June 22, 2009

Rambling Story about Sunday

It was like something out of a nerd version of Gossip Girls. Or now that I think about it, I think there was an episode of Veronica Mars like that, where the parent of the runnerup to Valedictorian paid a con man to harass the honor roll kids the week of final exams, playing ding-dong-ditch at all hours of the night, calling their cell phones early every morning, cutting the power, etc to ensure that her child got the scholarship. But while I was an honor student I wasn't close to being valedictorian. Homecoming queen, yes, but not valedictorian.

I'm digressing.

Sunday morning I got drunk-dialed by a wrong number at 3 AM, and then a wrong number at 6 AM, another one at 7:30, and yet a third at 8. A different number asking for a different person each time; it smelled like a conspiracy. Eventually, I just bit the bullet, turned on the tv, got out of bed, and cursed myself for being out of coffee.

So why didn't I just turn off my phone? Because the boyfriend was driving back from Michigan, and planned on leaving early in the morning to try and miss the worst of Chicago traffic, with the hope of stopping off at the IKEA to pick up some stuff for our apartment when we move in together in about six weeks.

He attended a wedding at home this weekend, and there's a little bit of a backstory as to why I didn't tag along. Long story short, the boyfriend's roommate was accidentally committing a federal offense by hording the mail in her room. Occasionally she would just drop off some spam and such on the dining room table, and he pays his bills online so it's not like he thought he was missing anything. But she walked (or rather, waddled) out of her room on Tuesday evening and plopped down a big pile of mail on the kitchen table and apologized for accidentally keeping some of the mail in her room.

A lot of it was junk, old church bulletins and offers to change his long distance plan, but there were a few important things in that pile. Like a Christmas check from his grandma. Letters detailing problems with his car registration renewal. And an invitation to a wedding that was in four days.

It was too late for me to ask off of work, and after a few calls to friends and the bride, he was able to squeeze in to the ceremony and reception since a friend's "plus one" couldn't make it. And so I had a weekend of bachelordom, which I spent working and watching the "West Wing".

He left late Friday night and planned on coming back Sunday as soon as possible, and so I didn't want to turn off my phone in case he was in an accident, or if he found something fantastic at the IKEA.

Finally, after watching a couple cooking shows on PBS, the boyfriend finally calls to give me an estimated time of arrival, which wouldn't be til late afternoon. And man oh man, the things he wanted to do to me after a weekend apart. Or rather, the things he wanted me to do to him. Cat sounds!

Brilliant mastermind that I am, I realized that I would have to take a nap to be at the top of my game later that evening. And the most consistent way to make me take a nap is a food coma caused by Indian buffet. Oh, deliciousness that is Chicken Tikka Masala, and then a food coma comparable to Thanksgiving, only I didn't have to mess with nosy relatives.

There's nothing better than that. Especially when you have a horny boyfriend on his way home.

And that's my rambling story about Sunday. Oh, and later that evening we watched Top Chef Masters, which made us mostly want to watch the new season of the original. The end.
Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.