I hate being awake this early on a Saturday. Let me amend that: I hate being hung over and awake this early on a Saturday morning when I have to leave my warm snuggly bed to go to work. Much better.
And it's all icky outside. I could have used an SAT word there, but icky is the most appropriate word there is for the weather at this point. Humid-and cloudy and sticky and icky. It's nine am and the sun still hasn't broken through. Of course, if it was gorgeous out i'd be bitching about that.
Eh. I will shake it off with the help of caffeine and Comedy Central online.
Oooo! I almost forgot the bright spot!!! I found my Digable Planets tape last night. AND my tape player!!! Very exciting. I was a rabid DP fan in eighth grade and had dreams of going on tour with them through a series of funky nightclubs around the world. It's a fun piece of nostalgia, and still a pretty good album.
OK- adrenaline gone. I'm going to go back to work...and drink more coffee. You guys have a great weekend!
Saturday, June 30
I hate being awake this early on a Saturday. Let me amend that: I hate being hung over and awake this early on a Saturday morning when I have to leave my warm snuggly bed to go to work. Much better.
Friday, June 29
This morning on the news I saw a piece about the Democratic debate last night at Howard University that made me wince. I hate it when pols try to pander to an interest group under the guise of ‘addressing their issues’. It bugs me that Hillary is doing so well among African American voters when she turns my stomach and I am completely incensed that she was the only one with a decent answer on the terrifyingly high rate of HIV/AIDS among young African American women.
I saw an African American man with a Confederate flag on his truck last weekend and I cannot get the image out of my head. Up is down and down is up.
I have to work tomorrow and I’m planning on messing around with the design (if you can call it that) of my blog. Anyone with any snazzy ideas can leave them in comments.
There are hickies on my neck!!! I should think that this is high-schoolish and mildly embarrassing…but I don’t. It keeps making me giggle.
Last, but certainly not least; I was missing a certain person in my comments section lately who has recently returned to me and I’m all aflutter.
To sum up: The BPM loves BOA, I loathe Hillary, AA and CSA together confuse me, blogs are hard, but bruises are good and someone loves me again!!!
No more caffeine for G, huh?
Wednesday, June 27
My mother has always had a leading role in the story of my life. Possibly more than is healthy she has been at various times the producer, director and screenwriter. Since I moved over 400 miles away her hold has diminished considerably and at times this has made both of us uncomfortable in different ways. She is still my best friend and my hero (and the voice in my head) but she is also one of the reasons I moved so far away.
When I was younger I thought it would always be easy to make friends. I couldn’t understand why my mother didn’t seems to make friends each time we moved as quickly or in as much variety as I did. I was too young to recognize her innate shyness and too inexperienced to understand the minefield that you must cross to forge a friendship once you are out in the ‘real world’.
Looking back on my parents’ marriage now I thin that part of the reason it lasted so long was her loneliness and fear. At some point she just couldn’t stay any longer, but that point was a long time coming. She has since been on a steep road back to herself. I cannot adequately express how proud I am to have seen her pick herself up off the floor and rebuild a life. Her world is now full of friends; close girlfriends, family friends, have a drink after work friends, travel friends- she has them all. I am grateful and I am sometimes a little jealous.
Last night I called her just to say hi. We started talking about Joe and her bitterness just streamed through the phone. I forget sometimes, because of all the friends she has and the full life she leads, how much she was hurt. I forget and I just want my mother to be excited for my happiness. We are both wrong and both right. It is complicated to have a serious leading man in my life when it has been a one woman show for so long (we don’t count walk-ons here). It is more complicated when my director’s voice is whispering in my ear that he cannot be trusted- that none of them can. It hurt me that she could dismiss him so easily and cast such aspersions on my judgment. Of course she didn’t mean to do that. She wants to protect me and I want to… I am ready to jump. I am ready to face the fact that I could get seriously hurt. I am willing to do this and though she has said that she will try to think before she speaks next time I know that she cannot truly understand. Her memories of the beginning are tainted by the ones of the ending and a new beginning seems impossible to her.
