So today.
My lips feel weird. I keep wanting to squinch them all up into old lady kiss lips until they stop that crazy tight itching feeling. I want to run around and give everyone old lady squinch kisses. ‘Someone stop her before she squinches again!!!’
Today, Esteban and I woke up late and laid around in bed until almost noon, feeling the sun, like an alien being, shining in from the window by my side of the bed, down onto us in our nest of white cotton. Then Tilly almost punctured my lung by walking on me.
I was hungry for mashed potatoes from the Machine Shed. Esteban didn’t want food from the Machine Shed, as he feels it is only mediocre and not the homemade ambrosia that I deem it to be. He bandied a few suggestions for other restaurants that we could try, but I countered with ‘You’d rather take a chance on a place that we both might detest rather than go someplace that would really make me happy and that you’re ok with.’ He said nothing but then drove us to the Machine Shed anyway.
My husband told me that I was really spoiled.
I told my husband that it was about time that someone spoiled me.
We then spent $300 garbing his ass for the wedding we’re attending in Atlanta in two weeks. Um’ who’s spoiled???
I painted my fingernails blood red. They’re not as cute anymore because I broke one of them when I was having my pissy snit on Wednesday.
We then went out to dinner with Mary Kaye and Angel (whom you might remember from the Milwaukee Chronicles and one of my best friends from high school, Fern and her husband Keith, who never really says all that much but just sits there and smiles.
I wore a black suit, with nothing on underneath, as it was evening and I’m all daring since the whole Rock Star clothing extravaganza, along with my kicky eyeglasses. Mary Kaye gave me one of the best compliments ever, stating that if we were out at a club and didn’t know each other, she’d be hitting on me right then. A little boost to my ego, especially after not even one lesbian hit on me either of those nights in Milwaukee. Ok, it’s Mary Kaye, but still. It’s a nice thought.
We had a pleasant dinner, marked only by a three-year-old kid who had undoubtedly been drinking far too many double mochas because he was WIRED TO THE GILLS BABY!!!! Everything was said at a shrill freak-out voice with that kid. Luckily, they finished eating and were gone by the time our entr’e arrived. I had lasagna (feeling safe with red sauce, since I was wearing black. When you’ve got large hooters, you have to consider wardrobe before ordering) and Esteban had gnocchi pistachio. Angel gave him tips on flirting, but Esteban didn’t really get the hang of it. I tried to explain that after 12 plus years, our idea of flirting is ‘So’ do you wanna?’ ‘Yeah, let’s.’ and then we get down and knock boots. Well, ok, not that simplified, but things are taken to a different level. There isn’t the strutting of tail feathers, the preening, the game playing. It’s bare and simple and I like it that way.
Besides, I get caffeinated flirting with Starbucks Guy.
By the way, Angel and MK specifically checked out Starbucks and described their barrista to me to see if she was Surly Girl. She wasn’t. I’ve made psuedo-celebrities out of our local barristas, apparently. And honestly, Surly Girl has been really really nice to me recently. She doesn’t even take my order anymore, just automatically asks if I want a Venti Vanilla Caffe Mocha as soon as she sees me. And she makes small talk. I think it’s because she’s not constantly seeing Starbucks Guy flirting with me. I miss him in the morning. I want to find out what was up with his shift change.
Best moment of the day: when we were driving home, CSN’s ‘Southern Cross’ came on the radio and Esteban and I sang it together, me taking the high harmony, he replicating the Stephen Stills part, which is precisely in his range. Esteban feels his voice is inharmonious and doesn’t sing all that often, even though he enjoys singing. I adore his voice and sometimes when I’m feeling sick or can’t sleep, I ask him to sing acapella. And sometimes, if the situation is perfect and we’ve been having a good day, he’ll sing with me. And there’s something about ‘Southern Cross’ which almost always makes it so.
So we sang together for three and a half minutes. And it was lovely, even though my voice cracked since I was taking the Judy Collins or possibly Neil Young part way up high and I still have a sore throat. But it was a very pure moment.
He told me that he was really looking forward to spending time with me on the drive to and from Atlanta. I am too, I said, but I’m not looking forward to the raging fight we’re undoubtedly going to have at one point. We both laughed because it used to be like clockwork that we’d get into a big old fight if we spent any large amount of trapped time together or went on a long car ride. I’m not entirely certain that we will have a fight, but we’re both kind of interested to see how long it will take before it happens. Which state will we be in? Which state will it end in? Will it be to or from Atlanta? I may draw up a grid and hold a pool. Actually, either we have finally fought out all of our major fights (leaving the unsolvables like the dirty dishes, the way I treat the CD’s in my car, etc) OR we’ve finally figured out how to avoid those nasty topics. It will be interesting, nonetheless.
Speaking of Atlanta, if anyone in the area is interested in doing lunch on Sunday, March 10 somewhere, having a little Diaryland Get-Together, let me know via email. I’ve heard that the Cheesecake Factory is a good place, but I’m up for suggestions (Sushi? Got sushi???) But not the stalkers. Stalkers and the like are not invited.
My lips still feel really weird. Squinch.
