So, because of my money situation (being that I have none. At all.), I had thought this weekend was going to be really sad and depressing. First off, I was worried that I wouldn't even have the money to put gas in my car (crisis averted) or have the money to see Eric Lindell on Friday night. Thanks to my fabulous friends, just as I was about to give up hope, I was sponsored. And let me tell you, the show was fantastic. I mean, Eric Lindell has never disappointed before, but this time, we were so close I could have touched him and at one point, while Spliff and I were dancing, we made eye contact and my stomach fell out. The end. No really, you guys, you should check him out. He is amazing.
I had a great time. It would have been better if the random guy who kept tapping me on the shoulder would have gone away. He literally walked by me and tapped me on the shoulder and kept walking. When I turned around because I thought it might be someone I know, he started talking and then wouldn't shut up. Then he just followed me around all night, tapping me on the shoulder and being generally creepy and talking about how he wished he had some drugs. Seriously? You tell strangers that? Shut up, you fucktard!
The only complaint I have about Friday is that, for some reason, my back started hurting and by the end of the night, Rack was walking on me and trying to brush me with a cat brush. (I don't know how that second part was supposed to help...) By Saturday morning when Rack and Spliff got up to go fishing, I was almost completely immobile. I popped pills and tried to get comfortable enough to sleep and when I finally did, I slept until noon. Sleeping until noon used to be something I did a lot. In fact, pretty much every day that I didn't have to work, but lately, it doesn't happen so much so I was shocked when I looked at my phone and saw that not only was Anthony blowing up my phone already, but it was late as hell and I was supposed to be going to the beach with D and Ad Rock. Of course, the beach didn't so much happen. Basically just because I couldn't move enough to put my bathing suit top on until my pain pills kicked in at almost 3.
After all of that was over and Spliff and Rack came back with their many, many (read: zero) fish, we got ready to go to Clifftopher and Anthony's for dinner. (Because Clifftopher actually does catch fish and there was a lot of it, so we had a little cookout.) The party started at 6 and ended sometime after we were all slow dancing to "I Adore, Mi Amore" by Color Me Badd. Yes, and I honestly had to explain to The Kid who CMB were. Seriously. I have a sneaking suspicion that some of this debauchery might end up on YouTube. (Especially Clifftophers five-minute dance solo. It was very Napoleon Dynomite and I totally took a video of that shit.) Anthony and I went on a beer run at one point and apparently stole a boogie board. I have no recollection of this event, but I have seen said boogie board so I know that it is no joke. I am not really sure why this occurred nor am I completely positive where we found this boogie board. There are only three blocks between the gas station and the boys' house, so...I just hope that we didn't steal it from somebody's yard and I hope some kid didn't get up on Sunday morning and cry his face off when he realized that his toy was gone. Because kids aren't mean enough to each other already, they need a couple of drunken 30-year-olds to come and steal their toys. Go team US! We're going straight to hell.
Sunday was a blur of morning phone calls and mimosas and then a big, long, juicy nap for me while everyone went to the beach. After everyone showered, we went back to the boys' house and watched a terrible movie that had absolutely no climax or likeable characters and ate pizza with pineapples on it. (That shit is nasty.) I spent a good 45 minutes arguing with Spliff about why I didn't want to spoon her and then I stole her car and went home and passed out. It was a pretty good weekend considering I was broke and I left my stomach at the Eric Lindell show. Good times, internet, good times.
Now go. Listen to Eric Lindell.