Yeah, I know this weblog is on the internet and, therefore, available for anyone and everyone to read. And, yeah, I know that I have a link to it on my facebook page, which makes it even more likely that this would become anything more than my own personal web diary: weekend edition. But I had no expectation that anyone other than Beth would read this because I explicitly told her about it. I mean, believe me, I had in the back of my mind that maybe someone special would read it and be like "hey, you're sense of humor is delightful. how would you feel about coming to write for me for money? like more money than you make now. and you know what we want you so much we'll pay for your student loans. straight up." "deal."
Not yet. Cross fingers.
But this is still in its infancy. Or maybe on its deathbed. Because people actually read this and that is uncomfortable to me because I feel right now while typing that I am talking to an audience and audiences make me uncomfortable. Where are my lady clothes? And the fact that people do read this is totally unexpected to me because I neither expect anyone to pay attention to me on facebook, let alone click on anything that is on there once they are there, nor care to read what I have to say about my weekend. Maybe that is me being uncharacteristically modest. Or characteristically naive. Or both. Or apathetic. Now all of the above?
I digress.
But thanks for reading, though.
I should fictionalize this more.
Speaking of fiction, you should see the movie Win Win. It's a very pleasurable motion picture. Minus the fact that it takes place in New Jersey (reader burn).
Well, the "rapture" didn't happen on Saturday. Or maybe it did but no one on earth qualified to be raptured. Think about that one. Except maybe some guy living in the mountains of Caucasus living completely off the land doing no harm to neither earth nor animals nor people eating his berries, or whatever they eat in the Caucasus, and, BOOM, he's naked floating upward. Now he's never heard of the jesus so he's like "well, this is unexpected" and he gets up there and the jesus is like "congratulations you've been raptured, bitch!" And he's like "OK, well I don't speak English [this is in his Caucasus language] and I'm feeling a little homesick and my ears feel funny [he's never flown before so he doesn't know about how the altitude change will make your ears pop] so can I go back to where I came from?" And the jesus is all confused and thinking maybe he got the wrong guy like in those arcade grab machines when you have your eye on the awesome basketball but that stupid pink rabbit gets in the way. But, no, there is no pink rabbit here. That guy just had everything he could have ever wanted or needed down there so how could he ever imagine transcending that and imagine the existence of a heaven? He couldn't. He even had a pet panda bear. Can't beat that.
Anyway, Saturday was pretty rapturous. I once knew someone whose favorite word was rapture. I bet it's not anymore. Swamp season swept into the district this weekend so the weather was conducive for being outside. So after our football game Saturday a roommate, pseudo roommate, and I decided to keep up the activeness and went down to the turf field down the street from our house with a softball bat, baseball, lacrosse sticks/ball, football and tee in tow. There is this guy that I know that is a bad influence. Point and case: "punch buggy no punch backs". So the roommate and I are on our way down and at the corner of 13th and Lamont there are four punch buggies, aka anarchy. One of them is a cream colored one. We are both calling punch buggies and swinging. The guy in the cream VW Beetle convertible is laughing. He drives on when the light turns green and this random guy that is walking by is like "That's Jim Graham, our city councilman." Has that ever happened to you? I didn't think so. And I am out of shape so the activeness didn't last long.
A lot of peoples' parents must have mourned the end of summer about 25-30 years ago by humping each other without protection because like everyone--all the cool ones, at least--was born in May. So we celebrate some bdays at peoples' apartments and local bars. But we are all now addicted to tobacco so we bail and go home to smoke the hookah. Someone thinks of making it a night by also making it a water coloring session, so we stop by the local art/grocery store to pick up the supplies. Someone draws a unicorn, another the Taj Mahal. But my favorite was a plate of tiny cheeses in the shape of a young jesus entitled, "sweet baby cheeses." Then I get to bed because I have to meet my mentee/high school friend the next day to go see the play "The Apple Cart."
But my mentee/high school friend is lame and says he can't make it because he has "finals to study for," or something like that. But I catch my roommate the patriarch of the house/reputable DC socialite available so he agrees to go with me. The play is a political satire that is riveting to the extent neither of us catch ourselves dozing off but both impressed by the ability of the actors to memorize their monologues. And on the way back to the metro, as usually happens when I leave the house in parts of town that I do not frequent--this time Mt. Vernon--we stop at a bar, The Passenger. It's quaint and cozy and he knows the bartender so the waitstaff was friendly too. Suck on that rapture.
Then I am feeling extra lazy when we get home and am in no mood to cook food. Luckily, Super Best Friend (SBF--self-proclaimed) is going down to Julia's for an empanada, which I have never had before. (It was tasty and cheap.) On the way there he says I should write about this in my blog. So it's come to that.
Anyway.
Spoiler alert: next weekend is probably going to be like the best weekend ever.
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