Ok, when I am wrong about something, I am totally wrong about something. And in 2003 (jeez, that makes me feel old) when Allison offered to host an afternoon in her boat, I think I pretty much said “Nope, no, no way” because I am vaguely uneasy about boats. Between the rafting incident and then the paddle boat thing, I think I’ve earned that right. (and hey, rereading those entries, I used to be a lot funnier! What the hell happened?) But then Ms. Allison assured me that no, it wasn’t that kind of boat, and no, it would be ok, I made some waffling sounds and then hoped she would forget it, since I didn’t set foot in Minnesota for another 18 months. And then when I asked Mopie if she wanted to come to Minnesota with me, since I had been planning and then rescheduling a visit for months and months, she agreed and lobbied heartily for a boat ride, so at that point, how could I deny Mopie? I could be altruistic about it. I mean, it’s not like we had to boat on all 10,000 lakes, right?
Mopie and I left Green Bay and made splendid time, a fact cheerily verified by the state trooper who pulled me over. I later teased Laura about jinxing me, but really, I haven’t been pulled over for speeding since I was 19, so it was time I paid the karmic bill for that, and if it involves a $200 ticket, so be it. It was the wabi sabi moment in an otherwise perfect weekend.
Despite the speeding ticket and then the paranoid speed limit adherence from that point forward, we still arrived in Minnesota in plenty of time to hook up with Laura and Kathy and then set out to the lake country, where we all declared our love for Allison’s absolutely perfect house and children and life. Seriously, I offered to be her kept woman, because Allison’s house is the house of my dreams… very tastefully decorated (but not Just Right in that way that makes that you feel uncomfortable and weird) and with a breathtaking view of the lake and hello, adorable children with gorgeous eyes and a perfect mommy? I have a new happy place to add to my mental collection, along with the Renaissance wing of the Victoria and Albert museum, the dining hall of the camp where I used to work, a tree fort that no longer exists, and a slate-covered spa in the desert.
Then we were off to the marina (oh, excuse me, that sounds so fucking posh that I can’t believe this is my life) where I was denied my chance to say “We’re going to need a bigger boat” because we got onto a cabin cruiser type thingy. We motored all over Lake Minnetonka and saw loons and mansions and more loons and then more mansions, all the while, eating brie and strawberries and Godiva chocolates and drinking a great cabernet sauvignon and feeling like The Absolute Shit when we did a drive by of an outdoor restaurant where the common folk were forced to sit there and wish they had a yacht (or, you know, friends with a yacht) and wine and such fabulous female companions. And only a few times did I worry about falling into the lake, worrying moreso about Kathy and Pie falling into the lake when they crawled to the front of the ship we were on. I told Kathy that if she fell in, she was on her own, which was a complete and utter lie because I knew that my stupid lifeguard training would kick in and I’d have to jump in and save whomever fell into the water (even if it were George W. Bush in the water, I just can’t help myself). I was hoping she’d decide not to attempt the walk around, so that I wouldn’t have to be on edge, ready to kick off my shoes and dive. But she did, with the grace of a seasoned sailor, so really, all was well.
And really, it wouldn’t have been such a great afternoon if it hadn’t been for the company. It was almost impossible to have any kind of trepidation when Mopie was enjoying the heck out of our boating adventure. Laura is hip and rocking out the All Stars and skirt action. Kathy was quick with the witticisms and Allison needs her own show on how to be the perfect woman in a new millennium. Think Jackie O, if she were warm and caring or if she knew how to moor her own yacht.
So yeah, the boating thing? It kicked all kinds of ass. It’s great to have friends you can trust.
Then we were off to meet M.Giant and Trash for tapas. Pie had also sent an email to Miss Allie, but since we didn’t have access to the internet, we had no idea if she was coming. We made the reservation for eight and hoped for the best, which turned out to be the right course of action, as M. Giant and Trash were accompanied by Miss Allie. When I attempted to verbalize how Bush’s reaction to the hurricane was pissing me off, the best I could come up with was a Sylvester the Cat angry sputter, so I got to tell her in person how excellent this was and how I could just point at this excellent response and sputter “Me too.”
At the tapas menu, we opted to pick a tasting menu, which allowed our server and the chef to pick out the stuff they thought we’d like. I lost track of everything we ate, but everything was wonderful, and there were so many fun things to try, including golden beets and octopus ceviche and some kind of pork thingy on a skewer and also the now-required Dates With Meat. Unfortunately, I hadn’t considered that the restaurant would be so noisy, so it was hard to hear anyone across the table, but hopefully the two conversations and sometimes one conversation made for a diverse and enjoyable evening for all.
And now round two of The Love. I had only talked to M. Giant for a little bit in Austin, and in fact, was distracted for most of that conversation because that is the moment that whatever went wrong in my knee decided to really take it up a notch. In fact, as I was standing there in the atrium of the Omni, talking to M. Giant and Montykins, having already taken some Canadian codeine, and being distracted by the fact that (as I later learned) my knee was bleeding internally. I had made what I’m guessing was an inappropriate exit and then went to the emergency room. And as things happen at big gatherings, I didn’t really get to talk to M. Giant again, but one of the few things I remembered from later that night, after I had an actual doctor’s endorsement for the pain killers, was M. Giant doing the best homage to Fred Snyder I’ve ever heard. And this time, on two feet and high on life, I can with a clear mind confirm that the awesomeness that is M. Giant was not a fever illusion.
For some reason, I had envisioned that Trash was going to be a shy girl. Maybe I assumed that just because someone doesn’t want to be labeled a blogger, they must be shy. However, as M. Giant said later that evening, he’s the quiet one in the relationship. Trash is not shy. I want Trash to be my best friend. Trash doesn’t have an online journal because if she did, the entire world would read it and the cover of Time magazine would do a story on how the blogging revolution was dead, with the subheading “Trash: The first Nobel Prize for Blogging.”
