08.25.2003 - 1:35 p.m.
In case you missed it, earlier I posted a rather maudlin (and by the way, fictional) little piece for Pineapple Girl's Music for the Masses collab.
It's Monday again, can you believe it? The summer weekends have been flying by all too quickly. Labor Day is looming right around the corner, after which I must tidy away all my white shoes for yet another year.
Sha. As if. Antiquated clothing etiquette rules can kiss my caboose. (Not that I have any white shoes, though. I must buy shoes now! Yes! So I can stick it to The Man!)
Saturday JB got home from China and both Dog and I greeted him with ecstatic wriggles and yelps. I then corralled him into a brisk afternoon of spreading bark mulch, which is just as thrilling as it sounds except with more eentsy annoying splinters. We grilled burgers later that night and vegged happily in front of yet another Netflix'd Sopranos.
Later, there was the Consumption of the Skinny Cow Fudge Bar. And lo, it was good.
Sunday was my office-mate Molly's wedding in Poulsbo. The site was outdoors in a garden setting, and the flowers and foliage everywhere were really something. Actually, the whole thing was just beautiful and touching and classy and everything a wedding should be and I totally got choked up like four times so, you know, hooray for kleenex.
(It's funny, what with sharing an office with her I've been hearing about the preparations for months now, and it was surprisingly fulfilling to see the whole thing come together. Sort of like watching several episodes of Project Greenlight, then finally seeing the movie, you know?)
We took my coworkers Brian and Scott with us to the wedding, and JB assumed the gallant and sorrowful job of being the designated driver. Meaning, of course, that the rest of us could root through the open bar like truffle pigs. It was a hot and sunny day, so the cold beer and wine went down nicely.
When it was time to leave, two of us were mildly buzzed but Scott was plainly hammered. Not a shitfaced sloppy drunk, but a happy slurry drunk filled with childlike wonder. He sat in the back seat giggling helplessly.
Me: "What's the joke, Scott?"
Scott: "Hee hee hee. Driving is just so funny. Hee!"
Behavior like this, in my experience, sometimes precedes a hearty bout of projectile vomiting, so I gently asked that he let us know before spewing a geyser of semi-digested Chardonnay inside the 4Runner.
Scott: "Oh no, I'm fine. Hee hee hee."
When we approached the Bainbridge ferry we had to wait in a line of cars alongside the road. As the minutes ticked by, Scott decided he really, really, really had to pee. Really. So he got out of the car and, somewhat unsteadily, scaled the little hill on the side of the road to relieve himself in some bushes. Then he turned, and in full view of all the waiting cars, slowly made his way back down. About 5 feet from the bottom of the hill, which sloped into a ditch, I was visited by a prophetic glimpse of the future.
Me: "He's going to fall."
It was, and I say this while assuring you that I am deeply fond of Scott and he is a wonderful person, one of the funniest things I have ever had the fortune to bear witness to in my entire life.
He fell forward, then somehow rolled onto his back while sliding, and landed in the ditch with enough force so his legs flew upwards briefly before flopping back down. Compassionately, Brian and I immediately burst into enormous donkey brays of laughter, to the point of wheezing and making little moaning sounds.
Me: "HA HA HA HA HAAAAAA! Eeeeee."
Brian: "Oh, oh, oh! HAAAAAAAAAAR HAR HAR!"
JB: "Heh. Brian, you better make sure he's all right."
Brian: "HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Okay."
The whole tumble was almost completely boneless, as though he had been the victim of a sniper. Afterwards, he just lay in the ditch. Brian got out of the car and staggered over to him, having to stop every couple seconds to rest his hands on his knees and laugh some more. I pounded the dashboard in the car, whinnying hysterically.
Obviously, both Brian and I are going to hell. But lucky for everyone involved, Scott was fine and none the worse for wear, except for a new and impressive collection of tiny burrs all over the back of his shirt.
After Scott was back in the car, a bystander walked by us and pointed in at him.
Bystander: "That was cool, man."
Me: "GAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAWWW!"
Eventually I calmed down enough to enjoy the ferry ride back to Seattle. It was dark by then, and the city was spread before us in a gorgeous Lite-Brite display. It was a satisfying end to an entertaining day that offered up both a lover's pledge - and a coworker's plunge.
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