This weekend was supposed to be my farewell to fun weekend. I start classes today, and from what I’ve heard two summer classes and working full-time is supposed to be wretched and also impossible. So I’m not expecting to be a lot of fun this summer and was hoping this weekend would be a grand send off to the fun.
Apparently the fun left a little early. This weekend was definitely marked by my ability to go to bed earlier than everyone else three days in a row.
Friday: Spent the evening with Boy’s roommate, who is a friend of mine from college. We down two bottles of Verdejo, but neglected to eat dinner. Shortly before midnight I bolted down two servings of frozen spanikopita (I mean, I did cook it first), and then passed the fuck out well before anyone else in the house.
Saturday: A good friend of mine had a party, which the Boy and I attended early to get in on the chat-and-pizza action. I drank several Stoli Cranberry and sodas, but only briefly attained a level of drunk that prompted me to sing some camp songs quietly for the Boy. Then I lost my voice and had to leave the party before midnight. I would also have been in bed before midnight but the ride home took 30 minutes and then I stayed up even later to have a cup of tea. Apparently I also took some time out to become a tiny old lady.
Sunday: There was a huge wine festival out in Centreville this weekend. The Boy and I had grand plans of attending with many friends and having quite a time of it. In the end, there was only the two of us. We drank wine shamelessly for about 5 hours, then walked to a neighborhood pizza place for dinner, then walked the mile and a half back to my apartment with me whining every step of the way. I was exhausted. I was in bed by 9:15
Looks like I’m all ready. Bring on the lack of fun!
