My friend has a 5 beer husband, he’s a friend o mine, too, and she says it’s been a 5 beer night, from a 1 beer promise and I smile, a little shyly, with a little guilt, because I know that I’m his 6 beer friend.

A friend arrived tonight from the road, a wrong turn onto 205 instead of staying on I-5, but she got here all the same, for all roads lead to portland.  She’s at 10,000 miles, a great american road trip, hitting most of the states, except the ones that don’t matter, and they know who they are.  National parks, horny mechanics with a penchant for transvestites, the open road, humuus lunches and odwalla bar breakfasts, singing at the top of her lungs, epiphanies in colorado, decisions made in utah…the choice; a life of freedom, moving to know, letting it go, the Great Suburban Blueprint’s been lying all along:

• high school
• college (meet future spouse)
• work for 2 years for this firm, that firm, any firm
• buy the subaru, or the suv, put the multi-sport rack up
• because you snowboard, you climb, you surf, you paraglide, you sprout icarus wings on the weekends
• cohabitate with college-met future spouse (fight now and again to express your individuality)
• buy a house and get engaged or vice versa, either at this stage
• buy a dog, any dog as long as it’s big  and has a lolling tongue and drools sufficiently
• get married, tie the knot, exchange vows, get hitched, become one, cleave, dammit, cleave
• move up in your job, push hard, work it, massage it, put it to bed, it’s your baby, baby.
• speaking of which, it’s time, have twins, they’re all the rage name them  kenya, or denali, or kiva, or K2 or aconcagua for all I care.  (don’t forget the “soccer mom, all terrain” baby stroller so you can…)
• run.  every day.  before work.  after work.  during work.  work at running and lifting and sculpting, shock your abs, thrash your core, it’s all about pilates, it SO works! 
• sell the house, buy another, but bigger.  big is good.  big is important.  You’re important.  Importance is big.  very.
• wife: cut your hair, something short, economical, stylish, just below the ears, easy on the highlights.  Husband: cut the carbs, lose the fu man, buy the sporty car.  Kids: excel at sports, excel at school, but never question, never delve, don’t let that twitch of curiosity gain ground, oh, and excel more at sports, they’re cooler.

etc.

fuck it, they’re wrong…I heard it in a song.

but that’s ok, some of my best friends are Suburban Blueprinted.  happy as clams, peachy keen, snug as a bug in a rug, happy as can be, living large in the land of the free…

but the glock is under the pillow, the deadbolt is set, the 7,000 dollar alarm system blinks but never sleeps, everything is perfect, just perfect

for now.