I have had a shit load of coffee today, but my eyes are still heavy. My mind, however, is flying at 90 miles an hour. Crazy.
This was one of those weekends where I felt a-okay with the world. I felt grounded, loved, happy and thin.
Friday night, we had a going away happy hour for Nichole. She got a new job, about a block from her house. The twit. I'll miss her. Oh, I'll still see her at our monthly gal dinners, when she and her buddies drag me down to Covington or Tacoma just to eat. Only for Nichole. And food.
So, a quick happy hour, then off to my new friend Tbone's for a film - "Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid". Which I had never seen before, even though I love, love, love Steve Martin. Since Tbone is a movie dude (in every sense of the word) and his friends are editors, actors, and other fancy movie type people, there was much discussion about the technical stuff. After a half hour of hearing "Wow, the editing is AMAZING" it occured to me that the scenes of the movie were spliced with scenes from old classics.
Quick, aren't I?
So, I fessed up and announced my ignorance about movies - which takes a lot of balls when you're in a room with Professional Movie People. I still haven't seen Casablanca, Gone With The Wind or Star Wars. I've never seen an entire Hitchcock film, except for Psycho. I HAVE seen the Godfather. I think.
Just wait. One of these days, the topic of vacuum cleaners will come up. THEN I'll get to show off.
After the movie, I had to dash because, you know, I'm so popular and cool.
(Just let me dream, okay?)
I headed over to McP's since he'd had a crappy day and needed some entertainment. We walked down to the Reading Gael to play some pool and I discovered, apparently, I don't need five jack-n-cokes to play well. I was kickin' butt for a while. I miss pool.
Speaking of pool and jack-n-cokes, I haven't been back to the Lock-n-Keel since the bottom of the barrel night in October. And I'm pretty damn proud of myself. If I'm in a shitty frame of mind and have a couple of glasses of wine in me, I start thinking I should walk down there because I know I'll get attention and feel all pretty. But I've refrained. Now, I just call Shaun. Poor Shaun....
Anywho, where was I?
Saturday. It was a dreary day here, so Jamie and I met for lunch and lingerie shopping in Fremont. Pretty undies. A new weakness. I didn't buy anything, but when I'm shopping again, look out.
After lunch, I snoozed on the couch and watched Once, again. For the umpteenth time. It never gets old. The scene where they're recording in the studio inspires me. I want to play again.
That evening, the Sheauns and I went to see "Flight of the Red Balloon". McP read some good reviews and had seen the original so I went along, just to be social.
And oh, for the love of puppies....
I'm not a movie snob. Really. I don't know enough about movies to be a snob, as admitted above. I just have my little ol' opinion. But even McP and his roommate were in agreement that this movie was brutal. Imagine someone setting up a video camera in the corner of the living room and just letting it go for hours. The woman takes the bags into the kitchen, she's putting something away (there is no fluffy music), she puts something in the fridge, forgets something on the table in the dining room, so she walks in there.....
I kept waiting for something to happen. It felt like there was tension being built, but no. No tension. Just.....blah. Nothing happened.
All the while, there are these random shots of this red balloon that's following the boy around. Well, yippee. Maybe the red balloon will die?! Nope. Just floats around.
And the whole thing made me stressed. The flat was cluttered and filthy. The main character, Juliette Binoche, was scattered and disheveled. She would run her hands through her fried, bleached hair (poor Juliette) and it would just stick straight up. Oh, come on! Yer killin' me!
Shaun, however, loved it. He's an artsy fartsy french film lovin' guy like that. Sometimes I wonder why he's friends with me.
Then comes Sunday.
FREAKIN' BEAUTIFUL! Now, this, THIS, is what the weather is supposed to be like in May! Blue skies, 70 degrees, light breeze. Holy crap.
I cleaned for a while, then walked down to the Ballard farmer's market and met Jamie. And then my mood turned. Way too many people. WAY TOO MANY. And there were just a ton of morons on their cell phones, wandering around like zombies.
I would love to go through life thinking it's all about me. Completely unaware of my surroundings, thinking I am the only one who existed. My life would be so much easier if I didn't have any consideration for anyone else on earth, ya know? But alas! I have been cursed with this damn conscience that makes me AWARE. Ack.
This is the line that I will instill in my children:
Be aware. That's all I ask. Just be aware.
Unlike the line my father instilled in me:
I don't care what you do, just don't inconvince me.
Where was I?
Farmer's market. Right.
Since there were so many dipshits at the farmer's market, Jamie and I said "Screw this" and went to Lombardi's for lunch and a drink. And her new "friend" stopped by so I finally got to meet him. Very sweet. Nice dimples. She was all giggly and crap.
No, I'm not bitter. Why?
After a lovely lunch, I sauntered home. Although I was super motivated that morning, my energy level was a bit depleted and I found myself in my sweatshirt (but with shorts instead of my sweatpants!) snoozing on the couch again. I hate it when I do that on pretty days. Sometimes I wish I had a yard. I could piddle in the yard. Throw a blanket down and read. I could have walked down to the Locks and taken advantage of their grass, but I sensed the Locks would be packed (beautiful weather and all) and I just couldn't tolerate anymore people. There were no people in my living room. It was lovely.
And here we are - Happy Margarita Day! Jessica is staying over tonight and when I saw her this morning, I said, "I guess we have to go get margaritas tonight?"
Her response was, "Hell yeah!"
Oh, okay. I will have a margarita.