Around three thirty yesterday afternoon, it was concluded that Ellie and I were gonna go to the grocery store. We had things to do first though. At eight pm, we finally managed to get out the door. I was within three dollars (I was under) on my favorite grocery store game "Look at the cart of groceries we just picked out and guess how much it retails for". The clerks are always interested to learn what is at stake while we watch the price go up, and they never seem to believe we're just former camp counselors who like to turn things into games...
By nine forty-five, I was cooking dinner.
It was, in both of our opinions, the best food I have ever cooked. Fettucine alfredo, garlic bread, and spinach and artichoke dip. There was a salad, but we realized before we finished cooking that there was simply no way we would begin to eat it, and we should just save it for a meal when we'd really enjoy it.
I can only manage alfredo sauce in one quantity, and that involves a pint of heavy cream, an entire stick of butter (that's real butter, not some vegetable oil spread), and a cup of cheese. The dip involves an entire cup of mayonaise and another cup of cheese. You can be relieved to know that we have lots of leftovers. And the food was good enough that we were really careful to get it covered and stored quickly; we want these leftovers (and we promised to save some for Em).
After dinner, we sacked out hard in the living room. I really ate until I was nearly in pain. It was almost eleven thirty by the time we were finished. Somehow, Ellie managed to clean up around me as I cooked and the kitchen is not nearly as scary looking as it normally is when I finish with a meal.
I couldn't handle sitting up anymore and I laid down on the living room floor with a blanket. Ellie went to bed at some point, I remember her waking me up and suggesting that I should also go up the stairs, but instead, I slept peacefully on the floor until morning...
Apparently, while we were so unreasonably drunk Friday night, but before we got to being uncomfortably drunk, Emma called most of the people listed in my cell phone (and lots of her other friends as well). Hey, and public thanks to the two entirely too kind boys who hooked us up with help to our beds and receptacles to puke in. We were doing vodka shots and we were both drunk like high schoolers.
The calling all those people has resulted in Stalker Guy mailing her a CD (she requested a Le Tigre mix), and us having plans to drive to Chicago and hang out this weekend. Aside from a lukewarm reception or two, I haven't been alerted to any actual damage from the slew of late-night calls. I remember her being on my phone, but I don't really remember a whole lot of what happened. I have no idea how I got up the stairs, but I'm told I wasn't carried.
Saturday we spent the day in Cincinnati with Nikki. We were in so much pain, so we didn't really do much. Walked through Findlay Market. Drove around Eden Park, Mt Adams and Newport. Had a good dinner at Pompilio's.
Then we went to a show at The York Street. It was full of social landmines for me, people I used to know, other girls who dated my ex'es, that sort of thing, but I managed to pull it all off without anyone being unpleasant. There was just one moment...
Em was sure she'd met this one guy before. He was there with another guy, someone who knew my sister and Em's sister and we all knew his brother and he was friends with Waste's friends and really that whole social circle is large and intertwined like a Soap Opera, but the point is that this guy he was there with is someone I definitely know but I think I've only talked to once or twice.
I couldn't place him, but he did look familiar, we went through various "Were you ever at a party at so-and-so's? Have you ever been to a Camp Party?" and then all of the sudden, I pushed my glasses up on my head for a second and he was like "Wait! I know you! You're That Bitch! You used to date Waste, didn't you?!"
He kept saying it "You're That Bitch! Waste's girlfriend!" He quickly explained to me that I'd met him four years ago at someone's house and I'd yelled at him for being a punk. This is where it got embarassing.
"Wait, are you the kid from the hot tub? I yelled at someone in the hot tub there one night? No? Did I ever offer to call your parents and tell them what you'd said or done? No? Hrm. That narrows it down. Okay, I'm gonna need more context clues than 'Fuck you!' if I am going to remember you there. Did I maybe walk in, take a couple shots of SoCo and scream at you before I'd been there five minutes? That wasn't you either? Can you remember what room we were in?"
He did forgive me, once I'd stopped trying to remember which punk kid I yelled at he was and just apologized. Clearly, those guys have every right to remember me as "That Bitch, Waste's ex-girlfriend"....