Weekend Update: Week 1

Fail.

I had this idea to write a weekend update every Sunday night starting with the first week of the year, and I didn't get 'er done. Reticula, you ignorant slut. In my defense, Rock Dad came over to hook up my new Wii; then Elvira and Coraline stayed for a girls' night of Dean  Supernatural and Desperate Housewives. They left late--remember trying to watch TV with a 5-month-old? It takes three hours to watch a 50-minute show, even with booby breaks. That's my excuse. Watch for more as the year progresses.

I'm not sure how I'm going to do these just yet, so I'll develop some kind of format as I go. Local readers, if you want to read something interesting about yourself here, you'd better help make my weekends rock. And then send me text or email reminders of the things we thought were funny or clever or bizarre because I do tend to forget a lot.*

So I missed writing this Sunday night, but so fucking what. I'm going to sit here with a glass of wine and a bowl of Lay's potato chips, write it and post-date it to Sunday night. By February, I won't even remember any of this. My weekend, in review.

• Elvira, Coraline and I went shopping for stuff for their new apartment, my big Christmas gift to Elvira. Coraline was suffering her first cold, poor baby. She was so stuffed up Elvira couldn't get anything out with the nose-sucker. So she stuck her boob in Coraline's nose and sprayed milk up it. Pretty soon all the gunk drained out and Coraline's nose was clear for hours. Next time I get a cold, I know whose boob will go up my nose. It's kinda crazy, but I wish Elvira and I could be friends raising our babies together.
• First bike ride of the year! Who would imagined the temps would creep up above 50 degrees in January, and I'd be able to get out and ride a few miles with our local, monthly courteous mass bike ride. I missed the last two because of plays so I was jonesin' to ride my bicycle. It was a beautiful night to get out and hit the streets of one of our historic neighborhoods with some friends I mostly only see on the bike rides. I was glad to see Kerry, the guy who originally invited me to join the group way back in June, right after I bought my bike. We met at a pre-opening menu-tasting for a local restaurant. I told him then I was too new to cycling to join a bike group. I'm glad he insisted and didn't let me get away with my insecurities. 

In any case, the courteous mass ride is supposed to show people how cyclists can ride in big groups and obey traffic laws or something like that. I think maybe I broke the rules just a tiny bit this time when two guys turning left in a rusty old tuna boat classic 80's sedan met the last three of our group at a yellow light. I could see they were trying to turn into the far right lane instead of the appropriate left lane. So I slowed, but the guy ahead of me rode on. As I suspected, the car turned into my lane, and as they squealed through the light and careened very close to me, the passenger yelled, "Blah blah blah, you crazy sons of bitches." As courteously as I could, I yelled back suggested, "Go fuck yourself." For all I know, they took my advice because they roared off in a blaze of glory, leaving behind a noxious cloud of exhaust. I didn't call them assholes or get kicked off the ride .... this time. I only rode a total of seven miles, but it was wonderful to get out and wrap my legs around my bike.

• The ride ended too soon, and my friend the Diplomat and I rode back to my house so I could change out of my sexy cold-weather cycling tights and eat a quick bowl  turkey soup before we headed off to a local art movie theater to meet some friends and watch Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. I read the book decades ago, so I didn't remember the specifics, but it was typical of those 70's cold-war spy thrillers. The pace of the movie was slow, plodding almost, and there were dozens of long, loving close-ups of Gary Goldman's face as he delicately teased out the identity of the double-crossing double agent. By the time it was over, I had explored every pore on his face and counted every nose hair. About halfway through the movie I started to regret the bottle of water I drank on the bike ride, and the soup and milk for dinner, although I was glad I hadn't given in to a glass of wine from the concession in the lobby.** By the end of the movie, I had to pee so bad I had unbuttoned the top button of my jeans to relieve the pressure on my bladder. I have to recommend the movie simply because my back teeth were floating and I still refused to leave the theater for three minutes and risk missing anything. If you like spy movies at all, go see it. If you think Gary Oldman is sexy, you might be disappointed.
• Without a plan for the rest of the evening, we said goodbye to some friends and joined up with some others who had been sitting behind us in the theater. (OK, to be fair, they were Diplomat's friends when we joined them, but I don't know a stranger, so they're my friends too now.) We found a rather empty bar with a pool table in the back and settled in to play pool and drink. We had to all share one stick because most of them didn't have tips, and the ones that did cried when we touched them. A couple of us wanted wine so the bartender ran out somewhere and brought back airplane bottles of Riesling for us. I don't think they get much call for wine. A group of four young men came back and took over the pool table for a while. They only played one game for some reason. I helped each of them with their shots throughout their game, and I suspect they learned so much they wanted to go home and let their brains rest. I'm sure they appreciated my help. Or maybe they left because they've got their own moms who tell them how to do every little fucking thing and they didn't need me doing it too. I couldn't really tell.

Want. Probably wouldn't help my game.

• Saturday morning I met my friend Sunrise at the local market, which is now packed with people even in the winter when the farmer's market is closed. We drank tea in the sunroom and talked for 3 1/2 hours while a duo played jazz in the next room. The tea was loose, served in little reusable muslin bags. I brought both of ours home with me because I could hardly stand their fucking cuteness. And I get 10% off if I bring my own bag next time.

• I got home just in time to rehearse with Chicken Grrrl for a last-minute special music gig at church. I haven't touched my guitar much in the past few months. My fingertips aren't even ugly any more. But we played through some songs we've done before and finally decided to sing "Let It Be." We got a new sound system a few weeks ago at the church, and this was the first time I'd sung or run Miss Gibson through it. It felt good to have strings under my fingers and a mic in my face, and Martini running sound back there in the booth. I need to keep my fingers on the strings even when I'm caught up in a play. I missed it.

I guess I'm back to Sunday night. Most teachers don't really get weekends off. Ask one. I had lessons to plan and papers to read Sunday afternoon. And napping. Tell me I'm not the only one who loves a nap. 

If you've read this far, here are a couple of recommendations to start your week Tuesday.

This video made me laugh this week. (Have I ever mentioned how much I love a man in a kilt? I do love me a man in a kilt.)

And this made me cry. Because acts of heroism, especially the small ones, always make me cry. This is a letter to a boy who stuck up for his younger brother. Tell me it made you cry too.

That's it. Have a great week!

* Some of you already do this, and I'm grateful. Often my textbox gets full and when I go through to delete most of them, I see a text that says "circle jerk" or "licking a frog" or "cookies in my pants," and I just know I meant to write something about that, but ..... too late. Maybe I should just write found-text poetry.

** I know! How fucking cool is it that you can buy wine to take into the theater and drink through the movie? This is how the smart, sophisticated people live.