Stay Golden: The New Rule to Live By

Today is a very special day. It is the anniversary of the premier of the Golden Girls sitcom, 20 whole years ago. Can you believe it? Twenty! This makes me feel as old as Dorothy, Blanche, Rose and Sophia. I mean, OLD old.

What’s that, you say? You could not care less about the Golden Girls? You think they SUCK? Well, I offer this—you just have not thought the situation through all the way. I mean, check this: GG was the first TV show that was all about single girlfriends, doing their thing, sans males—a geriatric Sex and the City, really. Come on, are you telling me senior-but-sexy southern belle Blanche ISN’T Samantha? Sweet, dopey, idealistic Rose isn’t the spittin’ image of Charlotte? And smart, sarcastic (and manly) Dorothy—well, I dunno—maybe Mister Big??

Allow me to serenade you with the rockin theme song. You may sing along if you like:

Thank you for bein’ a friend
Travel down the road and back again
You heart is true; you’re a pal and a confidante.
[BUM, bum, bum]
And if you threw a party, i-i-i-invited everyone you knew,
You would see the biggest gift would be from me
And the card attached would say:
Thank you for bein’ a fri-e-e-e-nd!

Rousing wasn’t it? My college roommate used to deploy this song for strategic public humiliation purposes. She would wait until I was shit-housed—preferably in a large public venue—and then sweet-talk me into singing it. I always obliged. I do a damn fine rendition of it when blind drunk. Or at least it sounds damn fine to me.

But all public disgrace aside, my only REAL worry is that there is a piece of gray matter in my head exclusively devoted to retaining for all eternity the Golden Girls theme song lyrics--which I can summon to mind even in the utmost state of inebriation. YET I woke up Sunday morning having totally forgotten at least one fairly significant bit of information.

The following is my chain of thoughts, in real time: “Urpfh! Wha? Whozzis? Whas’ this strange blue blanket-y thing, and why is it so freaking bright in this room? Have I been transported to the face of the sun? FUCK! What is the FIRST NAME of this dude next to me? Oh god, think, think! Perhaps he has some decorative item which has his name on it!? Wait--what if he DOES have a decorative item with his name on it? That would be so weird! Maybe I can get into his wallet without him noticing and check his license? Oh. Shit. I am an asshole. I give up. I will think on this more after I get a Diet Coke the size of my head.”

But, I digress. To summarize my (albeit scattered) thoughts on the Golden Girls: It occurred to me today that the show is a good metaphor for my life. Seriously!

Take one group of saucy single gals-in-the-city, add some madcap hijinks, some random guys that drift in and out on a show-by-show basis, substitute late-night boozing for late-night cheesecake, and IT. IS. TOTALLY. FUCKING. US!!

And, by god, it ain't all that bad. So, the New, Improved Golden Rule: Cherish your gal-pals. They will hold your hair while you puke and judge not your slut-tastic escapades. And if you are reading this, thank you for bein’ a friend.

Viola