That guy is screwed.
This weekend, Ned and I went to Wilmington, which in case you live in Poland or Ethiopia (I am HUGE in Ethiopia) (well, I probably would be huge in Ethiopia) or are just really stupid or something, Wilmington is a town in North Carolina that happens to be right next to the ocean.
And I like how I'm judging you for not knowing where Wilmington is, seeing as this weekend Ned, who is coming to Michigan with me for Thanksgiving--or THANKSgiving, as they pronounce it here--said, "Now, which Great Lake is closest to your home town? Is it Lake Huron, or..."
????
"Because Lake Michigan is to the west--right?--and..."
??????
I mean, what was this, the SATs? Am I really supposed to know which GREAT EFFING LAKE is nearest to my home? Apparently, according to aghast Ned, I was. God. Everyone's so persnickety.
It's Huron. I Googled it when I got home.
At any rate, Wilmington is a cool town, and there were a lot of shops and restaurants and so forth.
I don't know what this was, but I liked it. I guess it was some kind of turnkey project. BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA! With that and my hilarious Life's a Beach title. I am on FIRE today. El Fuego.
Oh, and you know what? The apartment building from Blue Velvet was there! We drove past it a couple times and finally got out to take a picture of it, and every time we passed it, I'd say, "Hit me, Jeffrey." Sadly for me, Ned did not chip my tooth at any point this weekend. Dull.
Look! Even the creepy back steps are really there! If you did not see this movie, you will be as lost as I was about the Great Lakes.
Which Great Lake is closest to my house. How many atoms are floating about in this CAR right now? Ned? God.
Fortunately, Ned is fun to walk around and look at shops with, although I did not become that woman who left him holding my purse while I went in and tried things on. I will NEVER be the woman who makes her man hold her purse while she tries things on. If you want to seriously shop, why would you drag a straight man along?
"But I would hold your purse if you asked me to," said Ned, who is officially a Nice Boy. A Nice Boy who I refuse to emasculate in that fashion.
By the way, I WANT ALL THESE. Ned kept encouraging me to buy the lovely quilted dress behind this one. But then I'd be too sexy for my dress.
BAHAHAHAHAAH! Ohhh! Woo! The "I'm too sexy for my..." joke! Somebody STOP me!
I'm telling you. I'm funnier when I'm not this happy.
The good news for all of us is I discovered that Ned--and WHY did this not occur to me?--is the kind of person who walks up to 29,0015,3949 restaurants and looks at the menu on the window and says, "Let's keep looking." Never mind that the person you are with has turned into a skeleton with kwashiorkor clanking behind you.
"Oh, here's another one! {stroll stroll stroll} {peruse peruse peruse}. Okay, let's look at this one across the street!" {stroll stroll stroll} {clank clank clank} (those were my skeleton bones).
So we did that during dinnertime and ended up at the LAST POSSIBLE RESTAURANT. I mean, in front of us was water, to the side of us was a bridge out of town. I am not even making that up. Happily, whatever Ned got was "godDAMMIT!" good, and he mentioned it a lot the next day, as he does.
But in the morning, and by "morning" I mean 2 p.m. because neither Ned nor I bound out of bed, and thank god he's that person, we were looking for a place to have brunch. We went back to the cool part of town we'd been in the night before, got out of the car, and when Ned said, "That looks like a cool diner" I said, "LET'S GO TO IT" and started to cross the street.
Oh, he was flummoxed. "But we..." "Are we just gonna..." "How about we..."
"NO!" I screeched, because I am a fun date. "This looks good. Let's just PICK it!"
And you know what? Do you?
"GodDAMMIT, that vegetable omelet was good!"
See?
In fact, yesterday was kind of the perfect day. You're on the beach with someone you like, the weather was perfect, you find an old boo store.
Ned reads as much as I do, so we were in the Old Boo store for quite a long time.
Do you know what my dream job would be? Trophy wife. But other than that, my dream job would be to own a used bookstore, in an old building with wood floors and lots of light and a bookstore cat. Come see Iris, the blind bookstore cat! It'd be great. That's all I need.
After a long time, Ned found me nestled in the shelves, reading. "What'd you find?" he asked, his arms full of smart-people books.
".....The unauthorized biography of Tom Cruise," I said.
"Out of all the books in this store, that's what you're reading?"
I guess he thought I'd be consulting a Geography of Michigan book or something.
Anyway, I got a very intellectual book about Wallace Simpson, and then it was time to head back home. Ned had to pack for ANOTHER WORK TRIP, and I had to do some freelance. Unfortunately for us, we drove back STRAIGHT INTO THE SUN, like we were Icarus or something. It was ridiculous. You have no idea.
"God, this is like Freewayhenge or something," said Ned, adjusting his visor fruitlessly.
Freewayhenge.
On the way home, we used the facilities at the Sartre Rest Stop.
Have I mentioned how funny I am today? Hey, did I say Life's a Beach yet?
Oh! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAAHHAHAAAAA! God, that never gets old.
