Fourth of July weekend/week in no particular order.
(cdts: Richephanie)
On Saturday, Elsa came to stay with us for the weekend. She and my mom went to Travel Town to look at trains/ride ponies.
On Sunday, Rich and I went to Cheebo for our 3 month anniversary.
On Monday, I cleaned out more of my room, as to slowly sift through 18 years of stuff that I won't need in New York.
Highlights: Finding stuff that belongs to other people, finding my miniature Mackenzie Child's silverware, finding a wooden yoyo I got for Christmas six years ago.
Low points: Finding my dust allergy, finding photos of my dead cat, my mom finding all the clothes I stole from her.
Monday night, my Timor, Zoon and Bood Wife cooked an amazing dinner. Anna (who needs an alias immediately), baked a heavenly cake, and I polished off a few glasses of Merlot before we headed off to Wylie's to take some photos.
Next the plan was to leave for Oxnard, but like the total party animal/champ that I am, I fell into blissfull, carass-like slumber in the Saab's passenger seat. The ever-patient Richard practically carried me to the apartment, where I disrobed and climbed into the pillowly goodness of his ten quadrillion thread count sheets. About an hour later, after he had loaded the car, and readied himself for a night drive, he attempted to wake me.
What ensued must have appeared similar to trying to wake a road kill marsupial.
Upon waking up the next morning, I wondered aloud why we weren't in Oxnard...
...Oh, right. The merlot.
Tuesday got off to a better start. Around twelvish (about the time Germany was getting its ass handed to them by Italy), we set out towards Jackie's friend Gemma's Oxnard beach house. Upon arrival we were greeted by a certain beachy-haired goddess and her aviator-clad beau (rainbow kite in tow). We quickly hopped into beach attire (wetsuit and fins for Rich, bikini and velour romper for Stephanie) and joined the lovers on the hot sand.
Later, after we got our fill of Vitamin D, we lounged in the family movie theater for snacks and the 40 Year Old Virgin until the evening sky grew dusky with the light of dusk. Around that time, Rich and I said our goodbyes to the beach and a sweet pugdy gay boy told me I was pretty.
On our way home, we saw fireworks at every stop along the coast, all while listening to an array of favorites such as Wilco, Broken Social Scene, Sufjan Stevens, The Beatles and Keegan Dewitt and the Sparrows.
We stopped in Venice to see some friends, got bored, bought OE that we didn't drink and piled back into the car.
Once again, by the time we reached the apartment, I was a corpse.
Fourth of July moral:
Don't bring blankets in the car if you don't want a roofietastic holiday.
Love,
SRV