Dread Locks and Night Swimming

This weekend sort of slipped by when I wasn't paying attention. Friday started entirely too early with a trip to the airport and then to bring my grandpa to the doctor and by the time "Intervention" was over, Spliff and I were being hauled off to see the hot bartenders. Seriously, people, Spliff hadn't met the new hot bartender/neighbor yet and I couldn't let her wait another minute. Too many martinis later, I was spilling an entire container of fries on the floor and trying to pick them up and get them to the trash can without dropping any of them. Let me tell you...this is not easy. They may as well have physically run away from me. It took forever. And I wanted to EAT them, not DROP them.

Saturday started out pretty normal with Spliff's little head popping into my room at 11 to say, "Herrrrro?" I spent the afternoon procrastinating and not accomplishing any actual homework at all and then checked my myspace and found out that, TA-DA! There was a reggae festival in two hours! A reggae fest will always mean an encounter with The Psycho Rasta and other assorted hot guys with dread locks, but the whole experience usually turns out well. Psycho Rasta manages to stay about an arm's length away from me and aside from the irritating glare thing that he does, I barely notice him. Or I pretend I don't until it is impossible. Jerms' band played a really fun and energetic set and Spliff and I danced around while Jennagiraffe tried to talk to a boy. The whole thing was like a reunion. There was so much beautiful hair in one place I felt like I might burst into flames and I didn't even blink an eye at Z when he tried to lead me away from Jenn. That's right, folks, even with weak knees and flushed cheeks, I stayed by Jenn's side. What the hell is WRONG with me? Eventually, he is going to get tired of hitting on me mercilessly and THEN what will I do? I will kick myself in the ass, that's what.

Anyway, after dancing around in the still, 90 degree heat for several hours, we decided to head back to the house and go swimming in the ocean. Because there is nothing better than night swimming. I managed to drag JM AND Mr. Johnson in against their will and we walked home at 3 am with stringy hair and smeared mascara (Mr. Johnson has neither hair nor mascara to worry about)...My bed is full of sand and my hair feels like straw but holy crap, I love the effing ocean.

It was a good day, internet. A good day, indeed.