seem as though it was the victim's fault, using phrases like "dressed older than her age" and that the men were "drawn into the act". Lots of outrage for the NYT, and rightly so. The thing I have a bit of confusion over, is the constant assertion that an eleven year old cannot consent to sex. Or more specifically, that anyone under the age of consent cannot consent to sex.

Don't get me wrong, at all. I believe in statutory rape laws. I believe that an 18 year old who has sex with a 15 year old is in the wrong, regardless of circumstances. I once was that 15 year old and I can tell you from experience that it is easy for an older person to take advantage of a kid, to convince her (or him, I guess) to do something she/he might not really want to do. Adults are clever and can manipulate kids; the law has to reflect that reality. That adults can talk kids into just about anything. That is, that they can talk kids into consenting to just about anything. And that's where I get the confusion about statutory rape victims being unable to consent. Not, of course, eleven year olds with 28 men on them, but the average 'he was 18 she was 15' kind of victim.

I read an article that pointed out just how wrong and misleading it is to claim that a statutory rape victim had sex with an adult. Because the kid can't have sex, can only be raped. Any person under the age of consent is legally unable to consent, unable to willingly have sex. And since the kid legally cannot be willing, by definition they were actually unwilling. So, by virtue of birthday, my teenage boyfriend forcibly raped me over and over, right? See, I thought he was just a dick to talked me into it and manipulated my emotions, but apparently I was unwilling the whole time. So, in fact, the guy I thought I loved when I was 15 was way worse than the guy who pinned me down and tore my insides up in a closet after a party 3 years later. Right?

If we dilute the word rape to mean people who legally couldn't consent as opposed to just people who actually didn't consent, we do a disservice to all the women who know what it's like to be forced, physically overpowered and forced. Too drunk to consent is not the same as drugged and raped. Too young to consent is not the same as tried to refuse. And when we equate it all we don't elevate the severity and anger of the legal definition up to the level of the standard, we undermine the standard. When I first read about an 11 year old in Texas gang-raped by 28 men, I assumed an 11 year old in Texas was forced by a gang of men. Now, with all the dickering over terminology, I wonder if maybe she was only "legally" raped. You can argue that there's no difference all you want, and at age 11 there probably isn't much of one, but if you've ever fought against rape you will know that there is a big difference between being forced and being talked into something. Which is kind of odd, since if I put a gun to some 15 year old kid's head and march him into a liquor store and tell him to rob it, he probably won't do any time. But if I tell him all the cool kids are doing it and it's so mature, and then he goes and does it, no one stands there and says he's too young to willingly rob a place. No, he'd go to juvie, if they didn't try him as an adult anyway. Because kids can consent to all sorts of things, as proven by the fact that they do them, but somehow not sex. And like I said, I think adults who fuck kids need to be arrested. I'm stricter on that than most of my friends. I honestly think a senior sleeping with a sophomore should be arrested. Maybe not put on the registry list, but arrested and fined and shit. But I don't think that being 15 is the same as screaming "No!" and raking your nails down some guy's face.