On Friday night, I met Sterling and Steele for an impromptu dinner at a local tapas restaurant. I'd never had tapas before. The meal was delicious and diverse and the only drawback was the cold-ass weather which cut short our post-dinner conversation outside the restaurant. That, however, was remedied by the milk cake I had which was easily the best dessert I've ever had. Weight Watchers who?
On Saturday, I was out most of the day running errands, going to Weight Watchers, and paying bills. I also rather spontaneously bought a bed, which I might eventually photograph once it's assembled. Right now, the black wrought iron canopy pieces are still in boxes in my living room. Not so much with the photo op-ness.
I'm pretty sure the bed salesman thought I was cute and/or was hitting on me (despite his wedding ring) because he asked, as he was writing up my sales receipt, what I did for a living. I told him I worked for my dad and he said that sounded like a pretty nice gig. I said it was, except for when King V is irritating me, and Niceguy McHoldsmygaze said, "We do that, don't we? Doesn't matter if we're your dad ... brother ... or boyfriend...." Yeah. Insert uncomfortable silence here. I actually thought the guy was cute, but only because he reminded me of a girl/boi I used to have a fierce crush on. Okay, I can't lie. I still think she's hot, but haven't seen her in forever. A friend lamented that it was too bad it wasn't a saleswoman and I agreed, but really I'm glad it was a dude. I would've been a flustered mess of babble had a cute woman taken an apparent interest in me. (And next on "Why Max Is Still Single"....)
A couple hours later, I met Casey and Gilbert for Turkish food and dry, red wine (mmm) and spent a lovely evening discussing everything from home improvements to participating in next year's mini-marathon. I've never been in any kind of marathon before (sleeping and eating don't count, I suppose), so I'm looking forward to completing the 13.1-mile course. A training class begins in January. I'll be interested to see what training involves. Does someone with a whistle just look at the class, blow a whistle, and say "Go!"? Probably not.
Sunday was Mega Laundry Day, which has turned my couch into The Place Where Many Wrinkled Items Can Be Found. In between cycles, I had planned to run errands, but the entire day was rainy, windy, and cold, which was not conducive to doing anything productive out of doors. I did tote some things for Goodwill out to my car but then ran back inside while squealing that I was melllting.
I'm headed out of town this weekend for a 3/4-to-Michfest reunion and need to make a little extra money since gas is so unfuckingbelievably expensive, so I started doing a little data entry for King V. I sat on my porch last night, tapping away on the laptop, and enjoying the gorgeous evening and light breeze. By the time I was done working, I was too tired to assemble my bed (way too many tab A's and slot B's for my mushy brain), so I flopped my mattress on top of the new-to-me box springs and rejoiced in my princess-and-the-pea-esque ascension towards the ceiling.
I might've had the best night's sleep ever had it not been for some weird-ass dream that wreaked havoc on my restful state. I was going to some big gay party with Jake and his partner and I was having some kind of anxiety attack because I didn't think his partner liked me. (I have no idea why Jake periodically drops into my dreams, but if he could bring some lesbians with him next time, that would be awesome.) I got lost on the way to the party, which was a pride celebration in a bar in an unfamiliar city (complete with drag queen bouncers) and right when I started to relax, I saw my ex-girlfriend.
Did I say dream? I meant nightmare.
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