Ah, such goings on...
Saturday was the big housewarming party for WOMR's new home in fabulous Provincetown. the day was centered around a huge auction -- lots of fine art that got sold for great, big, steaming piles of money, provincetown memorabilia, WOMR memorabilia, and reams and reams of gift certificates for local goods and services, like shooting pool for a couple of hours with Sebastian Junger.
Matt and I mingled, hogged the raw bar to ourselves for a while, sipped wine, shmoozed with folks who had previously only been known to us as disembodied voices on the radio (and in some cases, should stay that way...), and bid on meager little items that we could maybe afford... Matt ended up with a T shirt for $10, I got a WOMR apron for $10.
Then we went out to dinner with my brother the vampire, and made all nice-nice with the snooty gay waiters. In a month or two they'll snub us haughtily, but this early in the season, they needed our tips. Vampire-brother (VB) embarrassed the daylights out of me by wearing a plastic bib when he ate his lobster, but I got over it.
Then, after saying goodbye to VB, we ended our evening at a local dive bar where you can actually play pool (pool tables are incredibly scarce on Cape Cod -- and are even outlawed by town bylaws in one town. There we made friends with a young couple that clearly enjoyed each other's charms, and who graciously bought us a round of drinks when our money had run out. We exchanged cards, gabbed about the horror of kitchen work on Cape Cod in the summer, and flirted shamelessly. I think I even winked at one of them on the way out the door. (I know, the horror. winking = shameless hussy. when I think of some of the behaviors I used to catalogue under "harmless flirting"... hoo boy. shudder.)
Then, after the long drive home, we stayed up a little longer, but ultimately crashed out in front of the TV. Matt had been fighting a cold all week, so I naturally picked it up in full force upon waking on Sunday morning, and had to bail on my less-than-enthusiastic promise to my mother to go to church on easter. I really felt like hell, and it really wasn't a hangover. I don't recall ever having blocked sinuses and a sandpaper-sore throat because of red wine followed by a couple of beers.
So I didn't write my new resume yesterday, and I am writing this now to convince myself that I can manage to type it out today. (although I just had to go back and correct about 13 typos in that last sentence alone, so this might not be the right time.) I feel even worse today, and just want to curl up in front of lousy television with a couple of bottles of diet ginger ale and my cats.
Fortunately, I work from home.
worker me: huddo? boss?
boss me: oh my gosh, worker me! you sound awful!
worker me: yeah, I feel awful. Do you think you can, um, get along without me today?
boss me: of course, of course. you just rest, and drink lots of fluids. You'll have plenty of time to finish that big, honkingly complex document tomorrow.
worker me: um...
boss me: and anyway, we don't want you calling people and fact-checking anything when you can't make a sound without making people wonder if you really can't catch a cold through the phone.
worker me: um... ok. thanks?
boss me: now go take some more sudafed. I think the History channel has something on about the history of sharp pointy things though the ages.