Finger Pointing and a Dog Named Elvis

So, because I was so constructive on Friday (“so constructive” = not at all constructive), JGJ and I spent the whole day on Saturday sleeping, eating, sleeping, and then more sleeping. And it was, as they say, just what the doctor ordered. It was a chilly day. The first day this year that could actually even be considered chilly anyway and it was lovely. I have to say though, I like my chilly stay in bed days with a side of gloomy (because if I look outside and see gray, I feel justified in not leaving the house, whereas if I see blue, I feel just a bit guilty about not going out to enjoy it. But only a bit.)

I got to spend some time with Jenn (who says that I am to write super great things about her here. And here. And here. But mostly, I think I will just make fun of her for still crushing so obviously on Charlie and still trying to deny it. Yes, Jenn, that’s right, I called you out on the internet, what?!) and T. T who had seemed a little offended that Jenn and I had been spending time together without calling her. I didn’t have the heart to go into detail as to why either. The situation is this: I love T. Best girl ever. But her man basically (since he has become a newfound believer) told Jenn that she was going straight to hell. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t the threat of hell that bothered anyone. It was the judgment coming from someone who is marrying our friend. Someone who probably knows much less about religion than I. Someone who, like anyone else, has no right to judge. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to feel like I am being picked apart by someone who has lived his whole life hurting people but for three weeks has been a member of the “I heart Jesus” club. Three weeks of worship, does not a saint make.

I don’t know that Jenn was offended, but I was offended for her. I felt that since I know about him (where he came from, what he’s done, what he has put T through), he should be watching where he points that finger. (After all, he is a NON-TIPPER!) Someone’s likely to break that bitch off. Don’t get me wrong, I like the dude. He’s funny and goofy and a riot to be around, but honestly, I liked him a lot better when he was a heathen.

That said, I can move on. Shall we?

Yesterday, JGJ and I took a ride out to the new apartment so that he could see my new crib. We couldn’t go inside yet, but he was able to see what a rad place we got. (And what a RAD deck we have!) We cruised around the beach for a while after brunch at the Sun Dog and then settled down for drinks at the Lemon Bar. The weather was perfect. Not too hot, not too cool. My excitement about moving back out there was only heightened by the warm sun on my back and the ocean breeze. And it was one of those days when I looked around and thought, “Damn, I am one lucky bitch. I got to grow up right here in the middle of all of this when other people have never even SEEN the ocean.” (Which, by the way, just doesn’t make sense to me.)

Last night we decided to vary the Sunday (I want to call it Debauchery Day but don’t feel right about that when it doesn’t include Spliff.) routine and headed out to a full bar instead of our usual laid back atmosphere. In retrospect, I’m not sure this was the wisest of choices. The night was drawing to a close until Party Boy showed up. In a record time of 2.5 seconds, he had gone to the bar and retrieved too many shots to present to us (you know, the ones of us who had to work and/or drive 2 hours home this morning). Too many shots = very difficult awakening at 6am. Not cool, Party Boy, not cool.

Jenn and I did manage to meet a hair stylist who really, really, really wants to beautify us. (I can’t argue, I need all the beautifying I can get right now.) She and her dog Elvis (Costello…the REAL Elvis) joined us at the table after T left and made us promise to call her and let her play with our hair. I feel a little guilty even considering cheating on my adorable little Heather the Hair Goddess, but hey…I’m feeling experimental. Besides, if it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t have Spliff or Jenn either. Dammit. She should be paying ME. (That’s totally not true, she does a fantastic job making my bland hair look fabulous and I don’t mind paying to look fabulous.)

All in all, the weekend was pretty good. It seemed pretty long, but not long enough to get the sour taste of Thursday out of my mouth. But now I have a whole new taste to look forward to. Monday. I would rather eat worms.

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: "Sister Golden Hair"- America

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