My night with Sinbad came via the movie "First Kid," which was showing on my 2nd tier cable movie channel. It was awesome! Aside from a few painfully ugly pairs of pants, the movie was as funny and pleasant as I remembered it being when I was little. Sinbad is still damned funny.
I didn't plan on watching "First Kid." Sinbad hasn't graced my TV screen in years. The irony didn't hit me until halfway through the movie.
You see, at the same time that I was hunkered down in a granny nightgown watching cheap cable with my one-eyed dog on a Saturday night, my friend was playing host to the real Sinbad. In Hollywood. At some celebrity auction fundraiser or something.
I was in the granny nightgown. She was in a designer dress making friends with the star of the movie on my TV.
I went to undergrad and graduate school with this woman, but our lives couldn't be more different.
I live in a small town with wholesome family-oriented friends who all go home from the pot-luck dinner at 9pm because it has "been a long week" and "we have a soccer game in the morning."
She is a gorgeous blonde who has cocktails with other gorgeous people in designer clothes at exclusive clubs.
My Facebook posts are about lock-ins, yard work, and church announcements.
Her Facebook posts include movie-quality pictures to illustrate her movie-quality stories...photo shoots, new bar openings, weekends in wine country, and other shit like that.
Here is the shocking thing about my evening: I am not jealous. At all.
Yes, I had a crisis moment. It came when I realized that I am truly happy watching TV on a Saturday night with my dog. The thought of putting on high heels and making small talk with important people while trying to be beautiful and charming sounds...exhausting.
The highlight of my Saturday occured when I walked around my yard and realized that I have red roses, yellow roses, purple pansies, and pink tulips blooming at the same time. At my house! That I own!
It seems that I've become the kind of woman that I feared becoming 10 years ago. My old school friend is living the life that I wanted- not because of celebrities and Hollywood, but because every week brings a new, grand adventure. I am happy for her, but not at all jealous.
A full day off work. Plants that I haven't yet killed in my yard. A good dog and a comfortable nightgown. If you add some fried chicken and a beer, I'd be living in a country music song. This is the life!*
*Being 32 means that I have the right to change my feelings in a week. The same things that bring me joy today may be suffocating tomorrow. Oh well. I'll never wish to spend my night in high heels with the real Sinbad.
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