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Now that I�ve gotten past the Payroll Crisis du jour, I can take the time to finish my entry.
My poor iMac has been unplugged and stashed behind my bed all weekend. I still haven�t brought my desk back from my mom�s, and I didn�t want anyone to play with it at our party, so it went into hiding. I missed my writing time this weekend. It�s funny how this little journal has become such a regular part of my day in so short a time. I�ve felt like I was missing something in not taking the time to write an entry. That�s probably a good thing.
Our party was truly rather successful. We had about 30 guests, all of whom appeared to enjoy themselves thoroughly, and no one overindulged and threw up or passed out, which is always a good sign. I have a kick-ass sangria recipe, and made a double batch, almost all of which is gone. Probably a good thing�it�s way too easy for me to drink.
Somewhere around 2:30 a.m., I decided it would be fun to go to brunch with the Boyfriend, Ian and Bonnie, Ian�s girlfriend and Steve�s (my old roommate) cousin. Yes, for those of you keeping track, Steve married Erica, my other old roommate. Erica is Ian�s sister. Bonnie is Steve�s cousin. They met during the wedding planning festivities. She�s 34 and lives in VA. He�s 25 and lives in Boston. She�s an Ann Taylor-wearing accountant. He�s an unemployed, pierced, tattooed alternaboy. Oddly enough, they make a fairly perfect couple.
Anyway, the last few times Bonnie has been here, we�ve tried to make plans to go to brunch at the Centre Street Caf�. My plug of the day�this place is the best best BEST restaurant in the world. I love it there. The food is good, the help is fun, the music is great, and Michael, the owner, put a Glen sticker up inside the front door. Michael has become my friend of sorts in the past six years that I�ve been eating there. He brings me little treats (brownies, tomatoes from his garden, extra pears for my pear walnut salad) when we go in and he�s working. I�d love going there anyway, but the treats are a nice added bonus!
So at 2:30, after several glasses of sangria, brunch on Sunday, just a scant 7.5 hours from then, seemed like a great idea! Cut to 8:59 Sunday morning. I woke up with a killer urinary tract infection and a wee bit of a hangover. Life was not my friend. The Boyfriend woke up too, feeling rather amorous. I don�t know how many of you have ever had a UTI, but the last thing you want to do when you�ve got one is have sex. So I said no, which made him cranky, and I was cranky anyway from the hangover and the bacterial infection�we were a lovely pair. I dug around in my medicine cabinet until I found the Cipro samples I keep on hand for just such an occasion, medicated myself on up, and hopped in the shower, leaving grumpy boy to get a little more sleep.
Medication is a wonderful thing, because by the time we finished breakfast, I already felt better.
We finally dragged our sorry asses out of the house, met Bonnie and Ian and went to the Caf�. We had the cute eye candy waiter and a window table�life was improving! Everyone�s breakfast but mine came, so Michael brought me a piece of key lime pie so I�d have something to eat, too. My breakfast came about 25 seconds later, but who wants eggs when there�s key lime pie on the table?
I�m pausing for a moment to remember the key lime pie. Mmmmmmmmm�God that was delicious. All that graham cracker crust, filled with tangy goodness. Michael is my favorite person in the world.
So everything was, as usual, wonderful, and by the time the eye candy waiter brought the change back to the table, I was full, happy and feeling like a new person. Life was good, once again.
Of course, then we had to go to the Boyfriend�s mom�s house. Betsy was having a Christmas party of her own, and we needed to be there early so she could put us to work. Every invitation we get from her is like that. "Come to dinner�and to hang the closet doors." "Come to the party�but come early, so you can make the punch and build a fire and carry the stuff I want out of sight down to the basement." "Come down on Sunday�I have a bathroom that needs painting." Stuff like that.
Mind you, I like Betsy. She�s very nice, and she can be fun, and she obviously loves her son. But she�s pushy and controlling, and she treats him alternately like he�s 11 and like he�s the "man in her life." She needs a new boyfriend. Then someone else could drive the 45 minutes to her house and cut her lawn. Or she could cut her own lawn. He�s 28 years old, Betsy. He has his own life. Deal with it.
The party was full of her real estate friends, Amy (the boyfriend�s sister) and a few of her friends, the Boyfriend, his best friend Joe and me. Joe and I hid in the corner of the living room and hoped no one would talk to us. Neither of us is ver good at small talk.
Eventually, the Boyfriend came and dragged us out of the corner. Before he could get sucked in to the party Joe left. Damn Joe.
Finally, the Boyfriend put the fire out and we were able to get out the door. It was a long day.
Get to do it all over again tonight, as Betsy bought us all tickets to the Holiday Boston Pops program.
God, give me strength.
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