Drained.

Oftentimes my ridiculously young friend Sara will fill us in on her weekend plans involving either driving home to Seattle to hang out with friends and/or family, or entertaining friends and/or family here. I find myself exhausted just listening to her - the sitting in a car for hours, the running around all day, the bar-hopping until the wee hours, the absolute zero me-time. I wonder how she does it. And then I remember when I was ridiculously young and did pretty much the same thing. At my advanced age I can't even imagine what it would be like to have zero me-time on my agenda. But that's kind of what this weekend has been about. Kind of. Because at my advanced age I can change plans at the drop of a hat if I want to and not feel guilty about it.

After a grueling (and I do mean grueling) month end week as an assistant on a crazy desk, getting up every flipping morning at 4am, I might add, I met up at that Mark's house (soon to be known as "That Mark and Becky's House") at around 6:30 for a backyard party. I wish I could have stayed longer and had more than two beers, but an out-of-town wedding was on the plate for Saturday and I never think I'll have enough time to get shit done, so I stayed for a couple of hours and dutifully left. I'll admit I was a bit out of sorts, considering I had started my period for the third time this month (...), was whacked by a crazy last day of the month, and kind of stressing about the next day, but had I been in my right sensibilities I would have really enjoyed hanging out with these people I haven't seen in a really long time. Alas, age is making me cognizant of my responsibilities (and the fact that if I drink more than five beers there is NO getting up and going in the morning anymore). So I half-houdini'd (meaning I said goodbye to the hosts but that was it) at a respectable 8pm. On my way out, however, I was texted from a friend who was needing some fair-food and since I was already about fifteen feet from Hillsboro, I met her at the Washington County Fair for a pronto pup and a quick lap. Not on the agenda, what with all the laundry that was needing to be done, but it's hard to turn down a corn dog, and I like the livestock exhibits at the fair (except I stepped in some unidentifiable livestock poo and just found it last night on the bottom of my flip flop. Nice.).

I think I got to bed around 11:45 (completely unheard of for me anymore) after having finished all the laundry. Got up around 6am (also crazy unheard of on a Saturday. What kind of luxury is that?) and ran copious amounts of errands, showered, and ran off to SE Portland to pick up that Whit and head east toward Hood River for the wedding. Wouldn't it have been nice if the wedding was in Hood River? I understand the Naked Winery there is nice. And no crossing that God-damned green bridge either. But alas, that Marci had her heart set on Gorge Crest Winery in beautiful Underwood, Washington. Beautiful only if you already live in Washington State and don't have to cross the Columbia River on a narrow, rickety bridge made of steel grates that allows JUST enough room for two mid-size sedans to pass each other without tearing off their side view mirrors. And it was a toll bridge, so for the low low price of $.75, I got to crawl across this flipping thing with ZERO control over the car for what seemed like forty-five minutes, gripping the wheel, clenching my teeth, certain that one wrong move would land me in the drink. I hated that bridge. I still hate that bridge. It's a stupid, stupid bridge and if I never drive over it again I'll have lived a successful life.

The good news is we were crazy early to the wedding, so we got a good parking spot.. the wedding itself was really quite beautiful.
I'll be covering the bride and her trusty sidekick, Sherri, for the next two weeks (assistants, again, but this time two, on crazy-busy desks - yay!) so there was some light-hearted (to them) joking about Monday being horrific. A nice drive home that involved NOT going over that stupid, stupid green bridge and instead paying an additional $.25 to go over the much shorter, much wider Bridge of the Gods.*

Home at 9:15. Fall into bed. Realize I can't keep this life-style up (I'm only half kidding). Up at 6am. Supposed to go lay in the white-trash pool today. Realize I simply can't. Because I still have to go to the gym, clean this casita, and nap. NAP. What I do on weekends. What I haven't done on a weekend in what feels like FOREVER. Am I REALLY getting old? Or am I just feeling sorry for myself since I'm on the rag again for the third time this month and yesterday was the thirty-first anniversary? Or is just that I'm selfish?

It's probably the selfishness.
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*I'm not going to complain about the sun being in my eyes for most of the drive home because we never get sun in summer anymore and if I bitch about it it will leave us again. I'm not taking responsibility for that.