In which I love it when y’all bitch me out for not posting for a few days! And then I tell you about my weekend.

I was offline pretty much all weekend because I don’t have my own computer and sometimes when I go to get on the Internet, someone else is already on the Internet. Or they’ve taken their laptop into their room with them and fallen asleep with it, which is totally their right. Someday, when I grow up, I will have my own laptop, but until then I can’t always post when I want to. And sometimes I don’t want to when I can. It’s one of those things.

A Cucumber Party

Friday’s evening vegetable sales gathering mysteriously devolved into a crazy drunken dirty dancing party. At one point there were about five people in the kitchen lined up and silently grinding to the music from the stereo. The silence passed, as it has to with a group as voluble as ours, but the moment was amusing. Such serious drunken kitchen dancing!

When AmmZon and Truck went up to bed at eleven, the six of us remaining decided to vacate the house in favor of the bar. After a quick stop at Raybo’s so she could freshen up – lip gloss doesn’t apply itself, bitches – we walked up the street to the Dead Cock. Raybo and I did all sorts of fun stuff, like tweak an off duty bartender’s pierced nipples until his knuckles turned white, and dance with drunk girls in the middle of the empty dance floor in front of desperately horny rednecks. (Not that I don’t have sympathy for their horniness, but after all, it ain’t my responsibility.) After the bar closed, we all stood on the sidewalk out front hoping for a decent after hours party to be announced but it wasn’t, so we walked home where I fell asleep laid out on the back deck between Bindu and Bghead listening to Raybo and Bowling Jesus have an entirely circular argument about agnosticism and atheism. When I woke myself up a few minutes later with a little snore, I hauled myself off to bed.

A Rainy Day

Saturday the weather broke and it rained. I roused myself only to make a huge feast of Indian food. The rest of the day I lounged, napped, read, and knitted. It was lovely and relaxing and lazy.

A Trip To Greece

Sunday I straighted the house, did laundry, unloaded my jeep (it still had crap in it from the last time I went out to The Ex’s house a month ago), cleaned the party off of the back deck, took out the garbage, got my stuff upstairs, took a shower, and then went to Iowa City with the Stylist, where I had a burrito and a coffee and later, after shopping, a cocktail.

I didn’t actually shop, though, because I have no money. What I did was sit in the sci-fi section at B&N and read three entire Boy Princess mangas (they weren’t in order so I really have no idea what was going on), and then I walked from one end of the mall to the other marveling at how utterly weird malls are.

I am a foreigner to mall culture. I don’t have the right clothes, or look, or sensibility. I do not use Clinique or get my hair trimmed every six weeks or wax or wear the the clothes they sell, and neither am I properly inured to the imagery used there: the gihugent torso shot in the entrance to Abercrombie & Fitch literally stopped me in my tracks for a second. I was like, Can you have pictures like that in the mall? What about the children? And the lesbians? Do they really want to see stuff like that? And holy SHIT that’s a hot photo.

Later as I was walking along talking to the Stylist on my cell (we were at opposite ends of the mall) I said, “What? Are you kidding? That’s totally gay! And not in the fun way,” a boy working the kiosk I was passing at the time spun around with his mouth open as if he were about to be completely offended when he overheard me use the word gay in what could have been a non-PC context. But (when he saw me in my floor-length custom-made linen hippie dress and Birks) and heard me finish with, “–and not in the fun way,” he broke into a sweet grin. I winked at him and breezed on by, thinking, “Wow. The mall is like ancient Greece: check out the architecture, and all the beautiful young boys! It’s the gayest place ever. I wonder if it’s democratic, too?”