I was going to say something witty to tie this up, but there is no witty remark forthcoming and I have no idea how to tie this up.
Monday, June 25
I had no idea how much I needed to get away from here until I got away from here. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy in my little corner of VA. I’m still exploring it and finding out cool new things about my city all the time. It’s just that whenever I leave the crazy stress of work it is usually for the crazy drama of Chucktown. This time, however, there was none of that. We woke up late, had Bloody Mary’s with our steak and eggs, loaded up the cooler and hit the road. By 2pm we were pulling onto the beach. There were about four miles of trucks, jeeps and dogs everywhere. We played and swam and just hung out. No plans, no timetables- just ocean, sun and beer. I cannot overstate the relaxing properties of watching a gorgeous man playing with his dog along a beach at twilight. There was a bonfire and new friends. There were drunken people trying to jump over said bonfire but no serious injuries. I learned that ‘Fort Walton’ is the new F word and has just as many uses. There was laughter and football, stupid stories and yes- we took pictures.
Sunday found me sitting in the bed of the truck watching the sun rise over the water and feeling more rested on less sleep than I could remember. Yes, I have taken three showers and am still finding sand on me, but it was all worth it and we are going to do it again as soon as we can. You’re all welcome to come with us. Take a break. It’s good for you.
Friday, June 22
Last night he tells me that he’s never fallen this hard or this fast for anyone and that he can see himself falling in love with me. It’s two weeks in and any normal woman would have run screaming at that point…or at least freaked out a little bit. I was just happy. Happy in a can’t-stop-smiling, feel like I’m glowing kind of way that I’m sure is annoying as hell to others. It used to be to me.
Now, I know that just yesterday I said that I was not going to turn this in to a blog about Joe, and I won’t. This is a major change in my life and I wanted to share it with you. Maybe this is all moving way too fast and everything is too soon. It is too soon to call him my boyfriend, let alone call this a serious relationship. If so, I do not care. As Papa G says, “This ain’t no dress rehearsal!” (double negative aside, he’s right). I am going to grab onto happiness with both hands and spend the weekend camping on the beach with Joe and Cuervo. I’ll see you Monday.
Thursday, June 21
Italian men are taking over my life. My very fav cousin (I have over 30, so that 's saying a lot) married one and has now given birth to two. The latest is the newly named Cashius Anthony Contardo. I fought her on the spelling...and I lost. Thankfully he is adorable enough to overcome having a 'different' name. If I can do it- he can. I will meet him in July when I visit the family in Mass for the Police concert. As I get more pictures of him I will probably bore you all to death with them so remember- you were warned.
The second Italian, Joe, is just as adorable (although in a fully grown way). I am promising you right now that I will not turn this blog into "A Whole New Man". I hate it when normally rational women go completely nuts over a guy and can't string together two sentences without mentioning his name. In that spirit I will try to keep this a mush free zone (except when it comes to babies, I'm a sucker for babies!).
On a sad note, Mist 1 has lost her beloved Wiggy. If you have a moment to post a condolence I'm sure she'd appreciate it.
Be kind to each other, Italian man or not, and enjoy the Solstice!
Wednesday, June 20
Rabbit Breakout :
Three rabbits escape from a testing lab and find an entire field full of carrots. They eat themselves into a stupor and sleep throughout the night. The next morning, they find an entire field full of female rabbits with no males in sight. They screw themselves into a stupor and sleep throughout the night. The next morning, the rabbits get to talking.
"I'm gonna go back to that field of carrots," says one.
"I'm gonna go back to those cute little rabbits," says the second.
"I'm going back to the lab," says the third. "I'm dying for a cigarette."
Posted by G at Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Tuesday, June 19
Please join me in sending happy birthday wishes to the newest member of the G clan.
Monday, June 18
To wait a month. Or so V tells me. Whatever. F Cosmo.
