I’m writing to you from the sidewalk outside the Unicorn Discotheque.
Try as I might, sometimes I just can’t get into that place. It is damned hard. I can see the lights, hear the throb of the music, sense the “zero fucks given” vibe from inside… and this mofo bouncer won’t let me in.
For those who have never heard of it, the Unicorn Discotheque is where I go in my head when it’s all. Too. Much. It is a fine place.
The UD is home to feel-good, funny TV. It can be smart, but not heavy. Parks and Recreation gets played a LOT in there. Ditto The IT Crowd, Peep Show, 30 Rock, The Good Wife, Seinfeld, etc. The show may deal with less-than-funny issues, but not so serious they can’t be tidily wrapped up by the end of the show.
There is no world news in the UD. Not even local news, come to think of it. We walk a fine line between keeping ourselves sane and burying our heads in the sand. It is a tricky line to navigate.
Facebook usage is severely limited, DUH.
Texting is permissible. Between very funny and smart people, it is actually encouraged. No gossip, though. Not a single one of us is an angel, but the UD is not the place to feed our baser impulses. If it makes you feel icky, or icky about yourself, pass when you are in the UD’s hallowed halls.
Por ejemplo: So I got my nails done yesterday, a rare treat. The color looked okay in the bottle, kind of a neutral violet hue. The tech was a few nails in when I noticed that, uh, this shade looks kind of terrible on me. Out of the bottle, the violet is more of a beige…. But who cares? I was in with a dear friend who was visiting from out of town, and we decided to get manicures on the spur of the moment because we weren’t quite ready to say goodbye yet. I think the shade is godawful on me but now I’m kind of perversely into it. So into it that I spent much of last evening texting with a different buddy about what horrible names this color should have been named. They were exceptionally rude, I mean, so bad that I’m not totally sure I want to publish them here. The nicest and most PG name I came up with was Corpse Mauve. You get the idea. We had a LOT of fun with this.
I still haven’t fully realized that my buddy is gone again. (She’s not dead, Brown. Get a grip. Jesus.) It won’t be pretty when I figure it out, and maybe this is why I just can’t get past the UD’s velvet ropes today, no matter how I try.
Here’s why getting into the Unicorn Discotheque is sometimes a real bitch:
How dare I get a manicure when my good friend is in town? What about Paris, and puppy mills? What about the dogs at the animal shelter that I didn’t save? What about the people who don’t have a warm and safe place to sleep while it is so Christing cold? How dare we indulge ourselves?
Don’t I owe everybody an explanation?!
No. No, I don’t. I know that today, and believe me, I’m working on it. But that noise, right there, is what makes it so hard to get into the UD sometimes: Guilt. Worry. Sadness. Powerlessness. I can’t always make it through the doors, and that’s okay. I don’t think the feelings are quite done with me yet.
The difference is, today I know the Discotheque is there. Tomorrow, I might even get in. And while it might be juuuust out of reach, I have you guys here with me. I never have to be alone again.
So… who’s got a cigarette?