Fitting in the Fun (and run-on sentences)

Late Friday afternoon I drove into the “city” to meet Monk for drinks at a fairly happening place near his office. We sat out back and enjoyed the semi-sunny, mild weather, caught a buzz and waited for PhotoGirl and her ol’ ball and chain to arrive for dinner. Monk and I have been catching up with each other maybe once a week these days (which admittedly is a bit strange when you’re married and inhabiting the same house) and it had been months (months?! Is that right?!) since we’d hung out with PhotoGirl and Co., so the laidback afternoon/evening outing was just a fantastic way to start the weekend.

(I could have done without the table next to us blowing smoke directly on our heads, or the somewhat slow and inattentive service, but I'm sure everyone else could have done without my half-assed attempt at dressing myself and my less-than-sophisticated Scotch-tasting feedback: "It tastes like deodorant. And bandaids." So, even Stevens I guess.)

(Can't take me anywhere.)

That same night I threw on a pair of drawstring pants and a t-shirt and headed back out to to meet Climbsalot and his crew for a little late night climbing session. While having a few (several!) drinks, eating a ton of food, then sobering up and getting sleepy isn’t the best recipe for a successful climbing excursion, I was ready to tackle some wall. I admit to feeling a bit Ocean’s Eleven as we all pulled up one by one in the dark parking lot, waited for the paying members to exit the climbing gym, silently stepped past the front desk and began to suit up. Something about the clinking of the carabiners and the clicking of the harnesses, then someone putting in a (nearly) heavy metal mix as we got down to business… Okay, maybe not Ocean’s Eleven. But something like that, if they all worked at the casino during the day and snuck in at night to play, and if the casino was actually a rock climbing gym. And they didn't talk very much except for things like "climbing!" then "climb on!" And they were all much younger with things like "meeting on the quad" and "final exams" to worry about. And no one was really stealing anything. Except like a bottle of water but whatever I left a dollar at the front desk for that.

I came home a little before 2 in the morning, sweaty and bruised and feeling like I’d just successfully completed my initiation into the Badass Club. And despite waking up Saturday morning and feeling like some unidentifiable crap you try in vain to scrape off the bottom of your shoe that you’re pretty sure came out of someone else’s body at some point and it’s really grossing you out and you could probably just change shoes but dammit you really like these flip flops… ahem. It was totally worth it. (I did end up cancelling tentative plans with another friend for Saturday, but we’ve rescheduled for Thursday- such a relief since I wasn’t sure how I’d fuel my drinking problem that evening).

Really, what the hell did I do with myself when I wasn’t triple-booking my Friday nights?

1 comment:

Blogger Lisa said...

Sounds like you are off to a fun weekend. The rock climbing thing is one of those things I really admire you for... Because I'm pretty sure I'm too chicken to do it.

10:06 PM  

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