We met at the Cantina at 7 last night for dinner. After three minutes I was no longer nervous and it was turning into one of my top five dates ever. Joe is sweet, funny and he has great taste (he thinks I'm beautiful). We closed the Cantina down at around 1:40 am and went back to his place. That is where I fell in love.
He's 115lbs; brown hair, gorgeous brown eyes and has the sweetest face. He's not interested in me and that is my cross to bear (Cosmo says we all have one). His name is Cuervo and he's a Chocolate Lab/ Pit mix. *flutter* *sigh* Seriously, this dog is adorable and the dog/man combo is quite possibly too much cute for one house. It would be were it not for the fact that the dog could crush various body parts of mine (or anyone's really) with his jaw and gobble me up in under 20 minutes.
Joe's making me dinner on Wednesday. We're going out with some friends of his this weekend. And although I know that something will go wrong eventually( I accept the way my life works), for now I am going to enjoy this awesome man, his cooking, his shoulders, and his dog.
Friday, June 15
After enduring a week of Proctologist jokes at work Mama G was still looking forward to her date. They were going to meet at 5:30 for drinks. TP said he had a dinner meeting that night, so they would have to keep it short. This was fine with Mama G because she was a tad embarrassed about her behavior on their first meeting. On ‘date day’ she went out to lunch with a bunch of the guys from her office. These are all guys fresh out of college or grad schools that have gravitated to my mother. They go to lunch, they go to dinner, and they throw darts in contests in bars. Mama G has a posse.
Over lunch with the ‘young uns’ she told them about the date and the dinner TP was going to afterward. She was surprised when they broke up laughing. Just as some women will have a friend call them a half hour or hour into a date to make sure everything’s going alright and provide an ‘out ‘ if necessary, so some guys will have a dinner meeting set up to keep a date short. They told Mama G that if the date was going well she shouldn’t be surprised if TP got a call saying the dinner had been postponed or cancelled. She went back to work feeling informed and not a little hip.
The feeling didn’t last long. A word of advice gentlemen: if you are going to break a date at the last minute because you are sick, do not go into detail; especially if it is a bowel problem. I will not reprint the text message she forwarded to me in which he asked if they could postpone due to … I will not do this because it is graphic, disturbing, and it was on the cell phone that got drunk so I don’t have it. Did Mama G go home and sulk? No- of course not. She went out to the new place at the beach with her ‘young uns’ to catch a local band and have some tequila.
People think that she wears College of Charleston gear because it is my alma mater. I know it’s because of the mascot.
Thursday, June 14
Mama G met The Proctologist in a bar. He was a friend of a friend and they hit it off. At first he was just a 48 year old doctor (a respectable 15 years her junior), Italian, and (in her words) “a hottie”. There was witty banter. There was tequila. As we all know, Tequila + Banter = Inappropriate Comments. MG and TP flirted outrageously as the rest of the table cringed and blushed.
Now, she cannot remember exactly what it was she said that provoked him, but he finally stood up and ordered her outside. She went. No, I have no idea why and neither does she. They walked down the street in silence until he grabbed her hand and dragged her into an alley and well… Mama G found herself against the wall of a restaurant (slightly overpriced with a pedestrian menu) with kissing TP while his hand made its way up her shirt. Apparently this was an enjoyable experience for both of them because they exchanged email addresses and cell numbers. She went back inside and he went home.
Part 2: The Proctologist Is An Ass... coming soon.
Wednesday, June 13
One of the salesmen I work with kept telling me that if I just let the phone dry out, I would be able to turn it on and get my numbers… I hate to give credit to other people, but he was right! I got Joe’s number out of the old phone last night and sent him a text message. He called about two minutes later.
We had a great conversation, which included trying to figure out why there were two middle aged men standing in the middle of his street with lights on their heads. I know you’ve all seen the lights that spelunkers wear on their hats. If you have any ideas about why someone would wear that type of light while having a conversation in the middle of a residential street please let me know. We thought that maybe they were trying to figure out the best way to make shadow puppets on the sides of their houses, but if you have a better idea I’ll pass it along. So, G and Joe will have their first date this weekend. Updates to follow.
