Right now, I want to punch Google+ in the face. WHAT HAVE YOU EVER DONE FOR ME, GOOGLE+? NOT ONE FUCKING THING. In the past week, I have gotten three emails from Google+, each taunting me that Google+ has someone I know and whom I may want to join my circle. Two of these three were ex-boyfriends, and the third was the friend who dumped me back in March of '11. Do I want to be friends with them? HELL NO, GOOGLE+. FUCK YOU. I don't even remember most of the time that I HAVE Google+ and I think I only have it anyway because of my Droid (the phone, not the Star Wars character, for those of you who are confused-- and I KNOW some of you are). And if the Universe has teamed with Google+ and set out to get me (which is exactly how I feel after those "friend" alerts) then YOU CAN SUCK IT TOO, UNIVERSE.
Okay. Enough about that.
I'm actually in a rather good mood today, despite what you may believe after reading the above paragraph. The weather kicks ass, two of my favorite people (D&M) are coming over for dinner before they jet off to a two-year stint in Okinawa (unfortunately, I haven't yet figured out what we're having for dinner or if we HAVE anything I can force B to grill-- I suspect as long as I have plenty of alcohol, and I do, we're all good), and the minions are attending VBS this week somewhere on the other side of Suffolk. (I don't know what church, nor do I know the name of the lady whom they are going with-- I literally just SEND THEM OFF WITH A TOTAL STRANGER I KNOW AS "GRANDMA." I AM SO NOT KIDDING ABOUT THIS.) The point is, I'm feeling pretty low-key, which is impressive for me. I haven't even vacuumed since yesterday. HIGH FIVE FOR ME.
Things have been kind of spotty here lately, with Maddie May moving to the Great Beyond and all of my friends moving to, well, all over the rest of the world. There have definitely been some good times, though, and I thought I would use this opportunity to share one of them with you: The Father's Day Trip To See Dave Matthews Band.
OUR STORY BEGINS
I bought B tickets to see DMB ON Father's Day, FOR Father's Day. B has loved DMB since their early days in Charlottesville when he was an undergrad at UVA and used to go hear them play in dive bars. A group of our friends were going to the concert as a last hoorah before they all leave (one of approximately 8 last hoorahs at this point) so we joined up with them. There were ten of us, total, stuffing ourselves into two SUV's-- one driven by a husband who had to work early the next day (not mine) and one driven by our sweet, patient, 8 1/2 MONTHS FREAKING PREGNANT friend, EB. Both were great designated drivers because neither could drink. (Surprisingly enough, I, too, was sober this night as I had passed out in my bathroom floor after roughly sixty ounces of vodka and cranberry juice in a two-hour time period and on an empty stomach the night before. I had awakened at one point to find four children (or, frankly, they could have been elves, midgets, leprechauns.....who the fuck knows-- not me, I had had WAY too much alcohol) surrounding me and overheard one say, "Is that rolled-up towel under her head supposed to be a pillow?" as they poked at me curiously. Another one (the oldest, who is probably....12? maybe?......said, "She's fine. That's what grown-ups look like when they have too much to drink." GOOD TIMES, Y'ALL.) I had not been asked to drive despite my sobriety because I CAN'T FUCKING DRIVE FOR SHIT. But that's a total side note.
Anyway, you have the preface. Here are some of the highlights of our evening:
1. Watching in amazement as one of my girlfriends smuggled FOUR airplane bottles of vodka in UNDER HER BREASTS WHILE WEARING NO BRA. That, bitches, is some talent. Do you know how many bottles of vodka I could smuggle in under MY braless boobs? NONE. Sad, but true.
2. Watching, yet again, in amazement as EB hiked her extremely pregnant self up a damn MOUNTAIN to get to our seats WITHOUT going into labor OR tripping and rolling down the hill, taking out a bevy of DMB tree-huggin' granola-eatin' pot-smokin' groupies along the way. GIRLFRIEND HAS STAMINA. When I was pregnant, I would NEVER have been that badass. I would have demanded to be carried up the hill and then situated on my own, private, air-conditioned pedestal where nobody could INVADE MY FUCKING SPACE.
3. Being able to sit on our blanket, take a deep breath, hold it in, and get abso-fucking-lutely stoned just from being in close proximity to so much good weed. Good thing J brought those pretzels.
4. A spirited argument with B, who was jammed in the third seat between two of my smokin' hot friends so that I could sit in the middle seat and NOT feel like I was going to get carsick (I don't think he minded that much), regarding how much more beer he could handle without puking. Turns out, I had the cooler tucked beneath my legs in the car, so I was the MASTER OF THE BEER. If anybody wanted it, they were going to have to come and get it. And, seeing as how I was one of the few sober ones on this adventure (quick props to my one other sober friend, Tina, who was one of the hot chicks sitting by B) and all those other drunkards who had far surpassed their tolerable alcohol intake quantities, I had to use my judgement wisely. And my judgement felt the need to inform everyone that WHEN B PUKED FROM DRINKING TOO MUCH I WAS WALKING TO EACH OF THEIR INDIVIDUAL HOUSES (we all live in the same neighborhood) TO WAKE THEIR DUMB ASSES UP AND MAKE THEM COME CLEAN UP THE PUKE BECAUSE I DON'T FUCKING DO PUKE, ESPECIALLY PUKE FROM MY HUSBAND WHO SHOULD HAVE LEARNED THAT LESSON A LONG DAMN TIME AGO. I WOULD BEAT ON THEIR DOORS AND USE THEIR DOOR CODES (several of which I know) TO COME IN AND PEEL THEM FROM THE COMFORT OF THEIR BEDS AND MAKE THEIR LIVES AS MISERABLE AS MINE WOULD BE AT THAT MOMENT. And they KNEW I would, because that's how I roll. Lucky for everybody, my B can hold his beer. There was no puke.
5. Getting LOTS of blackmail-worthy photos of my Peoples and realizing just how much I was going to miss this bond we all had. (Then remembering that I'm an Introvert and I don't like anyone, thus negating said realization.)
It was the best Father's Day I've had since I lost my Dad, the first one I've had where I didn't spend the whole day wishing the best for B and secretly begrudging all those people my age who still had their Dad. I think it means I'm moving forward a little bit at a time. Maybe I WILL miss those friends after all.