Last night, Ned and I got up with Dick Whitman. I mean, what better way to celebrate our sort-of-year anniversary than to hang out with someone I used to date? Okay, but (a) TODAY is our sort-of anniversary, and plus also I dated D Whitman for 45 minutes, so it doesn't count. We never even did The Deed. Hi, Dick Whitman's mom. Sorry I did not do The Deed with your son.
It was a run-aroundy kind of a day yesterday, starting with the part where I overslept as usual, and the part where TWO WEEKS OF MIGRAINES makes you a bit logy, so I went in to work with damp hair and no makeup and basically looking like Halle Berry in Do The Right Thing where she's a crack addict. Yes, I totally compared myself to Halle Berry, which I know you've been waiting for for quite some time. I realize she and I have oodles in common and share many similar features.
I was kind of hoping for a quiet day at work yesterday but NO. NOOO! I was constantly proofreading something or fact-checking something and it totally interfered with my wanting to blog and also bother Ned at work. "What're you doing?" "What're you doing now?" "Do you love me?" "How 'bout now, do you love me more than you did a moment ago?" I was unable to do ANY of that, which truly rankled.
Oh, and in case you aren't a careful reader, the reason it's our sort-of anniversary is today is the one-year mark of when I got Ned on eBay or wherever I found him online. And he wrote me back that day, and after that one exchange I knew I was definitely interested. By, say, day four, I was a goner. But we didn't have a DATE and meet in PERSON till January 19, due to Ned playing it cool and also to me vomiting repeatedly in January. On January 19 of this year, if we still like each other by then, we are going back to the locale of our first date and reliving the whole thing and then hugging in the parking lot and going home like we did last year. Fun.
But I digress. Hope you were sitting down, but I did digress, there. My POINT is, it was a run-aroundy kind of a day, and Dick Whitman wanted to see a movie, and here's the other thing about Whitman. He always wants to eat or get drinks first and make an evening out of it and basically he is a pain in my ass. So I told him we thought we could both get out of work, go home and care for our pets, then stampede to the car and get to Winston-Salem by 6:30-ish. However, at 5:54, Ned called me.
"I'm still at work," he said, sounding stressy. So what ended up happening is I screamed over to Ned's and he got out of his car and into mine and didn't even check on his poor cat, who let's face it was probably fine but still, and we stampeded to Winston-Salem. We had dinner, because have I mentioned DW likes to make an evening out of everything, and then it was too late to see our movie. So after driving hither and yon in Winston, we finally found the movie Django, the new Quentin Tarrantino film. Lots of naked men of color, which is normally a thing I like, but they are slaves so it's never hot.
Which sucks. I remember my grandmother had a copy of the hard-hitting novel Mandingo in her bathroom, and I think HE was a slave and THAT managed to be hot, but old Quentin did not throw us a bone. Any time you saw a naked muscular man of color in THIS film, he was being tormented in some way.
Say, did I tell you guys about The Waiter? OHMYGOD! Did I not?
There's this restaurant in, again, Winston-Salem, and you've never met two people who spend more effing time in a city they don't live in than we do, and THREE DIFFERENT TIMES we tried to go to this particular restaurant, cause it looked like it'd be good, and whenever we went it was closed. I had a mind to send them a terse letter, but last time I did that was in Mt. Airy, when I sent a terse email and later that day the owner of the restaurant I sent the email to fell over dead, and I am really tired of killing people softly that way.
At any rate, when Ned and I drove to Michigan for THANKSgiving, we got all the way to Winston-Salem, 35 minutes away, before we had to stop for lunch. And that restaurant we've been eyeing was FINALLY, FINALLY open.
Our waitress had come and gone and we were in the middle of eating when this
GOD,
this black, muscular, bald, clean-cut GOD, poured water for us. I looked up to thank him and my eyes came out on coils. I had a-oooga steam out my ears. My tongue unfurled fifty feet out my mouth. I was like Pepe Le Pew all of a sudden.
Oh good GRAVY, you have no idea how hot he was. And I guess I was, you know, pretty subtle, cause Ned was all, "You gonna be okay?"
Geez.
Awhile later, I tried to surreptitiously look for him again, but ONCE AGAIN Ned caught me. "He's behind the bar," he said. I mean, look. It's not like I never catch NED looking at YOUNG GIRLS, but still. I was hoping I was being more, you know, CLANDESTINE than I was. The best part was after I spotted the guy behind the bar, our waitress said, "Do you need anything?"
Well. Yes. That man servicing me on a regular basis. Also, could I get ketchup?
How did I get off on this tangent? Oh, Django. Yeah. Not the same.
Oh, crap. I have to end this abruptly, which I'm sure you're sad about because I've covered the important topics of our day. Peg my neighbor is in the damn hospital--she's had terrible health issues--and she needs me to come pick her up. She was discharged and they didn't TELL her they were gonna do so. So I'm off to get Peg.
You think she'd want to swing over to Winston-Salem for lunch?
