Bah! What a weekend. I’m all sore and whiny.
Saturday was very possibly one of those days which go on and on and on forever. They are rare those days. I’ve only had a handful in my life. One was a Friday during my sophomore year of college… the Friday before Memorial Day weekend, actually, when I went to a student government conference in Phoenix. It began in a Comfort Inn in Milwaukee, near the airport. Esteban and I munched on the “continental breakfast” and then hoped into the limo service which brought us to the airport. Why the limo was available at 4:00 a.m. in the morning was beyond me. Then I had another breakfast with Esteban and one of my college friends in the airport before said college friend and I hopped a plane to take us to Memphis. We were served a third breakfast on the plane. There, we tooled around the Memphis airport for a bit, looking for some truly tacky Elvis memorabilia (I ended up with a pack of Elvis playing cards, which Mary Kaye later stole). We then hopped a second plane, where we were served ANOTHER breakfast, to Phoenix. There, we hooked up with other students from my school and checked into our ASU dorms and met my roommate, a lovely girl from Utah. The windows wouldn’t open in our dorm. It was 400 degrees outside. I took a shower and went to a Communications Coordinator meeting (that was my official title and the reason I got to fly and attend the conference for free), then went to lunch with my delegation. We then had some more meetings, including one in a courtyard, under an orange tree where I saw my first ever cockroach. Then we were bussed to a large water park, where we had some strange opening ceremonies and then played in the water. I remember plucking my swimsuit out of my anal cleft several times after going down a waterslide I termed The Grundy Maker. We then were bussed back to the ASU campus and went to some kind of informal get-together in the stadium, after which we climbed up a mountainy thing and looked at the stars. Longest day of my life.
So Saturday, I woke up fairly early. Esteban and I drove through Starbucks (When our barrista greeted us with her cheery smile, Esteban snarked “Did you know THAT one too?” He is embarrassed by the fact that Surly Girl will make small talk with me. He relishes his consumer anonymity.) and then he went into the office for some more of his 70 hour workweek. I went for a beautiful drive around town, trying to decide what I wanted to do with my day. I stopped at the butcher and picked up some excellent bratwurst for dinner, as the weather was inducive to grilling. I also went to the craft store in search of the perfect dragonfly stamp for my card project. Was not satisfied. I may have to suck it up and get a non-perfect dragonfly stamp.
Then I ended up running through a deli and getting a hummus hoagie and then returning home to play The Sims, which was fairly short-lived. My mom and Jonathon stopped by. I had offered Jonathon cash in exchange for raking my yard. Mom was there to supervise and be his “helper”. I cleaned the Monte while Jonathon raked half-heartedly. Mom then helped me attack our front bush, which is threatening to take over our house. Unfortunately, I am totally allergic to the bush and what is more, it stinks like cat pee. Thus, I attacked it with leather gloves and a two foot long clipper thing. I managed to take away two wheelbarrow loads of bush, but it hardly looks as though I’ve touched the thing. The red welts on my arms prove otherwise, however.
We then attacked the wild rose bush in the backyard. Hence the soreness and the whining. This thing is incredible. I’ve left it alone for the last two summers because it frightens me but it has shot out and created two sub-bushes in my spice bed. What is more, Esteban tried to kill the thing last fall, but never actually removed any of the cut branches, thus it was filled with dead thorny branches, as well as the live thorny branches which seemed to have a mind of their own. I hacked until one of the branches speared my breast. Then Mom hacked away, unwilling to back down from its spikey branches. At one point, I took a wheelbarrow load out to the road and one of the canes swirled around her legs. She swore it was going for her crotch. That’s my mom. Thinking the rosebush was trying to rape her. I do have to admit, though, it is a particularly angry plant, but I doubt it has latent sexual desires. It’s just not fully realizing its inner sprout.
Then my mother started on the nipple talk.
Oh Lordy.
First she quizzed me on how her bra looked, which I had to admit, it looked very nice. Everything was where it was supposed to be. Then she dropped “Well, I have to be careful because I have such huge…” and then she swallowed and lowered her voice into a sotto whisper “…nipples.”
I think I visibly paled and broke into a clammy sweat.
Are you there, God? It’s me, Weetabix. If I live to be one hundred and four, I will still not have lived long enough to forget about my mother’s nipples. I never need to hear that come out of her mouth ever again. Deal? I’ll be good. I promise.
She then continued, “When I’m working at the restaurant, they point out if it’s even the slightest bit chilly. And
my customers probably think that they’re turning me on.”
Normally, I would have made a sarcastic remark and asked if it affected the quality of tips she receives, but I was too busy being afflicted with hysterical deafness. But then I realized that I am so my mother’s daughter. This entire diary is one big expose into my views on breasts and poo.
Thankfully, at that point, Jonathon walked by so Mom ceased the nipple talk. I bundled up the sexually frustrated rose bush clippings and brought them to the side of the road, to a mantra of “No means no!”.
They left and I hopped into the car to get some Diet Coke. I ended up doing the week’s grocery shopping, including getting the stuff for dinner to go with the excellent bratwurst. I then came home, cleaned out the refrigerator, grilled the brats, put them in a beer/butter solution (yeah, not the healthiest food… pork stuffed into intestines, grilled for the nitrates and then soaked in butter…. yummm!) and proceeded to play The Sims until Esteban finally came home from work. We then watched Boob Raider while Esteban did our taxes and I checked his figurin’. And I did my nails.
That was Saturday. It was quite full. Martha Stewart would have been proud, although she would have wanted me to age some terra cotta pots or grow my own wood to make drawer separators or something. But I’m quite satisfied.
Sunday was more or less the reverse. I played the Sims. I took a shower. I did manage to go shopping in Appleton, scoring two new delightful bras and a Clerks DVD. The Body Shop was out of stripper-scented Body Butter. I may be forced to use up my remaining nut-scented stuff. (pout) Then I came home and watched French Kiss which is adorable, but then, with Meg Ryan in it, how could it be anything but adorable? But it made me sad because I want to live in a vineyard in Cannes too. And it also made me crave some wine I tried in London. Wine which I do not know the name. But it was good.
Being that I am my mother’s daughter, I feel compelled to tell you that my new bras are just delightful. Currently, I’m wearing the taupe one under a white t-shirt (this is a pseudo-Meg Ryan look in homage to French Kiss last night) and it really does the job quite well. I’ve got this whole Marine Corp “Front and Center” hoisting thing going on and I feel like doing a little shimmy.
I don’t, though. Mostly because I am at work. But it’s easier to be a curvy round sex goddess when one has the proper accessories. That’s all I’m saying.
Tomorrow is going to be a rather fun day. It is roughly 75 degrees, when just last week I was wearing my winter coat, thus I feel all excited and bubbly about the weather. What is more, Carissa, Pretty Penny and I are going to play hooky in the afternoon and cavort on a golf course, where there will be much drinking of wine coolers and looking very cute. Because that’s all that really matters. If given the choice between being an excellent golfer and looking cute, I’d pick cute any day of the week. Priorities, people, priorities. And did I mention that not one, not two, but all three of us have purple golf bags? Yes. It is so. Be in awe.
I may have to take my digital camera so you have visuals. If anything, my pink putter needs to be lauded for the fine piece of action and wonder that it is. Fear my putter. Love it but fear it, oh yes.
I do anyway. I’m really an awful putter.
Have a super week!