Monday, June 11
Oh Good Lord where do I start? Ok. The beginning would probably be a good idea. After work on Friday I spent the day on a boat with some people from work and some beer. Fun. I like water and I like beer. So I thought, “G, why don’t you do this again tomorrow?” I am brilliant. I wrangled an invite and met them at their house the next day.
We had their progeny with us on Saturday morning so there was decidedly less drinking going on until we dropped them off with Grandma around 2. We picked up V and proceeded to do fun things involving speed and other people’s wakes. Grand times and more beer!
At around six we started looking for friends who were supposed to be meeting us out on the water for the fireworks. We pulled into the harbor on the P’mth side and chugged around with our eyes peeled. No luck. There were, however, many groups of boats with extremely hot men on them. V and I especially appreciated the great pecs in the red trunks. You know who you are. Thanks.
We ended up dropping anchor by ourselves, but close enough to a group of about five boats that V and I could drool over them and grandpa on their boat could drool over us. Did I mention the super cleavage bathing suit? No? Oh well then, just forget about it. He was looking at my face…obviously. Eventually he asked us to tie up with them and join the party. We were the seventh or eighth boat at that point and more just kept coming.
We had a great time. The music was loud, the beer was cold, and everyone was hopping back and forth from boat to boat. And there were men everywhere. I feel that I must mention at this point that I am not some man obsessed crazy woman. It’s just been a while since there was anyone I was REALLY interested in. I mean someone who isn’t John Legend or Bradley Whitford. I’m just saying…
Maybe it was my 13th beer, or maybe it was that damn Pink song, “You and Your Hand”, that always makes me do crazy things. I decided to go over to the next boat and check it out; I dragged V along with me of course. We were going to make our way down the entire row but we got sidetracked by Joe. Joe is adorable. He made me laugh; he gave me his last cigarette and then wouldn’t let me give it back. He named his dog Cuervo. His parents are hippies, still. We won’t mention Joe’s shoulders or I might swoon.
Joe’s phone was almost dead so he used mine to call his instead of programming my number in. I saved his number under Joe :-). Then I climbed to the roof of the boat we had ended up on to watch the fireworks. Joe followed. There were fireworks, and kisses, and more fireworks. I didn’t really care that firework ash was falling all around us because seriously what is more romantic than kissing on the water under fireworks?
Plus he was yummy.
All in all a pretty fantastic day; the kind of day that does not happen to me. But I was not going to question. I got back to my house at around midnight. I had promised Joe that I would call him Sunday afternoon. He didn’t believe that I really would (a HUGE boon to my ego- I must say) and I went pull my cell phone out of my bag so that I could look at his name in my phone. It was wet. It smelled like beer. Why would my phone smell like beer? There was a half empty beer can in my bag. Long story short: I paid $160.00 for a new phone. I have no way of getting Joe’s number out of my beer sodden phone. He has not called. Back to reality.
Friday, June 8
Your mind can wonder”
I got presents!!! A Piglet plush and a Tigger plush- very exciting to someone who actually owns Piglet’s Big Movie. Yeah, I do. What?
Anyway, sushi with the BPM wasn’t bad. I had a spicy tuna roll, a spicy salmon roll and a glass of plum wine (I like some sweet with my spicy). I looked sporty and cute. A minor miracle considering the day I had. There was even some cleavage. So I was doing my part. We had a pretty good conversation about nothing for a while. I am a champ at inane date chatter. After dinner he gave me Piggy and Tiggy and I freaked out in that adorable way that I have and we parted ways. I was home in time for Studio 60 (and thank God for that because Aaron was batting a thousand last night).
