This weekend was Scotty Boom Boom’s annual garage party and it was, once again, a show stopper. I made the wise decision to take a nap midday (which turned into a 4 hour drool fest) and then showed up around 6 pm, which was early enough to still see the people with children, and allowed me to go the distance until 2 am. I ended up only drinking water and the occasional Sierra Mist, which allowed Mary Kaye and I to escape around 9 pm and run back to Casa Bix to fetch the Wii and Karaoke Revolution for the evening’s entertainment. Apparently I cockblocked the hopes of one of the wives, who is always lobbying for a poker party. Word from other wives is that she brags about how she practices on the internet and then waits until everyone is too drunk to play smart cards and then she can win every hand. I don’t know if I believe it, but there must be some reason that she’s sending the husband home with the kids and then comes back to hang out with his friends, right. People are amazing sometimes. Incidentally, this same lady is going to be on my both of my flights back from San Francisco this weekend. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll get the full scoop in the subsequent 8 hours. Color me excited.
We’ve had nothing but rain, including some amazing thunderstorms over the weekend, but we’ve mostly been saved from the stifling heat and humidity that normally plagues Wisconsin by this point. We slept through a giant storm on Friday night, because we hear nothing in our bedroom with the air-conditioner and the sleep snorkel running, but I knew it had been very bad when I went into my office and realized that the top of my desk was flooded with water. Apparently, the water had gone through the screen and then pooled in the windowsill, so that it was leaking through the closed and locked window.
The Mac seems ok, but everything was soaked. I cleaned most of it off last week, but there were still a few piles here and there. The bummer is that the top of my painted wooden desk is now warped and has a crack in it and my sound system doesn’t seem to work, which has punk’d me at least four times since Saturday. iTunes becomes an exercise in stupidity: things play but there’s no sound. I don’t know what blew out, because when I unplug it, the speakers crackle, so I’m hoping that it’s just something easy. I still fear the worst.
This seems to be the month for my toys to shit the bed. I went to a Brewer’s game outing with work a few weeks ago and brought my digital camera, as I usually do. My favorite stalker lens, a 75-300mm that is practically pornographic with its ridiculous extension, is awesome for groups because no one notices you taking their picture and you can get amazing shots with incredible depth of field. However, last week, I rescued it out of my bag to snap a great bouquet of farmer’s market poppies and noticed that the lens was dirty. Turning it around, I wiped my thumb against some spooge but little shards of glass came away. Ah, it wasn’t spooge, it was a fucking gouge in the lens. My own fault, as I don’t have filters on any of my investment lenses, but I honestly can’t live without this particular lens. Luckily, I just finished a freelance job that paid me exactly the same amount as the cost of a replacement lens. I also bought some new filters because I have learned my lesson. Mostly.
I have tried to keep it down on the travel this summer. When last we left, I was in Tampa. Then I had my blow out in Las Vegas and haven’t gone anywhere since. That’s about to change though: As I mentioned earlier, I’m going to San Francisco this weekend. It is for Blogher, as a representative for Elastic Waist. My hopes are to hang with Jessica from Shine, Sundry, and of course, my chicas MoPie and Fu. But I am also hoping to meet some new faces too, maybe old friends whom I just haven’t met face to face with yet. If you’re going to Blogher and want to hook up, we’re having an Elastic Waist lunch on Friday afternoon (need you to email me at weetabix at gmail to get specifics) and I’d love to hang out with you. Also, if you’re going to Blogher and wear a size 12-32, BFD is giving Igigi clothes to three lucky readers, so head over there and do the needful.
I should have really written down the magic that was Las Vegas, but I was lax in my duties as a blogger. Instead, I will let the photos be visual blurbs. But honestly, it really doesn’t do the weekend justice, because they don’t show the skanky ho’s or Jake’s, Eben’s and my seriously not wimpy spankings at Hofbrauhaus. They don’t show the VIP cabana at Krave, or cozying up in the corner and whispering dark secrets to drunken cohorts. They don’t show our waiter Brendon shoving his face into my cleave while Esteban cracked up. None have Matt showing us his exceptional bottom. There’s no moment of joy when all of my favorite people in the world sang a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday” and then told me to blow out imaginary candles on the best red velvet cake in the world (“So good you’ll wish it didn’t have a hole”). There’s none of this. But instead, you’ll just have to imagine a perfect congregation of sights, sounds, tastes, music and magic. And if possible, shout “Corn!” with a perfect mixture of showmanship and incredulity.