I am officially jealous of everyone in Minneapolis, that they do not have the entire state of Wisconsin standing between them and my Twin Cities crew, because if that drive didn’t suck so much, I’d be there every damned weekend.
After dinner, Allison, Laura, Mo and I wove our way through the skyway system (which is very cool and totally smart for winter! I heartily approve!), we walked Kathy to her car and then followed directions to the Twin Cities version of the Bad Bar, a divey strangely well-lit establishment whose women’s bathroom assured us of the fact that Gallagher had a cock and that it was true because the author had indeed seen it. I noticed this proclamation on a trip to the women’s restroom, but later Trash and Miss Allie reaffirmed the anatomical correctness of Gallagher and Mo and I knew that we were with the right group.
Laura and Allison made a gallant effort to close the bar with us, but since they are both Mommies (and had not secretly buffered themselves with a pre-dinner run to Starbucks, as I and Pie had) made a respectable showing then set off to drive home (which was very far away because the area known as The Twin Cities apparently covers most of Minnesota). We will not discuss our various stints “in the back hole” but suffice to say, each one of us took our turn back there. It’s not as bad as you’d think, once you get over the initial shock and dismay.
We were the group in the bar that everyone else should have hated, because we each had songs to sing and we screamed for each other like crazy. Mopie and I suffered through such a group on our last trip to The Mint, and had decided they were the cast from a revival of Saved By The Bell. And while I hope we weren’t as obnoxious as Zach and Kelly and that poser Slater, the truth is that as a karaoke collective, we rocked. Trash’s voice is incredible and Miss Allie nailed “You’re So Vain” so hard that Carly Simon is feeling a bit threatened. Mopie was born to hold a microphone in her hand and be basked in a spotlight. We were also joined by Trash’s friend, who knocked White Rabbit out of the mofo ballpark and then made me very happy by doing Love Shack with M. Giant.
I know that in the past, I’ve spoken bad words about Love Shack, because it, along with Summer Nights, is the song that every drunken tone-deaf group strangely wants to sing, just because they all know the “Tin Roof Rusted” or “Wella Wella Wella Uh” parts, respectively. The sorry truth is that 99 percent of the time I’ve heard Love Shack performed in a karaoke environment, it makes the Baby Jesus cry. In fact, it makes the entirety of Athens, Georgia weep in unison. And that’s a college town, so that’s a lot of people.
The other one percent has involved M. Giant.
After many stints in the back hole, we finally heard “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here”, which is something I’ve waited for in a stereotypical bar setting but always been denied. Until now. Thank you, Bad Bar West on Hennepin!
We stood in the parking lot until our cab arrived and then bid the lovely folks good night and made them promise that they’d come to Green Bay this winter and visit the Bad Bar East with us.
Pie and I made it back to our hotel and collapsed into our beds. I woke up way too early and couldn’t get back to sleep, so took a shower and then napped until Pie woke up, then we had hotel breakfast (go toast!) and then decamped to shop. We hit Ikea, where we both wandered around exclaiming “I love Ikea SO MUCH!” I was disappointed that they no longer carry the black frames I loved last spring, but since they didn’t really look like something Ikea would carry, I should have perhaps bought more than I needed. I will have to figure out something else for my black and white angel photo.
Then we scurried over to the Mall, where we hit Nordstrom Rack and each found adorable shoes. I almost bought the same pair that Mopie did, but they didn’t have the color I liked in my size, then I found the cutest pair of orange Pumas, which despite being a size 11, fit me perfectly. Mo tried but couldn’t find them in her size. The shoe fates had made their will known, so we were denied the chance to be shoe twins. Then I introduced Mopie to her first experience with Torrid. We clearly shouldn’t shop together, because our tastes are just similar enough to be dangerous. I got some t-shirts that I can’t wear to work, while Mo got Hip Professor clothing. We stopped for some great sushi, and then hit the Sanrio store, where I managed to only spend about $20 (look! I’m cured!) and found the PB Loco store, where I went a bit crazy buying jars of weird peanut butter (but! Banana! Like Koogle! The precious!)
We were running short of time, so we decided to skip the rest of the clothing stores on our list in lieu of visiting the sharks. I thought I was going to get upset when I saw the sharks, so I almost didn’t want to go, but the thrill of seeing and petting sharks was too much, so I steeled myself for it. I was good until we went to pay for admission and there was a collection box for the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas there and it was a very tough moment. However, getting to see the sharks was, as always, very cool. I love them very much and wish that I could time one of my visits to get to feed the sharks. One day, maybe.
We made a few stops, but by then we were both beat, so we made an intrepid exhausted walk back across the mall (no easy feat) fortified with yet another stop at Starbucks, and then collapsed into the car. We hit out of the state and stopped at the Norske Nook for pie. In retrospect, it added an extra two hours onto the drive home, so we probably shouldn’t have done it, especially since we didn’t get home until almost midnight, but the pie is so damned good that even now, I’m torn between whether I should regret that decision after the fact or just eat another piece of pie. Meh, screw regret.
All in all, a truly wonderful weekend. Thanks to two pretty wonderful ladies who wouldn’t let me push back the trip another two months, we had the best time possible, met cool new people and also reconnect as well as get a complete crush on a married woman. Next time, party in Green Bay! Our tapas involve fried cheese and beer. But we can throw some dates on the bratwurst and you’ll never know the difference.
PS. Make sure to drive the speed limit north of Eau Claire on 94. Trust me on that.