The thing is that I was right. There isn’t anything there. I can’t really complain because it wasn’t horrible and I got free food, alcohol AND presents, but I don’t want to do it again. But…I think he might. When I was driving home I really thought that he had gotten the ‘there’s no chemistry here’ hint. I mean he didn’t even try to kiss me. No moves. At all. So I thought I was safe. I got home and sent him a text thanking him for getting P&T to a good home and he started flirting. FLIRTING!!!
He’s going to call me when he gets back into town on Saturday afternoon and I’m going to have to deal with this. I hate dealing with things. I hate confrontation. What’s a nice way to say “Thanks for the presents, could you go away now?”
Thursday, June 7
I have a date tonight that I do not want to go on. I’d rather snuggle into bed with a book and a beer until Studio 60 comes on. Then I can fall asleep and dream of Bradley Whitford…hmm…yum. But I accepted the date (after stalling for almost a month) so now I’m stuck driving all the way out to the beach for sushi and pool with the Big Pharmaceutical Minion.
Now, I like the beach (just not the drive) and I like sushi…and honestly, the BPM isn’t that bad. It’s just that I’m not attracted to him (he looks like a teddy bear with braces) and we don’t have anything in common. He doesn’t read, he’s conservative; we don’t have the same taste in music or movies. We don’t don’t like the same sports teams or even the same leagues. We both have a slightly cruel sense of humor, which can make for some dangerously witty banter, but that’s about it. I know all of this because while I have been stalling on the date front we have talked on the phone about once a week for the past month. It’s not so much that he hates the things that I love; it’s that he dismisses them.
V thinks that I need to actually go on the date before I can be sure there couldn’t be anything there. I think I have to go on this date because I said I would and I can’t back out on the day of the date. At least it’s an excuse to buy shoes.
On Saturday I will be “putting myself out there” on Match.com. Yes. I has gotten that bad.
Wednesday, June 6
I swear that not every day is like this but I just had to share. This is the email conversation I had this morning with Willis at work.
W: good morning sunshine how was your evening
G: It was good. Yours?
W: it was interesting you should have come up to Mexico’s last night you would have had fun
G: I had a book and beer at my house, I was all set. Glad you had fun though.
W: is it a good book?
G: It was, yes.
W: did you get a buzz
W: why not i had one hell of a buzz
G: Because I only had one beer.
W: hell you should have more
W: to get a buzz
G: Didn’t need one.
W: why not
G: I don’t understand.
W: don’t understand what why you should have gotten a buzz
G: Yeah, or why you think I should have.
W: I don’t know it just sounded good.
W: are you making fun of me in your head
G: Not yet. So, why was it interesting?
W: why was what interesting
G: Your evening. You said it was interesting.
W: oh yea just had a lot of fun bullshittin and dave being wasted and talking shit to the Mexicans
W: yes it was
G: I’ll take your word for it.
Q: How many hipsters does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: What? You don't know?
Posted by G at Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Tuesday, June 5
Good morning and welcome to Multiple Personalities Day here in the World of G. It is almost 9 am and I have already gone through at least three massive mood swings this morning. (The first person who even thinks about mentioning PMS will get my foot so far up his a** his breath will taste like Foot Locker water repellent). See? Where the hell did that come from?
OK, yes, I had a kind of scary doctor’s appointment yesterday. I’ve been getting sick a lot lately and my Dr.G sent me to see an auto immune specialist. He took 10 billion gallons of blood, a nice chunk of my paycheck and gave me lists of foods I should be eating and ’10 steps to a stronger immune system’…and told me not to worry, my test results will be back by the end of the week.
My contacts are killing me, so I’m back in the ‘sexy librarian’ glasses. This would not bother me if they weren’t crooked and cracked…doesn’t really complete the look.
There was a knock on my door this morning. It was Friend. He hasn’t been by in nigh on forever and he shows up this morning wanting to be all cuddly and telling me that he missed me. This should have been a huge ego boost but all it did was annoy me. If he missed me so much then where the hell has he been? Hmm? Plus all I really wanted to do was sleep and he wanted to…not. He was actually fine with being turned down and was really sweet but none of that made a difference because I honestly don’t believe anything he says. I wish I could.
