I just had one of the best weekends of my life. It wasn’t classically great by any stretch. The weather sucked great big hairy donkey balls, plus I was sick with some weird stuffyhead-wrackingcough-sorethroat&tongue affliction that had me pretty beaten. You might ask, “How the hell were the horrible conditions both on the inside and the outside of you conducive to a great weekend?” I will tell you.
Red Beard took care of me. It started at work on Friday when he emailed me that he would make me chicken soup and tea and press a cool washcloth to my brow. When I got home, we cuddled on the couch while we decided what we actually wanted to eat. Chicken soup is great, but we were looking for something a little more naughty and delicious to make up for the foul weather.
So we got pizza and ice cream (cold, luscious, creamy ice cream to sooth my raspy throat) and went to town while we watched 101 Guiltiest Guilty Pleasures on E! I know; we should be ashamed of ourselves. I have no defense unless, “There was nothing else on,” counts. I loved every second of that stupid show, except that the number one slot was held by the show itself. As the show neared its frothy conclusion, we were all hyped up, trying to predict what the sleaziest, most shocking and disgusting guilty pleasure could possibly be – Porno addiction! Sex with ugly people! But no. It’s watching the show. Zzzzzzzz.
Saturday morning, Red Beard had to take a golf lesson. I stayed in bed briefly after the door closed, but then got up and had a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream while I checked my email. Then I got back into bed. I was snoozing when Red Beard got home at noon.
I got up and we hopped in the shower together. We got jiggy (got jiggy??? Yes. We got jiggy!!!) in the bathtub, followed by the bathroom counter wherein I sat with my rear at the edge of the counter and Red Beard stood before me in all his glory. Then still, ehem, in tact, I held on tight while he picked me up and carried me to the bed where we completed the mission. I had to jump back in the shower after that. There’s nothing like some good lovin’ to help me forget I’m sick.
Saturday night, we met up with some pepes for a nice steak dinner. We were home in bed by 10-something, which was fantastic, especially for a sick person who is used to abusing herself with copious amounts of alcohol every Saturday night. I don’t think that staying out late and getting seriously drunk would be an effective move towards recovery.
I don’t remember Sunday. It’s a sad fact. I must have basically coughed and moaned a lot. I think I laid in bed while Red Beard tried to get me up. I know that much because I faintly recall his saying, “Get UP!” at one stage. I also don’t remember what we had for dinner. I usually can piece together my days based on what I ate and when. I’m guessing the erased memory glitch is due to sinus congestion which dulls my sense of taste, which in turn renders me amnesic. Hence, I don’t remember Sunday.
Oh wait – I just remembered that Sunday we bought a fish, which we named Thaddeus. I’ll have to take a picture of the little blue bugger. Then Sunday night, we met up with Toughie and I ate roughly a five-gallon vat of chili over a jumbo bag of Fritos, topped with a blob of sour cream the size of my head and a wheel of cheddar cheese, shredded of course. As soon as I shake this cold, I better start doing some extreme workouts or I’m going to split my pants. This morning as I stuck my head in the dryer in search of gym clothes, Red Beard came up behind me and scrutinized the back of my pants and I thought he was going to say that I’d split the seam, but there was just something like chalk or deodorant marring the fabric. Phew, no pants splitting yet anyway.
I can't believe I forgot what else happened Sunday. Get a load of this: Bozo called Red Beard and asked to speak to me. Bozo then apologized to me for initially excluding me from his guest list and extended an invitiation for me to come to the wedding. Apology accepted, water under the bridge, all's well that ends well, etc. Thank GOD.
Monday, Red Beard went to his mommy’s and helped her with some chores around the house while I neatened up our apartment. This means I put away almost every last item that was out of place. You have no idea how messy the apartment had been since my move. I had boxes and clothes and just general crap strewn all over the place.
I am not a neat person by nature and neither is Red Beard. However, as civilized human beings, we have our limits and that state of affairs was outlandish. Red Beard should get a frickin’ medal for his patience in the matter. Now I just have to file a few papers, we’ll hang some art work, and voila! All done, capiche and perfecto.
It’s now very satisfying to survey the apartment and to be able to see that it functions as a living space, instead of looking around and wondering where the hell all of this crap is going to go. Red Beard pointed out that now we can have people over without being embarrassed. Bonus.
Last night we had some more glorious sex. In fact, we had glorious sex all damn weekend. Maybe that’s why this was the best weekend ever. I actually live with this superb creature, and I get to do him. All. The. Time. I’m one lucky sonuvabitch.