Most of the battle of doing laundry comes from a sad, sorry, pathetic lack of quarters. Why can’t those machines accept dollars and other coins? It’s so annoying!
Crazy, crazy weekend — One of my very best friends from high school was in town. Every time I see her, I worry a little that we’ll have less in common than ever (I’m living the urban, single, career life with nice plants and no pets; she’s coming up on eight years of marriage, and has two sweet kids and lives in the middle of a cotton field), but it’s true: shared experience = intimacy, and we’ve shared a lot, and keep sharing more. It’s refreshing. (Thanks, Stacy, for that post, by the way — it has really resonated, and I even have friends who you haven’t met who read it and bring it up).
Both of our nights were pretty schizophrenic in terms of the scenes we saw (thanks to other high school friends). Friday found us at the Hornet for a glass of wine, then P17 and their tasty “Pom Fizz” and curry, and then the Continental Club for tiki drinks with hipster/biker/gothic-ish types and a metal band (I really can’t nail down the crowd in there — all I know is it’s always fun, and I never feel out of place, exactly, but not like I quite fit, either. Also, being served by a guy named “Dumptruck” is kind of a kick). (PS — Go to Continental Club!!)
Saturday we shopped and shopped, and Jamie and her sister went to a wedding, and were up for going out when they got back — another crazy night ensued: 9th Door, Double Daughters, Beta (best place EVER) (I’m totally lying), and Cowboy Bar. I love the 9th Door, and Double Daughters is somewhere I might go on my own, but the other two really weren’t. Still, I absolutely cannot deny how fun it is to sing John Michael Montgomery’s “Sold,” and Garth Brooks’ “Baton Rouge” at the top of your lungs, wearing more eyeliner than usual and a little black dress amongst cowboys and wannabes. And yeah — I know all of the words. Luckily, I wasn’t really into drinking this weekend (oh, and I’m on antibiotics), so I didn’t hurt too badly in the end.
Today there’s been a mad, failed search through the suburbs for this perfect gift that every store “just ran out of,” followed by an attempt to order it online, only to find it’s been back-ordered. I could almost tell you what it is, because the gift-recipient-to-be doesn’t read my blog as of yet, but one never knows.
Sigh. Laundry. Quarters.
Quote of the weekend is from Troy: “I promise you I won’t ruin your life,” said as though he’s pretty used to reassuring people of this fact.