Sunday, October 28, 2007

Just Because I Love You So. . .

Here are some Weekend Photos for your viewing pleasure. We'll start with Friday night, when we all met at what David calls, with just the slightest--just the merest, teensiest!--hint of derision in his voice, The Church of Starbucks. He will come to join us only because Gabriel is there and is soon leaving us. Otherwise? He'd never set foot near it. Why? I have no idea. Maybe it's that coffee and liquor (remember: he manages Pinkies, one of the local liquor stores) do not = Best Friends. Whatever.

So he comes to meet us so we can go out to eat, and Gabriel has a present for him. It is, perhaps, the Very Best Present Ever Given in the History of the World. It's that good. Yes, it is. Not to me, or to The EGE. Or to anyone who doesn't salivate at the words "Star Wars." But none of those would be David, who actually has a Star Wars Room in the house he and Keith share (Keith has a quilting room, so it all works out). But David will snort derisively and remind you that, before he met and fell in love with Keith and "Still Had My Own Apartment," he had a Star Wars APARTMENT, thank you very much! This room is a step down.

Never mind. So Gabriel found a Star Wars Pop-Up Book and bought it for David. And David nearly lost his mind. I'm serious. Twenty years older and the boy would have been at serious risk for a stroke or aneurysm or exploding head or SOMETHING. There was stomping and gasping and squealing and yelling and flailing about. The barista who was on drive-through came out to bring our drinks and saw the book and, because he was on a call and couldn't actually yell, just started jumping up and down and pumping his arms. You know how sometimes you find The Perfect Present for someone? Well, Gabe did that. It was absolutely perfect. I think that means that he never, ever has to shop for a gift for anyone ever, ever again. Except maybe for Mother's Day. I don't think you get a pass on that one. . . .
Gabriel was actually heard to utter, in the ensuing GeekFest, "Wookies are so awesome."
(The EGE and I have seen, ahem, only the first in the series that is The Joy of Star Wars, and that was WAY back when, and all we remember aside from the groovy robots is the cinnamon-roll hairdo of Princess Leia. Whatever her name is. We were soooo in the dark as Becky and Gabriel and David oooohed and aaaaaahed over the finer points of the pop-ups. Which were quite fine--I have edited a pop-up book, and this one was outstanding.)
And then we all repaired to The Garlic Press, to which The EGE and I had never been, since it has the word "garlic" in it. Although we like garlic if it's roasted, the name seemed to imply all things garlic-like, which might include onions, which we do NOT like. Even roasted, I don't imagine. So we'd never gone. Turns out it's rather ritzy, as far as Midland restaurants go. And that's always fun, as Midlanders are SUCH a hoot. There's such a snobbish, class-ish thing here, where certain sorts of people think they have laid claim to certain sorts of places and tend to wonder what other people--people who look like, oh, ME, for instance--are doing even deigning to wander in, let alone sit down and eat. Yeah, my home town (or as close to one as I have, apparently) is just the teensiest bit snobbish. Classist. Racist? Oh, dare I even hint? Let's just say that The EGE and David were the only Diners of Color that night.

So imagine us: Me and The EGE, David and Keith and Gabriel and Becky. None of us are exactly what they have in mind as their typical diner. But what can they say? (Well, apparently, "Hey, Coach Zack! How're you doing? Ms. Zach! I saw you on TV last week!") It was fun. The food wasn't bad, but wasn't that fab, either. They could have done way better on the escargot. And the tapenade. But we had a great time, as always. The food is always secondary. Or tertiary: friends and laughing first, wine second. Then the food. Except The EGE and Becky and Gabe don't drink wine. . . .
Eh. Their loss. We always let David pick the wine, since that's his specialty and the reason he was made manager of this particular store, with the largest wine selection. He never makes a bad choice and remembers what we like with what. Like my own personal sommelier. Ooooh!

ANYWAY. So here's David, who was sitting next to me and being the Irritating Carnivore that he is, trying to see how far he could take it before I just slugged him or passed out from disgustedness. This used to be a tiny, cute little baby sheep, AKA a LAMB, before he wrestled it down and tore out its throat and threw it on the firepit, still bleating and calling for its mother.

That boy.

That was Friday. Last night they went to the midnight viewing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Last year we went with. It was the first--and last--time I'd had too much to drink in years and years. I'm always very aware of just how much I've had to drink (two glasses of wine is pretty much the limit these days. I've never been into the heavy drinking, what with not having a cast iron stomach.). But it was a Saturday, and we'd been working in the yard all day. I hadn't eaten, and apparently David had set the goal of getting me drunk. He stuck to me like a flea all night long and kept putting plastic cups of wine in front of me so discreetly that I didn't realize it wasn't the same tacky little cup just never getting less full. About halfway through the viewing, I realized I'd had too much to drink. I don't know about y'all, but this feeling wasn't fun even 35 years ago, when I was young and stupid. And now? I loathe it. And when it happens--as it has about once a decade in my adult years--I have to walk. A lot.

So I got up and left the theater and walked home and went to bed. It was a long walk, but I felt better for it. And vowed to keep an eye on that wascally David forever after.

Anyway. So I didn't have a great time last year. Plus it was noisy and I couldn't see the movie (which I've never seen--yeah, I know: I'm a loser) and I couldn't hear and the floor was sticky and everyone was drunk--and those aren't my favorite kind of people, even when I'm nearly one of them. So this year we opted out. And let someone else have our tickets. But The Boys came over here to do their make-up before they went, and here they are:

Keith was a pirate. I made him do more Johnny Depp-ish make-up, as he hadn't gotten into it enough. It made his eyes look even MORE fabulous than they already do on a daily basis, don't you think?

And David was wearing the flight suit he adores, the one he got at the garage sale. Remember it?

And Gabe was a Goth Cowboy in a see-through shirt and totally creeped me out with the lips. Keith did something with the lipstick so that the outsides were dark but the insides were pale, and it was creepy and horrible. Gabriel, of course, loved it. It was very corpse-ish, which was the point, but icky.

They had a great time and came over this afternoon and told us all about it. All the women lusted after Gabriel, poor thing. And not a cute unattached man in sight. . . .

Then, before we went out to their house for dinner (remember: this is the Long Goodbye, as Gabriel is leaving for LA on Thursday, and we're hanging out together a LOT, already sad and all), The EGE and I ran some errands, and I got some photos of this sign that has just been making me so very happy every single time I pass by it. Isn't it just the BEST?

1 comment:

Penny A said...

Good Lord, woman -- I dearly love where I live (NC), and missed it terribly on the occasions that I lived elsewhere (TN and DC); but you have nearly convinced me that I might need to live in Midland, TX!?! Great pix, and a wonderful tale (as always!) Revel in the memories of the Long Farewell!
- p