kanji

27 June, 2005
In Dreams

just when i was all set to continue unwinding last week's yarns of mayhem and lunacy, then this weekend has to step up and play prima donna.

well, let's humor the little tart, then.

i had plenty of catchup do perform when i dragged my exhausted ass back home, early Thursday morning. most obviously mowing what was left of the lawn was top priority, though it was torched pretty severely by three weeks of hot, rainless weather... not that the grass seemed to mind too much; illuminated in the headlights when i climbed the terrace, the seed heads looked like an invasion of triffids as far as the eyes could see.

i swear, Yoko would sooner have the lawn turn into a bamboo forest than expose herself to the supposed evil eyes of our few neighbors.

anyway....

so, i spent four hours stirring up a dust storm that had to be visible from weather satellites. after two Newcastles, and a salmon-grilling, i was comatose.

Friday, after having bailed from the show to recover, i decided to spend my time wisely, donned myself in overalls and knee-high rubber boots and endured the thorny abrasion of picking a half-gallon of wild black raspberries: there be wine and jam in the future.

Saturday: having gotten verification that there was a free ticket to the RichmondIRL race for me, i made arrangements for the late afternoon trip... luckily, SlickWillie and his wife wanted to go, too, so i didn't have to drive solo for two hours. besides assembling all of the usual race-watching gear, "arrangements" included the four-hour temper tantrum from the one-who-didn't-want-to-go, didn't-want-to-be-left-behind. first half of said argument involved my shortcomings (i always "pick" things that she doesn't like to do), how her father would never do that to her mother, how "i just know there'll be drinking!!"; second half, the tearful recriminations, and "it's all my problem, i need therapy, again" stuff.

my feet, come time to leave, were like wings.

and yes, there was drinking. and furious cellphone conversations for rendezvous. and the Contessa's impending frightful bladder explosion. in the midst of gridlock, outside the track. no restroom in sight.
thank goodness for the innovative insight from a week's camping. we suggested the igloo cooler, but the seat height would have put her in plain sight of traffic. what to do? aha! i noticed the Dutch army surplus rubberized knapsack, and the 30-gallon trashbag. voil�! instant lavatory! crisis averted!

fifty minutes before green flag, i finally located my benefactor with the free ticket: fellow gearhead director of the folk department at the radio station, his wife, and two boys. mom and dad had already primed themselves with a beer or two, so we guffawed about silly happenings since last we met before having to hoof it, briskly, to the stands. no wonder he married Kym... she flawlessly paved the way to the seats.
then, all internal-combustion hell broke loose. how all of those open-wheel cars, pacing 16-second, 3/4 mile laps didn't vault each other into the stratosphere, i'll never know.
my biggest concern was my own rapacious need to pee, half-way through.

girls, i'll never make comments about how much toilet paper you use in the loo, ever again. after shooting the breeze with fellow sufferers in the never-ending line for ages, i finally found a stall (mind you, i'm eating while i type this... so the exact contents of said bowl will be minor). the major ingredient of this hellish parfait was fours mile of coiled paper. it reminded me of how much i hate rice pudding, if you get my drift.

and they ask me why i drink.

checkered flag, fence-climbing, it was over. except for the lemming-stampede for the exits... which we declined for about two hours. that's when the G&T's and sips of Sauza took their toll on your humble scribe. i called Yoko when we returned at 1AM, and told her i'd sleep on the couch rather than risking my license.

and never went to bed that night.

...but managed to straighten up enough in the early morning to pick up the Sunday papers and return home. for BitchFest II. another three hours of threats and then the silent treatment... which was fine with me, since i was experiencing that wooly, disconnected feeling that no-sleep and no more booze so generously provides.

but, i managed to fix the drier, unclog the drains, and do some minor post-camping weekend re-organizing until i could regain my strength, and continue 'til i went face down on the futon at 11:30PM.

thank god somebody out there lusts with me.

more to come on frolics previous.

.


hit me with your rhythm stick




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