The freakin’ weekend:
- On Friday night, J. and B. and I decided to change things up a little and go undercover and hit all the horrible chode-infested southside bars we could. B. faked a foreign exchange student accent, I pretended like it was my 21st birthday, and J. went so far into character as to stop at a Walgreen’s and purchase an OU visor, which he wore upside down and backwards until B. and I made him stop. The prom-going kids at the convenience store looked predictably bewildered when we pulled up in J.’s Saab converitble and asked them to buy us beer. And to the teenage boy with the clear braces in the Chevy Corsica who tried in vain to race us at the stoplight: you have won my heart.
- I attended my younger brother’s baccalaureate on Sunday, and, the Amy Grant solo aside, it really wasn’t as excruciating as I’d expected. Only I’m lying. Class of 2003, regardless of how bright and witty and supple you are now, no one wants to hear from you for at least four more years. Just trust me on this one. I wish I’d kept my mouth shut from 1995 to oh, maybe 2006.
- We rented The Tao of Steve on Sunday night, and less than five minutes into it, the DVD had to be brought to a sudden screeching halt when I jumped off the couch because HEY THAT’S MY NEIGHBOR IN THAT BAND! And it totally was.
- My baby birds flew away this weekend. Which gave me pangs of literal empty-nest syndrome, but those were cancelled out by joyous pangs of hey that means no more bird shit all over my porch!
- So much more happened, and so much of it was really really good, but seriously, are you so over me recapping my weekends in bullet points? Because I sure as hell am.
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