And a drop too much to drink.
I can't possibly convey in words how absolutely wonderful it is to be sitting here in this tiny, unfurnished, hotter-than-hell apartment with an actual computer with actual Internet access sitting in my actual lap.
Oh god, how I've missed the Internet.
The kids and I had a wonderful couple of weeks on Cape Cod. We did the things we never have time to do at home like swim and fly kites and finish puzzles and talk. The only thing missing was my husband.
(I have to admit that I'm not loving his new overly-demanding job. Especially since it doesn't seem to be making him overly-happy.)
But being within judging distance of my parents was grating on my nerves. So my kids are spending their apparently annual week with their grandparents, and I'm staying the week with Patrick in New York City.
And I am racked with guilt. Especially since my husband got home from his "business trip" sooner than had originally been planned. If one more person tells me how "understanding" my husband is, I'm going to kick his or her fucking ass.
It didn't help when Patrick and I ran into MAK out at the Gym sports bar and the first words out of MAK's mouth were, "Don't you have kids to take care of?"
But I worked through my guilt with four drinks. Here's a tip for any of you straight girls who'd like to get really drunk at a gay bar. Just summon the cute bartender by cooing, "Oh, hot boy! I need a drink!"
I had said it for MAK's benefit only, but hot boy actually heard me (Man, my voice can carry when it's the only female one in the room.) and that had to have been the strongest drink any bartender has ever poured. A glass of vodka with a little cranberry for color for the lady.
I just love pink drinks.
As always it was very nice to connect with MAK for a while. That boy is so adorable that it is distracting sometimes. And no. Regardless of what you may have heard, he didn't hump me at the bar. At least not this weekend.
Being very drunk that night helped me sleep in the pizza oven that Patrick calls an apartment. But only for the couple of hours until I sobered up. And then I snoozed on and off and had nightmares about not being able to find a single Diet Coke in this whole damn city.
On very little sleep we spent the next day in non-stop New Yorker mode. We shopped in Union Square, walked through SOHO, drooled over furniture for the pizza oven and the hottest dress ever (by this designer) for my someday size six body. (Okay, I'd be plenty happy with a size ten body.) I should note here that Patrick rarely lets me eat. I'm going to start calling him Jenny Craig. But I begged him to stop and share some Chinese food.
We also stopped by the hospital to do a friend of his a favor. I begged Patrick to buy a fan for the pizza oven (Which he did in good grace. He even carried it the sixteen blocks home.) And we got home in just enough time to shower and get ready for Broadway Bares.
Broadway Bares was awesome, but I think I'll write about that tomorrow. I need to find one particular picture to illustrate just how amazing the show was.
Upon exiting, I wiped the drool off my face and we walked by the line for the later show to see if we could say hello to MAK and his other half. We also ran into Jase and Crash. I felt so pop-u-lar. Are there any non-bloggers in the naked city?
I had to offer Patrick a blow job* to get him to let me eat again. And I sucked down three Diet Cokes in my favorite little late night diner before curling up next to my new fan.
*A note to my husband: Ummm, that's not really true, Sweetie. That was one of those times when a line just popped into my head and I couldn't help but use it. Hmmm, I think I may have to blog about that tomorrow. I love you and miss you. You're so understanding.
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