This keeps happening. This rampaging ennui…ok- so that’s not really possible, is it? Well, this cloud of whatever will descend. I make some plan to change my life. Then there’s the slow slide back into the rut and then the damn cloud starts forming again. This is NOT what I want. Not that I really know what I do want. Mama G has this saying “You create the life you truly want”. She means that if someone is treating you horribly or you’re doing it to you then some part of you must think that you deserve it, must be seeking it. I don’t know if I agree, but if I find the part of me that wants to be living like this I will kick it’s a**.
Saturday, June 2
Sunday was spent with Papa G and Wife #5. I went out to 'The Island' for brunch at 'The Club'. The whole thing was pretty silly. Ever since I had gotten to Chucktown it was like I was living in a rap video, or an episode of the OC or something equally pointless. It's not that I wasn't having fun- it's just that I knew this was not my place.
Papa G and I went on a hunt for a NYTimes for the next couple of hours and it was great fun. Everywhere we went had just sold out but we ended up with coffee, flip flops, Orangina, and "An Assault on Reason" and a bunch of laughs. It was a good day.
Sunday night I showered very carefully and bandaged my crotch blisters with absorbent sterile pads and tape (because nothing says party like absorbent sterile pads). I was ready to go. The whole point of my trek to chucktown was to see Colonel Mustard and the Condiments perform at the Beer Works. I got there and I was slammed by all the good and bad memories of college(and by my old roommate who screamed, ran across the bar and jumped into my arms when I walked in- i felt like such a rock star). It was great to see everyone, almost everyone, and dance like an idiot to songs that no one but our crew knows all the words to. Ice Cold was not there, which was remarked upon constantly, but they did play Beast of Burden. It is not possible for any (straight) woman and quite a number of gay men to listen to Matt Crosby sing that song and not want to jump him. I don't care how short he is! The best part was that I didn't feel anything that had made me nervous about going down there in the first place. Sure, some people were doing better than I was, but some were doing nothing. I realized that I like where I am now and that I don't really miss those people. What I missed was who I was then. CofC theatre was an extended childhood for me and I am glad that I was able to go to the show and put my Pooh Bear away. This pic of our old hang out says it all.
By 4 am I was home and really looking forward to coming back to VA.
Friday, June 1
In between guffaws V was very helpful. I was calm and getting less dizzy by the moment when she said,
“Has it blistered yet?” Now at the time I did not understand the significance of that tiny little word: yet. No, it had not blistered and there was a party, beach music and the Hottest Man Alive waiting for me. I got off the phone and rejoined the party.
Fast forward again:
Boat docks at house…dance…drink…dance…
Boat takes party back to Marina.
Mama G and G decide to hit the town.
G invites HMA.
HMA says he is meeting friends but will bring them to wherever we want: just name the place.
Place is named.
Everything goes to hell.
Mama G and I parked as close to the bar as we could. Six blocks away. It was a damn holiday in a damn tourist town with a damn arts festival and a damn golf tournament all happening at the same time!!! Damn it! After two blocks both my feet and my thighs were revolting against the rest of my body and I realized three things simultaneously:
1) YET. V had asked if I had blisters YET!!!
2) HMA and I had not traded cell #’s!!!
3) There was no way I could walk another step.
Mama G went to get the car as I leaned against the building and tried to look sexy while keeping my thighs from touching each other or any thing else (even air). I was hoping for/dreading the sight of him walking around that corner. It didn’t happen.
We went home, Mama G made me a drink and I v e r y s l o w l y took my clothes off. My scream was Psycho worthy and brought Mama G running to the bathroom where she found her progeny naked, tequila in hand, staring in horror at the blisters on her bikini line. Yes, folks, step right up and see the crotch blisters.
Honestly, I did try to take pictures of them because they were the biggest blisters I had ever seen in my life (the one on my right thigh easily three inches long) but there was no way to get them in the picture without exposing a little more of G than I am ready too. Plus, they were really nasty looking, you sickos!
