No, really
Tell me why I only tend to post here after a glass or three of wine? What am I so afraid of? Why the inhibitions without the vino?
Despite that - this post is basically a blogging cop-out, aka “The Weekend Rundown.” But damn it was a good weekend. If it weren’t for all the typos in my typing… shit.
Friday night one of my girls was here from south county. We usually tear the night apart what with the wine and the laughing. Instead we chose hole-in-the-wall mexican food for dinner, followed by a trip to the sex-toy shop (where she found a couple things to try, and I lamented the lack of a juicer. Or, at the very least a juicer knock-off), but none were to be had and after that we finally made it home for the wine and chatting. By then I was toast, so unbelievably tired, as was she.
Saturday was a bit of shopping, much loafing and domestic bliss (eh-heh) and then an evening with a man. I almost dare to say “my man” but we’re not there. We’re so not there I won’t even say we’re not there “yet”. He’s a good man, who may or may not think otherwise, but in any case I think it would be crossing the line to say he was “mine”.
Sunday was more shopping, and the most… how do I describe it… interesting barbecue I’ve ever been to. Perhaps I am accustomed to a specific type of barbecue - one involving many items for dipping - crudites, chips and salsa, even bread and dip, along with several drink choices - wine, sodas, margaritas, whatever.
I found myself witness to a woman standing over the bowl of guacamole. She had a fork, and I saw the fork disappear in her mouth. And I was thinking, THERE HAD BETTER NOT BE ANY DOUBLE DIPPING. And lo, for there was no double dipping, because there was in fact not even triple dipping, and I shit you not when I tell you THERE WAS NO LESS THAN QUINTUPLE DIPPING happening there.
What’s more, she left the fork IN THE BOWL when she was through. After deciding (of course) that she did not wish to serve any for herself onto her own goddamn plate.
Pointless to mention, as it may well be all too obvious, but I skipped the guacamole. As well as any other communal dish, because what the fuck - I didn’t know any of the mannerless motherfuckers.
I actually grabbed the wrist of a man armed with a single chip as he made his way into the bowl of hummus, telling him - “But Oh! Here are the plates! Let’s serve you some of this on your own plate!!” By then I had had enough. Because I don’t even fucking LIKE hummus but for the love of barbecues and common fucking decency with respect to sharing dishes - GET A FUCKING PLATE, PEOPLE!!
I don’t know how soon after that, but someone left their plate of salmon unattended while they took the plate full of the rest of the salmon to pass on, when some woman came over and HELPED HERSELF TO HIS PLATE OF FISH! The same salmon that we had been waiting patiently to finish grilling so we could have a bit. He finally had a small portion and went to pass it to the other tables. And then some fucking idiot comes and helps herself to it. Upon hearing “HEY! That is NOT THE SALMON PLATE! It is someone’s dinner!” she frowned and pushed the claimed portion BACK ONTO HIS PLATE!!
Oh it was a topsy turvy kind of what the fuck?! from that point on. We ventured on, leaving the party and the Wonderland-esque guests.
At which point another friend determined that we simply MUST go to the sex toy shop! Right now! and we must buy al sorts of sundry things that we should use on our own respective men that very night. I wasn’t too into it, having already been ONCE that weekend, which would have been twice as many times as I had been in my whole life. So, yeah.
Alas, the shop was closed, having the sense to go home and lock the doors before one slightly buzzed and another somewhat boggled patron could invade in search for a bit of NORMALCY in their day.
But all was not lost, for the morning’s shopping excursion yielded two pairs of absolutely ass-tastic jeans for me. No, seriously, try hovering between a 12 and a 14 and finding a pair of jeans that make your ass look so good they only need a pat of butter to melt on top! They are simply THAT good. Really! Just ask my “not-boyfriend.”
You know what’s really great, though? When you had a great shopping weekend (because they are not all great, let me tell you) and then you finding that you are not the only one winning at shopping this weekend. In fact, I did not know it but it was one of those “if you shop, it will be good” weekends but as luck would have it: I was shopping!! and it was good!!
So, to recap: I love my jeans (if nothing else), and I have two pair.
