crazy, i know.
so anyway, we drive the "two hour drive" for like three and a half hours, and when we arrive, pickles appears to have completely forgotten that he really enjoyed himself last time we were here, and so gives riley (their dog) one look of distaste, and runs blindly into the street. and why wouldn't he? clearly suicide is a valid option when presented with the opportunity to play with another dog in a sunny yard and eat cookies all day.
at some point he got over his neurosis (to a degree) and actually did some playing. not the real kind of dog playing, but like some weird pickles soft-core version of playing, including digging through the bushes and emerging covered in bug larvae. i know, i know. that's why i'm trying to spread the love! worldwide pickles, sucka!
so Boy's friend john and his woman, john'swoman, and the two of us weirdos had some conversation which i can not really recall in too much detail because there was some uh, drinking. allegedly. i cannot confirm (or deny) the drinking. i *can* confirm a hangover (damn you, stolichnaya! damn you to hell), but that doesn't prove anything.
i like to think the conversation went something like this:
me: timely and well thought out remark regarding the current state of american society, followed by witty comment, closed with pithy yet poetic metaphor.
john: my goodness, Boy. your woman is quite erudite, not to mention beauteous beyonf measure.
john'swoman: it's true! she is quite wonderful, i feel i am better person for having met her. i certainly will be reading her blog, and spreading the buzz to all my many friends and family.
Boy: she is the light of my life and i cannot fathom how i managed to live the 10519 days (or alternately, 252456 hours, or 15147360 minutes, or 908841600 seconds) before i met her. i only wish she could possibly love me as much as i love her, evidenced by the grand gestures i'm always making, and all the luxurious diamonds i keep buying her.
unfortunately, i suspect it went something more like this:
me: we have to watch this show! they're showing botched plastic surgery! it's gross. i love it. oh, but she's not the acid face lady. this one's the face-shot-off-lady.
john'swoman: i can't believe you said that.
one of the boys: i think someone farted.
other boy: yeah, i've been gassy all day.
one of the boys: yeah, me too.
clearly by five thirty, there was a definate buzz in the air. my friend call to say they would be in pacific beach (that's "pb" to the cool kids) and so we agreed to meet them. then some blurry stuff happened, i gave Boy my phone (that was important) and john'swoman turned out to be really swell and i liked her a whole lot. that part didn't ever stop, by the way. she's cool. i even remember her name.
back in storyland, i keep calling my alleged friend to see what's going on and for some reason they were at hooters. of all places. but we didn't really want to go there, because clearly we're no fun and you know, snobby and uppity and shit, what with wanting to sample the local scene... so we said we'd wait for them where we were. a while later (possibly up to two hours, the whole time/space continuum thingie was greatly influenced by my possible ingestion of stolichnaya), they were still there, hanging out with some strange marines.
i think this is where Boy and his friend started calling my alleged friend and leaving her messages. they may have also texted her, but i do not know because all of my text messages were erased the next morning. see i told you it was important. i am clearing my name!
i know this post is kind of long and boring, but really the part that's the whole point is coming up.
so we were drunk, or atleast i was, or i mean, i may have been... and also hungry, leading to some delicious burritos. but for some reason (i heard jeebus laughing again) mine came with a side of self pity EVEN THOUGH I SAID I ONLY WANTED RICE AND BEANS. so then i got all sad because i had been blown off for bad chicken and marines (which is so uncool, because i bet i have more tattoos than they do anyway, and also i'm cuter and have bigger boobs-- and i could totally take those chickens, and possibly sucker punch those marines) so we went home so i could figuratively lick my figurative wounds.
and maybe cry a little. allegedly.
now, something that happens when Boy is drunk is that he says strange things to me and then doesn't remember them. so we're laying there in bed, and he says to me, "this is ridiculous. i can't believe you're mad at me (which i was not). i don't even know why. it's over."
that's right. he broke up with me. and then we both rolled over and went to sleep.
in the morning we snuggled and ate sausages.
and drove home, and left my sweatshirt in san diego.
totally un-funny post script: i am in no way mad at this friend. i would still very much like to see her. i also totally *heart* john'swoman and hope to spend lots and lots of time "not drinking" with them in the future.