Last Wednesday I got an impromptu invite over to Goo's for general good times. After rushing home from work in the biggest downpour ever to erupt spontaneously from a partly cloudy forecast (thanks for accuracy, Weather Channel website!) I grabbed a quick hot shower to shake off potential death-wet, and then it was out the door. I promised Mike I'd pick him up at Union Station, which turned into me driving in a loop in front of Union Station while Mike chased me frantically yelling into his phone. It was kind of worth it for that alone. Goo plied us with wine and pasta and we did all kinds of reminiscing, planning, and making Goo mad because none of us was overly familiar with one of Jim Carrey's pantheon of masterpieces. We are ashamed. I attempted to assure Nori I'm just as cool as Jeff. She remains enthusiastic but unconvinced.
Thursday I helped facilitate Dan's plans for a final Beer Trek in Fort Kickass before Chez Steph brought down the mighty fort so that Dan could, you know, move his shit in. I picked Mike, Kelsey, Sara, and a very unusually sunburned Davia up at the metro and drove over to Steph's, narrowly missing also picking up Emily. Oops. That's... uh... that's on me. Look, I was just excited by the prospect of horfing the wonderful bread ends and house dressing Kelsey lugged all the way up from Williamsburg's famous Cheese Shop, and
Beer Trek really only involved one Trek (A Fistful of Noahs... err... Datas), but it was a good one. With Space Mexican Noah even. Thankfully, it also involved Fort Kickass, plenty of beer, Clone High, and - yet again because we have a problem - Cards Against Humanity. Unfortunately my ability to either be coherently horrible or read the judge seems to have deteriorated entirely, as I won only one hand out of roughly forty. Yeah. Not so much with the good. Emily, meanwhile, shocked us all by rivaling Dan with her ability to be an awful, awful person. I don't know what was wrong with me, really. Maybe my heart grew three sizes that d- no, unlikely.
Sara crashed at my place Thursday night and commented on Harper's rapidly increasing mass. My feline companion's plan to grow into a giant blob and consume the American capital is quickly becoming a reality, I fear. I swear I feed her responsibly and try to make her run around when she'll oblige. I directed Sara to work the next morning and then spent all day staring at Excel until my boss possibly declared it Happy Hour and everyone beered it up. I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of Happy Hour in my office.
No sooner was I leaving the office and on the metro than I got communication from Sara and Davia that they were already bored. I offered oven pizza and wine as entertainment and promised a ride home. Apparently they were really bored, cause that worked. Everyone else was busy with movies or dates or both (I dunno) so the three of us hung out, shoved pizza in our faces, and washed it down with mediocre red. Also we watched The Incredibles, because Edna Mode is da best. After a random and mysterious text from Steph, I got a call from Dan pleading for me to pick him up at the metro and take him home. I am assuming Steph is alive, as I got Dan home and he has not called for help or to alert anyone to any horrible bacon-grease related accidents. I then chauffeured two very sleepy law students home to the tweeny tunes of Call Me Maybe and You Don't Know You're Beautiful that Davia half-heartedly echoed in the back seat while Sara conked out.
After that, the weekend slowed down considerably. This goes a long way to explain why this post is accompanied by no pictures. I'm not very good at pictures. When you see them, I usually stole them from someone else or Facebook or something. People complain all the time that I never take pictures to show them my experiences. I fail to see where this is my responsibility. I'll just give you several thousand words to equal a few pictures and BOOM all square. Besides, any pictures of my Saturday would involve me reading, washing dishes, cooking dinner, watching West Wing, and attempting to convince Harper that exercise is fun. I have been very bad at convincing pets of things this week.
Sunday I met my former Manassas roommates Scott and Keev for dinner in Alexandria on their way back from Reagan. By early evening it was actually tolerable and even pleasant to walk around in Old Town. Plus, hell, parking's free on Sundays. Scott suggested a place called the Austin Grill, which wasn't bad, and I even got to nom some mini fried ice cream. Which was, you know, both awful for me and delicious. I gave Scott crude napkin directions to my place (due to his current lack of GPS), and showed them my no-longer-new apartment and my not-so-new cat. They approved of both, and then we just sat around for a bit and chatted before I handed Scott his Choose Your Own Adventure G.I. Joe book from the year he was born (Oh, the things you can find in Library of Congress Surplus Books stacks!).
After an evening of Mad Men and the good parts of the Tonys (read: NPH), I hit the hay ready for the new work week. Oh, also I brought the office Munchkins this morning. They left about a third uneaten. I think they want me to not fit through doors. This is a problem.
A delicious cinnamon coated fatty problem.
No comments:
Post a Comment