I’m…so…tired. Can’t…think…very…hard. So forgive me if this makes no sense. To recap my weekend:
My grandmother is in town visiting, and she is staying with my parents. Translation: My mother is going to kill someone soon – hopefully NOT my grandmother (my father’s mother – for those of you who hadn’t guessed already). My job was to run interference over the weekend – this basically meant I spent the weekend with my parents and let them feed me.
Saturday night involved meeting up with mom and dad, my grandmother, brother, and sister-in-law for dinner in Manhattan. It was decadent and wonderful, the company was lovely, and I got drunkety drunk drunk. (Seriously, I woke up at 3am with the whirlies.)
Note: I enjoy getting dressed up and going to a REALLY nice restaurant more than most people, but spending more than $1,000 on one meal does seem a bit excessive to me. Not excessive enough to stop me from thoroughly enjoying it, but…I wish I made more money. Guess I’ll just have to marry well (or keep mooching off my parents).
Anyway, back to the story. So on Sunday my parents were having a barbeque at their house; my brother and sister-in-law were bringing out my nephews to swim in the pool, and a bunch of other people were going to be there. Just to torture me, my father made his ribs (my all-time FAVORITE food). He also made Johnsonville brats. Fuck – being a vegetarian sucks.
But I stuck to my guns, explained why I was staring at everyone like I wanted to kill – simply because they were eating what I wanted to be eating – and endured the endless feedback/opinions/blatant mocking of those present. Some comments on my new vegetarian kick:
My sister-in-law: (Note: She’s fucking awesome, but she doesn’t pull any punches) “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard – you’re too old to be going through a phase like this. I would have accepted this right after you finished college, but not now. Cut it out.”
My mother’s friend: (Note: She is blunt to the point of scaring people – not surprisingly, we get along really well when we’re not at each other’s throat) “Men won’t want to date you if you’re a vegetarian, Redhead. They like a woman who will go out and order a steak, NOT a salad. So get over your guilt – I’m sick of waiting for you and your sister to get married.”
There were many other things said as well, that those were the most colorful. So…yup. Anyway, the real highlight of the day took place by the pool. Let me set the scene: My brother was in the pool with my nephew (the older one who’s going to turn 2 next month) – and they were having a great time playing and laughing. A group of us (yes, all women) were gathered around on lounge chairs watching them and chatting. (Shut up – they looked cute as hell.)
So, the lounge chairs my parents have by the pool are a nice light gray, and they’re made of a mesh type fabric – except for the frames, which are metal (duh). And we’ve had them for years. I was sitting on the end of one holding my other nephew (the younger one that you might remember from a few weeks back), and I was talking to my sister-in-law (who was enjoying a cocktail even though she was also hung over from the night before). And then…
I was on the ground. Holding a 7 MONTH OLD BABY up above my sprawled, prostrate, and (now) very bruised body. (Note: It was a miracle that when I went down, I didn’t mindlessly use him to break my fall – that would have put me on the all-time Bad Aunt list. But no (chest puffed out), instead I allowed myself to hit the ground HARD, without using my hands to break the fall at all, because I INNATELY chose to keep the child aloft and out of harm’s way. Yes, I am a rock star.)
Anyway there I was, flat on my back (kind of like a turtle – you may remember the position from this night), holding my nephew up and listening to the sounds of surprise as everyone gathered around us. And I was trying to process WHAT THE FUCK HAD JUST HAPPENED.
Oh, and my ass felt like I’d just broken it (fucking concrete around the pool). On the plus side, the baby wasn’t crying – he mainly just looked surprised – so for that…thank fucking God.
Anyway, once the baby was whisked away I chose to remain collapsed on the ground (I was taking a moment), and that’s when it finally hit me – I had fucking BROKEN a piece of furniture. A piece of furniture had been no match for the weight of my ass.
Hmmm…humbling. If I were a lesser person I might have taken that as a sign to immediately stop eating. Forever.
Thankfully, I am not that kind of chick. Plus, in my defense, 1) I’m not fat – I’m just not (broken furniture notwithstanding). So I was able to keep my sense of humor about the whole thing (although I really do think I’ve fucked up my tailbone). In fact, I went inside almost immediately after the Lounge Chair Debacle of ’07 to tell everyone who’d missed it what had happened – boy were they bummed they hadn't been there. THEN I went into work the next day and wrote a blog post about it – I have no shame. 2) The mesh on the chair I had chosen was ripped along the frame on one side when I sat down – it was being held together by a couple inches of mesh that were still attached. My sitting on it precisely where I did (at it’s most vulnerable point) was really just a bad call on my part (and totally something I would do – way to pay attention Redhead). It was an accident waiting to happen if you will. I was merely a victim of circumstance. (Shut up.)
So…that was it. That was my weekend – kind of mellow actually. What about you guys? Anyone have any good stories for me?