Thank God it’s Monday

I’ve had quite the weekend, and I have the bruises and booze to prove it. 

The Boy had Saturday off, which is unusual for him.  To celebrate, I asked him to come to Richmond to visit my wee old great aunt with me (in all fairness, I’d made the plans for myself before I knew he had the day off).  Even more exciting, an apartment was available in the complex we lurv so we planned to check that out in the morning before leaving.

We were so hopeful, completed application and signed checks in hand.

It was an absolute clusterfuck.  The woman we had an appointment with was not working that day, was never scheduled to work that day, was apparently just a crazy bat.  The people who were working that day appeared younger and more disorganized than us, which never inspires confidence in me, as I know what a mess I am.  Oh, and no one had made any effort to contact the current residents of the apartment we were to tour.

Boy, were they surprised when we showed up.  The place seems to have great closet space, though, seeing as the couple currently living there and their two cats were all pretty much pressed in the bedroom closet in horror as the leasing agent, the Boy, and I traipsed through their apartment.

So yeah, clusterfuck.  We supposedly have a more organized appointment on Wednesday morning.  For real, this time, yo.  Cross your fingers that the apartment won’t already be rented by then….

By 11:30 we had picked up some Wendy’s (mine was cold, my Wendy’s is always cold, Wendy’s hates me, I just have to accept that.)

By 12:30 we were at a dead stop in the HOV lane singing “Come Sail Away” at the top of our lungs and hoping for our own alien visitation to give us hope.

By 1:15 we were c r e e p i n g down the interstate, and I was screaming, “THIS IS NOT OK! NOTHING ABOUT TODAY IS OK!” at the top of my lungs and contemplating what had transpired in my life that I was thisclose to a panic attack for the second time a 3 weeks.  The Boy described the situation, quite aptly, as “an unmitigated fuckfest.”

By 1:30 we were parked a Chevron north of Fredericksburg (commonly 45 minutes away from Arlington) debating our options.  I purchased a scratch lotto ticket to see if it would give me any insight to my future luck—do I soldier on or give up and die?  The woman behind me in line was inspired to do the same.

I broke even on my ticket, meaning it really told me nothing at all.  Apparently gambling is not reliable or helpful in any way, go figure.  So I called my mom.  She was super helpful.

“Do you honestly think Aunt Shirley is so lonely she wants you to sit in traffic like that just to visit with her for an hour?  She has better things to do.  Here’s your dad, ask him for the scenic route back to Arlington, the one with wineries.”

So that is what we did.  And aside from the fact that Virginia wine sucks a bit and one time I lost it and shouted at the Boy for not reading the map correctly, it was lovely.  We picked up produce and (steamed, edible, not sexually transmitted) crabs at roadside stands and visited, among others, one winery with the best Viognier I’ve ever had, a very interesting Madeira-style wine that people in the States really ought not be able to make, and a Basenji.  The Basenji hated me and gave me dirty looks when I tried to pet him, but both wines were relatively docile and easy enough to wrestle into the car.

After our crab, corn, and fresh tomatoes feast, the Boy beat me soundly at Scrabble.  Twice.  I still consider myself a bit of a winner, though, because at one point he put ENT on the board and said, “I’m pretty sure that’s a word, I don’t know what it means, but I’m pretty sure it’s a word.”  I laughed so hard I had to let him have it.  They play a lot of Scrabble in Middle-earth, right?

Yesterday there was more backwoods adventure planned.  I pulled together a trip for the Boy and some of his coworkers to go out to West Virginia for tubing.  There were seven of us:  me, the Boy, three of his coworkers, one coworker’s (hot) roommate, and my gay friend, Jay, who is often fun to bring places like this.  Even though he’s gay, Jay is a boob guy.  I can relate, so we spent a lot of the day scoping out cute boys and hot racks.

The Boy’s best friend and co-manager Matt was one of the coworkers along.  Matt and I have an interesting relationship.  The Boy is scared to be around us together because it pretty much always ends in a pissing content, often with shouting.  I think we both just try pretty hard to impress each other.  We get along very well, though, just with a little of something resembling sibling rivalry.  We also recommend and lend each other books.

At one point everyone was hanging out at a rock, kind of floating around, sitting on the rock, whatever, drinking beer.  I somehow ended up on the wrong side of the rock, so I was hanging on for dear life, literally clinging on by my fingernails.  And thus this transpired:

Me:  Can we, like, go soon?  My fingernails are tired.
Everyone: Waa waa.
Matt:  Chrissakes, just stand up and get on the rock!  The water is like 6 inches deep!
Me:  I am not here for the standing.  I am here for the sitting.  Plus, I will fall off that rock, and then you will be sorry.
Matt:  Don’t be a pansy.  You will not fall off the rock.
Me:  I will, you’ll be sorry.
Matt:  Get on the damn rock.
Jay:  I will catch you!
Me:  <not logically thinking that Jay is 180 degrees away from the right place for catching me>  Ok.

So I stood up and began climbing on the rock.  And then I began falling.  It was sort of in slow motion, but I was definitely in a kneeling position and just sliding down, down, down the rock until I flipped backwards a little bit and landed on my ass, back in that 6 inches of water.

Jay:  <scoping out hot boys and not looking at me or catching me>
The Boy:  Oh my god, hon!  Are you ok?!  <he makes no physical movement to save me; he is probably aware that I am dying and has already begun emotionally distancing himself>
Me:  Umm, I fell.  I told you people I would fall.
Matt:  Jesus, are you ok?
Me:  No, I am bleeding profusely from both my knee and my toe.  It looks fatal.
Matt:  Good, here, take my hand and I’ll help you up.
Me:  Nope, I’ll just sit here.

And I did.  And I bled.  I still hurt, pretty much all over.  But it was a very good day.

PS-It’s Shark Week on the Discovery Channel.  Yay.  I love Shark Week.  Did you know there are Bull Sharks who live in fresh water?  They live in the Ganges River and when ferries sink there, sometimes the bull sharks eat the people.  FRESH WATER SHARKS, people!  I could have been EATEN when I feel off that rock!!