No Time to Say Hello, Good-bye

Despite the fact that we are all probably pretty much over anything remotely green, I thought I should share. Friday I paid extra to drink green beer to benefit a Leukemia/Lymphoma charity. In the process, I also remembered how much fun it is to carry highlighters (and the dreaded pen) around with my brackets, even in a public space. Hooray for March Madness. It's even nicer to do it with someone who, not only doesn't think it's excessive, but asks to borrow the highlighter when I'm done. I've officially stopped keeping track now that Bradley (I know, who?) and others have wrecked it for us all. Regardless, it was a much needed kick off to a weekend apart.

The weekend was spent mostly alone, laundering, parenting the dog and looking for reasonably cute but comfortable shoes and various clothing items that would be Ft. Lauderdale appropriate, as that's where I greet you from at the moment. My suite boasts two baths (one with a bidet), and a balcony overlooking the golf course, the mini river and the pool. Not that I've got the time to enjoy it, but it was 87 degrees here today. Even in my heinous and enormous blue Company Shirt, it's hard to complain.

Tomorrow afternoon, The Boy will join me down here for some much needed face time, and also for a visit with The Mother. Even if it thunderstorms, I just don't see how it could be bad. I'm beginning to forget what that mug of his looks like, or how he sounds when he's not sighing in frustration.

Actually...

As it turns out, Baltimore City stole my car. Oops. When we arrived at the impound lot the first time, under advisement of a mistaken Lieutenant, we were asked to pay in excess of $500 to free my car. You can bet we weren't biting. Instead, I asked to visit the car so I could retrieve my charger. I wasn't sure if I locked the door.

Yesterday, after The Boy worked his magic on Brown from the Parking Department, we went to rescue the car. Relieved to see a zero balance, but irked that that was all, I rode in a Cavalier with two other ladies to get my car. I removed the WARNING notice from the windshield, smirking at the irony it represented. But when I got inside, I noticed cds and various paraphernalia all over the floor and seats. My car had been ransacked. Thankfully, it appears my musical tastes do not mesh well with that of the perpetrators, so I don't think I'm missing anything. And yet, all I can say is, "Yeah, but still."

In between the runaround, many loved ones descended upon The Home. Amber's little girl scampered around squealing at Mosotos, pushing his face and repeating "Off, puppy," every time he got too close. I stayed up talking to Tara until 3:00. We listened to Passion songs while cooking and baking and assembling favors, and it felt like college. Until I walked upstairs to give the kid a bath with her Little People. There wasn't really any of that in college.

The Boy golfed with his dad and I had a heart to heart with The Stepmother on the way to my shower. 90 percent of the people on the list shocked me with their attendance. It was a surreal haze of faces, most of whom I could have talked to for hours. I tried to build bridges and introduce; I tried to spend time with each one. But of course I failed. In keeping with my Lent sacrifice, I worked hard to ignore the chocolate fondue fountain everyone else focused on. I answered embarrassing questions about The Boy. "How does she know that already?" One girl remarked, when I answered that The Boy prefers that toothpaste be squeezed from the bottom up. I wondered why that question was considered more personal than how many kids he wants or who his hero is. I got those right too.

Opening gifts in front of those who gave them to me made me sweat. True, I was stoked out of my mind about my new Calphalon Anodized cookware, but who else would be? I would glance at my mom while holding a coffee grinder shrugging, "Am I really supposed to pass this around?" It felt self-indulgent. It felt weird. Lots of sweat and nervous laughter. And then it was over and we loaded way too many presents into the trunk and backseat of Clarice. Yesterday, just three days after seeing our new car, The Boy claims it's his favorite car he's ever owned, "except for the SPG" whose greatness currently sits locked in a basement in Connecticut. Of course. Except for that.

We discovered a dinner theatre in Baltimore with the parents and c'est ca. Mosotos was glad to have his house and parents back to himself; we were unnerved to see our house in far worse condition than it was on Friday. Golf clubs, Pyrex, pillows and towels and a collander crowd the dining room. My car is marked with yellow numbers on the glass and a thick caking of dust everywhere else. The Boy is driving friends around in Clarice. I guess things are getting back to normal.

Mosotos has begun to prefer cement and steel over grass and trees. When we first picked him up, I remember walking him deep into the woods to relieve himself. Last time we took him to the vet, he peed on the sidewalk. And now, in the park, he sniffs trees, but he prefers lightposts. I used to stop him. But I figure, if Baltimore can steal my car, let him pee on their lightposts. They're really just city trees anyway, and after this debacle, I don't blame him.

Hookahs, Grand Theft Auto and Coming Out

Thank God I kept my lifeguard hat stashed handily; I've needed it lately. Treading water has become the name of the game. I never was very good at it. I'm getting better now.

Friday, before the grand theft auto I will soon detail, we had dinner with our Pretty Couple Friends from church. They are, of course, far more than pretty, but at first blush that is certainly their defining characteristic. They are Lebanese, smart, fun, but most noticeably, lovely. After dinner, they introduced us to Turkish coffee in cheetah print demi-tasses. And then, the hookah. I disclaimed that the only thing I had ever smoked was a Swisher Sweet, which didn't bode well. The first time I tried it, there was no smoke. The next few times, I coughed. Everyone else laughed. But it was fun to say, "I smoked a hookah," when asked how my weekend was.

The week of deadlines took its toll, spilling into the weekend, but it passed and I was lauded. But moving the miscellaneous from the apartment to The Home also took all weekend, and the organization process is taking even longer. I haven't needed most of these things in months-- where do I put them now?

In between the thinking about work, heavy lifting and actual working, my red car disappeared. Due to a cryptic letter I received from the MVA referencing mysterious (and, to my knowledge, non existent) outstanding obligations, I assumed the car had been erroneously towed. Apparently, not so. I reported it stolen Monday afternoon and so far, no news. I'm tooling around in a silver Neon. Please, honk if you love Enterprise. The new car (which I have taken to calling "Clarice," because I involuntarily say, "hello" in the exact same manner as Hannibal Lecter every time I see a TSX on the road) will be here Friday, along with The Boy's father, The Stepmother, and sister. Tomorrow, Amber and her toddler arrive, followed by Tara. Saturday I'll be showered. If I can make it that far.

Tonight, after two days of booth standing in a baggy blue shirt, I stumbled to class on sore feet, despite my Aerosoles. There, I was workshpped. And outed. Who knew that searching for "Mosotos" would lead directly to this old thing? Damn Google. So, if any are visiting by way of Hopkins, welcome. Feel free to look around. We are always happy to have new crickets.