After a call to MD Cousin G I popped them with a sewing needle, rinsed the area with peroxide (wince with me people, oh yeah) and fell into a drunken, pain induced stupor trying not to think of the HMA who got away.
Ahhh…the comforts of home…
Saturday morning at seven am found me at the Charleston City Marina staring at the After, a friend of the family’s yacht. She was taking down to Savannah and back to celebrate her engagement and was bringing along about 50 of her closest friends (and their daughters who had driven down on a whim and had nothing else to do). This thing was sick. Disgusting. There were lounge chairs on the top deck along with a ‘cold tub’. Just like a hot tub, but with cool bubbling water. There were four bars on three levels, a dance floor and two buffets. There was a DJ and two big screen TV’s. I kept waiting for Robin Leach to pop out from behind something and try to interview me. I went up to the top deck to claim a lounge chair and that’s when I met him.
You know how some men are too pretty to actually be hot and some men are too perfect looking? He did not have either of those problems. It was like God had reached into my fantasies and, agreeing in my flawless taste, made the man of my dreams and dropped him onto a deck chair reading one of my favorite novels.
*A side note: If you haven’t read The Celestial Jukebox you really are missing out. *
We chatted. We flirted. He put sunblock on my back. He fetched me drinks. I got the next round so that he could watch me walk away in my fabulous new bathing suit. At some point I feel asleep. When I woke up an hour later he was still right beside me. I’ll stop gushing now and fast forward.
Change into fabulous sundress with MUCH cleavage.
Eat, drink, dance and be merry.
Maybe too merry…get a little dizzy.
I made my way back up to the top deck. I sat down and it hurt. I mean really HURT. Not really caring if anyone was around I lifted up the back of my skirt and tried to look at my a** in the dark on the top of a cruising yacht. Oh yeah. After doing a dog chasing tail imitation for longer than I care to admit I stopped, panting, and touched my a**. It was hot. It hurt when I touched it. Things still didn’t sink in. I sat down again and it hurt AGAIN. Now I was pissed. And hot. I started fanning myself with the skirt of my sundress and the air stung a little in an area that should NEVER sting. I looked down. I yelped. The delicate skin on my inner thighs had gone from a café au lait (G’s normal color) past café Americana (G’s tan color) straight to blueberry antioxidant drink (NO ONE’S COLOR). I panicked. There was only one thing to do. I had to call a white person. In most things I am of the firm belief that color does not matter. There are very few exceptions to this rule. Sunburns that turn my inner thighs into something that would attract Barney are one of them. I called V.
It’s not that the drive to Chucktown was bad- it’s that I spent so much time in the car NOT driving. The six hour drive home took me a little over 8 ½. I am not good at waiting people. I faked my way through kindergarten: I do not share, I do not wait and I do not nap…ok so sometimes I nap, but there is usually alcohol involved. By the time I got to Mama G’s place I never wanted to see another car again.
Mama G, being the miraculous creation she is, had the cure for what ailed me all ready to go; when I walked in the door I was greeted with a hug, a sub from Jersey Mike’s and a Corona. It was officially summertime. I had just finished my sandwich and was on my second beer when the phone rang and Justin Timberlake was singing from my mom’s phone telling her how fine she looked. No comment.
My Big Sister G was calling from downtown wondering why we were not at the bar with her. This led to many more beers and equally unanswerable questions that night. By the time we got home I was sure I had never been so tired in my life. It was after three am, countless beers and a trip to the Waffle House that I unpacked my car and settled down on Mama G’s futon to begin the sweet slide into oblivion.
Honey, I’m home!!!
I know that I have completely blown this past week but there are many reasons why, some of which I believe you will find amusing at my expense, all of which will be detailed in the next two days. I will be posting as I can all day today and tomorrow until the whole sordid tale is told. Ok- it’s not really all that sordid so calm down. There are crotch blisters involved, however.
Suffice it to say that I have missed you all immensely and it’s great to be back!