Last weekend was a lovely weekend, all told. I languored around doing absolutely nothing on Friday night, basically blew most of my night waiting for Esteban to come home from cleaning out his office (he changed jobs recently). He finally came home at 8:30, forgetting to procure a Jake’s Pizza as he had promised to do, so we drove through Taco Bell and had dinner like we were 21-years-old, camped on the sofa watching Firefly DVDs. Esteban probably suspects that this is part of my generous ‘Care And Feeding Of Your Pet Sci-Fi Geek’ but he doesn’t know that I spend most of my time staring at the entirely lickable pectorals of one Mister Adam Baldwin. But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
We got up fairly early on Saturday, ran to the dry cleaners, went out for pancakes, and then to Target for storage bins and a present for my mom. I have a feeling that the first time I break my nasty Satarzhay habit, I will receive a phone call from them ‘Hi, we didn’t see your hundred dollars here this Saturday? We’re wondering if everything is ok? Is your hundred dollars sick? Is there anything we can do, like maybe send a car to pick it up and drop off a bag of random crap?’ Then we went home and I did some general housekeeping and Esteban finished detoxing his office. Then I lounged around, sort of enjoying the ‘doing nothing’ slackerness of a rainy Saturday and kind of wished that I didn’t have plans to meet a bunch of people out for playtime at the Bad Bar. The big old ugly beige recliner was simply too comfortable, but I persevered, hauled myself up to take a shower and decide what to wear and sprinkle my cleavage with the Urban Decay Redd Hott body glitter stuff. At the appearance of this culmination of hotness, Esteban decided, well, maybe he would come out to the Bad Bar as well. Even though he has vocally expressed his dislike of ‘that kind of bar’ and even though he said that it is somewhat ‘boring’. Uh huh. Whatever, bucky. I think most of the time, he just gets to see the sloppy sweaty flat haired drippy makeup post-Bar Weetabix and when he saw the full-blown (heh heh’ blown) hotness, it piqued his interest. Although, he did watch me get ready the night I wore the jean skirt with the black fishnet stockings and the black knee high boots. I certainly can’t figure out his logical process. Whatever.
As we were driving to the Bad Bar, Esteban was admonishing me for showing too much bosom. Most of the time, I have that particular shirt unbuttoned even one further than that, but with the spouse along, I had to behave.
We got to the Bad Bar, where we were soon joined by all of the Bad Bar Faithful as well as several newbies. Bald Bartender Mike wasn’t there and, in fact, the bartenders were all women but not the lovely bi-curious Nancy nor the hip shaking leather pants wearing Steph, so my drinks were not comped. Except that Esteban, Eric, and Scotty Boom Boom kept my glowy pink cup filled with Malibu and Diet Coke. It is good to be surrounded with boys who adore me. It really is.
Esteban, of course, completely underestimated the evil genius that is the Bad Bar with its throbbing sing-a-long atmosphere and the cumulative hotness of my friends, and found himself pounding on the bar in time with the music and, when asked if he was having a good time, he could only slap himself in the face with both hands, ala The Three Stooges, to indicate that he was now so drunk that he could not feel it.
Talk, as it often does at the Bar, turned vaguely sexual and soon we were sharing a blue raspberry Dum Dum sucker and also using it to demonstrate proper oral sex techniques. I probably frightened one of the newbies, but then, he joined in with the inappropriate conversation and all was well (except for the blushing the next time I saw him at work).
Penny, Carissa, and I, because we are all secretly hoping that someone will ask us to perform in a Broadway musical, developed a new step for our Dancing Queen choreography and then soundly declared that we are, indeed, big Abba loving losers. Anyway, now we’ve got the entire chorus worked out, which seems to be the most we can remember while intoxicated. It’s too bad that we only feel the need to perform at the Bad Bar, as I am certain we could give Toni Collette a run for her money. Or perhaps that drag revue that Screech is in now.
Ok, I made that up. I have no idea what Screech is doing now.
There was a lot of foolishness, sadly most of which has been caught on film. After Esteban was reduced to monosyllabic grunts, I decided that the jealousy monster had been subdued and I could lose the top button of my shirt and release the girls to their proper glory. Eric claimed to have seen my breasts, which is a complete fabrication. I explained that there were only three people in that entire bar that had seen my breasts (Carissa, Penny, and Esteban) and then Penny added ‘And they are fabulous!’, which made me giggle. Especially since she also has a rather exquisite set herself.
Later, I was having a grand time, but Esteban decided that he was ready to go, so we took a cab home and I made a drunken entry followed by several drunken comments on said drunken entry, and then went to bed.
We woke up early on Sunday morning, jumped in the truck to recover the car and swing through McDonald’s for a Big Mac and large Diet Coke sans ice (the only thing that can revive me when I’m ridiculously sleep deprived) and then went to my drunken mama’s for Mother’s Day. Mo and Abby were there too. We sat around, gave her our gift (a full set of pots and pans because her current stuff is the same mismatched crap she had when I was in high school), then went to Ward and June’s, where we hung out with them for a bit, gave her a gift (many bottles of smelly girly stuff from Victoria’s Secret) and then fled homeward where Esteban packed for Las Vegas and I zoned out and watched the Survivor finale and again enjoyed sort of floating with the tide of the weekend.
I drove through Sbux this morning and ordered an iced venti no whip nonfat mocha with a shot of vanilla. Flirtista Barrista answered back ‘Do you want one pump or five?’
I blushed. One pump or five? What? Was there something in my voice that belied the sexy dream I had the night before as I swam in the white expanse of my empty king-sized bed? The dream involving Russell Crowe and gladiators and also pirates with eye-liner and also Paul Bettany and Alton Brown? Alton Brown who whispered into my ear about the science behind pheromones and how the word ‘moan’ was in there for a reason, all the while Russell kept watching us warily while avoiding being flayed by the other gladiator pirates and also Paul Bettany’s rapier wit. One pump or five? What kind of choice is that?
I almost said, ‘As many pumps as it takes to get the job done, man!’ but instead reverted to the much-loved classic ‘huh?’
‘Do you want one pump of vanilla or the whole five pumps to make a shot?’
‘Oh! One is fine, thanks.’
‘Are you sure? ‘Cause I’m totally up for five pumps.’
‘Maybe another time.’
Talk of pumping’ he is such a flirtista!
Unsurly Girl met me at the window, which was a relief, because I wasn’t sure where the whole pumping conversation was going to go. I asked her for a new Sbux card, since mine still had penguins and a winter theme and with my sunroof open and the warm weather, it just deterred my whole Sbux experience. Yes, I am high maintenance, but Sbux, of all places, understands and embraces that need, and for which I love them.
‘Uh, well, we only have the generic one or a Mother’s Day one. We haven’t gotten the summer ones yet.’
‘Oh, never mind then, I’ll just wait until they come out to get a new one.’
She pulled out a box of used cards. ‘Well, we could recharge one of these? But they used to be someone else’s?’
‘No, no, really, that’s ok.’ But she was not to be deterred. She methodically went through each and every one of the dozens of cards, looking for one with a unique design. Finally, she pulled out one she declared ‘Way old’ and showed it to me. A pastel card, depicting summery Shaq-esque girls in capris, sipping lattes.
‘Ooooh! That’s it!’ I am ashamed to admit that I was one step from squeeing.
‘Excellent! It’s awesome! Can you sign with this lovely purple pen?’ She handed me the clipboard with my credit card slip.
‘Nice pen!’ I said, making a big smooth purple W.
‘You can have it, if you want it.’ She said shyly.
Moral of the story: if you are nice to your baristas and tip them well, you will be rewarded.
Really, it’s the little things in life that make one happy.
