Friday Night - We had some friends, Dan and Barb, over and started talking about how you mention something or an incident happens and then for whatever reason you are forever associated with that comment or incident. It happens a lot with older people and food. Like you are at your Aunt's house and mention that you love meatloaf, and then for the next 20 years every time you go over there she makes you meatloaf. After a few times you're like, enough with the god-damn meatloaf already, but at that point you can't say anything. Hey, Aunt Susie I like 20 year old naked chicks too, but I don't see you having any of them stop by when I visit.
Anyway, my buddy told this story about when he was younger he and his friend consumed an entire bag of fireballs and some bumps formed on his tongue. He didn't want to admit to eating an entire bag, so his Mom looks at him and figures he's allergic to cinnamon. Fast forward to last Thanksgiving dinner last year and Barb is adding cinnamon to the food and his Mom tells her not to put any on Dan's because he's allergic. Barb's thinking, oh c'mon he's not allergic to cinnamon he just ate an entire bag of fireballs when he was a kid and didn't want to get into trouble. (This might be one of those "I guess you had to be there" stories.)
Saturday 1:30 pm - Maggie is down for her nap, and my father-in-law, Pat, drives us down to DC, so we can check into the hotel. For whatever reason Pat loves taking people into the city. Anytime the subject of DC comes up he's like "Hey, who wants a ride, you need a ride, I don't mind giving you a ride." In fact he doesn't mind giving you a ride anywhere in the continental United States. "Are you guys going to Poughkeepsie next weekend? Do you need a ride? I can at least take you half way if you want." This must be where Amy gets the trait that she'll go anywhere with anyone. If I decided to become a drug mule, Amy would come with me just to get out of the house. That's what it really comes down to with the McMahon clan, they just like to be out of the house, and there's certainly nothing wrong with that.
2:00 pm - We get to this uber-trendy hotel that opened like a week ago, and of course it's money. Amy doesn't fuck around when it comes to travel arrangements. She does her homework and we always end up at these places that way too cool for school. She fits in nicely because she dresses like an adult, but I often dress like a sloppy teenager. It's just a matter of time before she signs me up for "What Not to Wear" on TLC. (By the way I sat upside down in that chair and tried to call Mork from Ork.)
3:30 pm - Amy wants to hit up an uber-trendy furniture store in the area. On the way, Amy mentions that she really needs a gay friend, and after we get to the store I am in total agreement. Again, I am dressed like a sloppy teenager I look at everything in the store in about 19 seconds and then I sit on this foo-foo chair that is shaped like a giant va-jay-jay. I watch the gay men ooh and ahhh over lighting fixtures while Amy inspects every nook and cranny of the store. She ends up finding a dresser in the back corner that is so hidden I don't think the owner even knew it was there. It's kind of like the picture below.
The only problem is how do we get this thing to our house. We don't have a vehicle and unfortunately I gave our sherpa the day off. We flash the McMahon family crest into the sky, ala Batman, and the family shoots into action. Amy's sister is going to drive down with her truck and get us and the dresser in the morning. Amy's parents will drive 2 cars to McLean Virginia and meet us with Maggie on the way home. Bruce, our brother-in-law, plans to meet us at the house to help carry it in. To break it down, on a whim Amy buys a dresser, 6 people, 4 vehicles and 2 states later it lands in our guest bedroom, but hey we all got out of the house right?5:45 pm - Dinner at the uber-trendy Rosa Mexicano. Amy is a big fan, me, not so much. I'm just not into dropping $12 for guacomole or $20 for a burrito, but we have $120 gift card, so it's all good. Bada-bing, bada-boom, we crush dinner and pound drinks and we're off to the 930 club for the Mike Doughty show.
7:30 pm - Amy is a few drinks into the evening, so her Mojito muscles start coming out. Leaving the metro station her card was demagnatized from being in her purse and the angry black girl behind her put her card in too quickly, the gate opens they both go through. The metro cop stops them both, and sorts things out. Angry black girl is all bitter, but Amy keeps her cool for now. This is a good call because we are near Howard University, the epi-center for angry black girls. Of course I miss this whole thing because I am texting on my phone to get final four scores, which is probably a good thing. I highly doubt the girl would have found my Rosa Parks humor funny.
10:15 pm - We got to the 930 club early enough to get money seats in the upper balcony near the bathrooms and the bar. Everything is going swimmingly, until Mr. Doughty takes the stage and this dude and a couple chicks behind us won't shut the fuck up. Mojito muscles turns and asks them to keep it down and they don't exactly take this well. These fucktards make a bunch of witty comments like "shhhh we have to be quiet" and "It's not like it's a classical music concert". I'm just like dude, if you want to drink and talk all night then just go to a bar. Of course he says the bar is right there, oooooh great comeback! Amy calls them "real mature", and then we go back to watching the show, and eventually I think they move along. I just don't get dropping $40 for concert tickets and then not watching the show.
12:30 am - Back at the hotel, my hangover cure is laid out for me. Pizzeria Combos and bottled water are crazy delicious. I watch some b-ball and Caps highlights before crashing.
Sunday, 7:30 am - Lazy Sunday, I wake up and the head feels great. Perfect, the hangover cure is a success. Uh-oh, spoke too soon, rot gut starts rumbling. Too much wine and not enough food the night before. It's one thing to worship the porcelain God at home, but to pray to him in a hotel kind of sucks. I go into my usual puke routine. Pillow placed in front of the toilet, and I start pacing to work up the courage to let it fly. I hover over the sink and look in the mirror and wonder how the hell bulimics do this several times a day. Ooh maybe I feel better, I go and lay on the bed for a few minutes, uh...no, here it comes. Back to the bathroom. I repeat this about 5 times trying to stave off the impending doom. Finally, with the wife is in the shower and needing to head out to brunch soon I get the job done. While I'm heaving, Amy is singing when you're happy and you know it. Thanks for ruining that song for me. Now that my stomache is completely empty and I feel like total dogshit, let's go pay $12 for a bagel and some pineapple. But hey, at least we got out of the house.
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