Thursday, May 26, 2005

Welcome Home

This isn't the first time I've started to write this post. In fact, I've been home from my Cleveland to Cape Cod adventure for two days and I've started writing at least a dozen times.

Usually, as I live my life, I am very much inside of my head. I'm constantly creating stories, reliving my past, dreaming about my future, or composing blog posts in my head as I go about my day. I live very inside of myself.

But this past week, I've been living very much in the moment. I went days and days without even thinking about blogging. I was thinking about bloggers, but not blogging.

And now I find myself with an album full of pictures, a head full of caught moments, and a heart full of bipolar emotions and no words to express them.

So I've decided to brain dump. I'm going to start writing about my trip and you can come along for the ride. And if I start to embarrass myself or my friend, just look away until I compose myself and than we can all continue on like nothing happened. Okay?

On the morning of my birthday, after attending a completely useless board meeting at my daughter's school, my husband and son dropped me off at the airport for my trip to Cleveland to meet this beautiful man. My phone rang before I could even get off the plane in Cleveland and in true Patrick-style, he talked to me all the way through my walk through the concourse.

And I have to tell you guys, though he'll probably give me guff over it, Patrick is looking good! And you better believe I'm not the only one who noticed.

We headed right over to his softball team's practice and I got to meet a bunch of his friends all at once. As we pulled up to the field I had to ask Patrick, "Where are all the mini vans and SUV's?" Every single car in the lot (including the one we were driving in) was cute and little. What the hell?

Then Patrick took me out for my birthday to a really nice restaurant with amazing service and excellent food. They also had Sangria and we split a pitcher. And don't tell Patrick but I didn't really drink all that much of it. We probably split it 75-25, and we left a good third of the pitcher behind.

But, apparently, this place is known for their complimentary shots. They gave us each a traditional Portuguese almond liquor shot. Now, I have never done a shot before in my life. And I had never planned to. But I couldn't not drink it. And I didn't want to make Patrick drink it since he was driving. And it is the traditional shot of my native people. So I did the best I could. It took two swallows to get it down. And somehow, I feel like my reputation has been forever tarnished.

We parked back at Patrick's house and walked over to the closest gay bar. Where Patrick proceeded to pour Cosmos down my throat. I think we had three. And Patrick, of course, just had to tell the owner that it was my birthday. And the owner just had to give us two more complimentary shots. They were blue. They were twice as big as a shot should be. And I have no idea what was in them. But, once again, I couldn't not drink them. Ugh.

I think it was at this point that we called Rick. I honestly don't remember. At some point Patrick bought me a chocolate cake shot (which isn't brown). I do remember how all the boys were checking out Patrick. And I do remember one freaky man trying to get in good with me when Patrick went to the bathroom.

Weird Man: "So are you sad that he's leaving?"
Me: "Well, I'm not from here."
Weird Man: (laughing at me) "I asked if you were sad that he's leaving."
Me: "Well, I'm still not from here."

Considering how much I drank, I wasn't actually that drunk. I was able to walk down the stairs and find the ladies room with no problem. We walked home to Patrick's house and crashed.

When Patrick's alarm went off at 6 a.m. the next morning, I could have cheerfully killed him. He dragged me out of bed, made me walk to the the Starbucks, and then marched me on a five mile hike along the lake edge. What is it with Patrick torturing me with physical exercise?

Then, after all this walking, we took off for Cedar Point amusement park.

I had a blast at the park. Though Patrick did try to starve and freeze me. It was a cold and rainy day, but the lines were short and we rode every coaster there. We met Shamus there too, and that was fun. It's been about seven years (since my first pregnancy) since I was able to ride a roller coaster. And I love them. And Cedar Point has the best. As Patrick noted on his blog, I did scream on the Top Thrill Dragster (or something like that), but this ride is indescribable.

We stayed until the park closed and then made haste for some food. And then...oh dear lord...and then we met up with some of his friends (including Ann) at a bar with strippers.

This freaked me the hell out. It wasn't the strippers who freaked me out, even when they were completely naked. Oh no, it was the audience. I think the girls can back me up here. When we go to a male strip show we act like it's a party. We hoot and holler and whistle and scream. We dance and tip nicely. (Well, I don't, but you know what I mean.)

The guys in this bar were just standing there. Watching. Not saying a word. Not cracking a smile. And they didn't hand over the tips just to be nice. They had to grab, fondle, tweak, or worse before they handed over their tip. Or worse, they would stand behind the strippers and grind into them. The strippers would stand there talking to someone, or just looking bored, while they ground their ass for some extra cash.


Oh, and by the way, Patrick got a very serious offer from the owner of the bar to be a stripper. I told you he was looking good.

And on that note...I think I've written enough for today. Join me tomorrow when I'll talk about tanning, packing, flirty boys, pajamas, and my cleavage.

(Oh, and I'll get around to the title of the post too.)


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