Weekend

Man, oh man. This weekend got a hold of my ass, dragged it hither and yon and then threw it in the waste basket. Not quite like being rode hard and put away wet ... but close enough. Following is a rather edited -- for your sake and mine -- account of the weekend that takes the Fifth Amendment at some points:

Friday

In Play Therapy, I uttered a rather fantastic string of curse words, ending with "cunt" (which is a word that horrifies me every time I utter it, if you must know the truth). This was in response to my teacher noting that I said "shit" when addressing whether there's an "appropriate time and place" for being playful. Which was, in itself, part of a discussion we were having with regards to our collective adult fear of breaking social conventions.

It was all rather recursive and ironic to me, but I've a feeling that some of my classmates didn't quite get it. Oh well.

After class, I went to go see a former teacher for a bit of personal counseling -- or something like that. I don't really know what happened there.

She informed me that I can communicate with spirit guides if I will kindly alter my vibrations in a manner that allows me to bridge the quantum gap between their existence and mine. Apparently, only thing I need to do is raise my vibrations to meet up with the unconcerned nature of energy that lives in a state of unconditional love.

Sounds a little like having an orgasm to me.

But I didn't tell her that.

Rather, I asked her if a Oiuja Board would do the trick.

Fortunately, this teacher has a sharp and loving sense of humor and took my joke with the kind-hearted personal cynicism that was intended. She's a good woman. And perhaps just a wee bit nutty. As the most interesting people usually are.

Left there and was summoned to see The Good Witch, who I have been wanting to catch up with for a couple weeks. Drove on up there, and enjoyed snacks and drinks on the patio, watching the sunset. She's got a hillside 180-degree view of Oregon from just across the river in Washington. Gorgeous sunrises over Mt. Hood. Gorgeous sunsets over the hills that run along the Columbia.

She showed me her garden, and I regaled her with a story of a journey that has been on my mind lately. But rather than telling one part of the story that has stuck with me, I recounted the cultural aspects of traveling in a single day from the Peruvian Andes to the Amazon and back into the Andes, all by car.

Got home around 10, took the dog for a walk, talked to someone on the phone, worked on my art, went to sleep.

Saturday

Woke around 10. Read and otherwise fucked around for a little bit. Took the dog for a walk at one. Did the new "ridgeline route" I mapped out for myself. Turns out the final flight of stairs has 57 steps in it. Jogging up it gets my ticker going.

Came back. Bought some flea prevention stuff for the dog online. Started making a quinoa salad with snow peas, tomatoes, cucumber, mint, basil and a dressing of olive oil, lemon juice & zest, dijon mustard, salt, pepper and a kick of tobasco.

Finished that. Showered. Started watching my first ever episode of "The L Word." Finally starting to update my lesbian credentials.... (And thank goodness. I think I my memories of lesbian sex were going to fade beyond the event horizon on Tuesday or Wednesday of this week, so it came just in time!)

I got lost in time watching the two-hour pilot episode and looked up at the clock to realize that HGM was going to be by in 20 minutes to pick me up for a party. I had to find some clothes and walk the dog pronto.

Dressing was a bitch. I was going to a party populated with people whom I've never met, at a location of which I was ignorant. Inside? Outside? I had no idea what to wear. Nor whether there was the possibility of any queerity.

In the end, I wore some military green chinos with a black hoodie sweater and my little green pua mana necklace. I wear that pua mana whenever I think I need certain vibes working in my favor, and decided this would be one of those nights.

Worked like a charm. I'm standing in the kitchen, and I hear a "Well, hello..." uttered (and dripping with sexuality) in my direction. I look up and see a cute, dark and curly-haired, green-eyed young woman who looks Latina giving me a lingering once-over, a huge smile on her face. Our eyes meet.

"Who are you?" she askes.

I'm UCM.

"Mmm," she says. "Welcome...."

At this point, the woman whose birthday was being celebrated, walked between us. "This is (can't remember her real name), but we call her 'Stinky,' " she told me. "You've got to watch out for Stinky, we always say. And I'd say especially so tonight."

Stinky looks at me. Smiles. Puts a bottle of beer to her lips. Sips. Winks.

A few minutes later, she applies those lips to a boy out on the deck. Quite voraciously.

Several hours later, outside by the fire, I hear stories about how Stinky is "all about love" to the point that she "ends up rubbing you in inappropriate places."

Of this, I have no doubt.

Beyond that, the party was the most engaging social event I have been to in years. I say this not just because I finally caught someone's eye -- never mind that it is an indiscriminately wandering one -- but because the conversation was highly amusing, invigorating and free flowing. Ideas and jokes and singing and intellectual dialogue intermingled effortlessly. Someone played the acordion. There was a fire pit to enjoy. Some people were dressed in costumes, but with the exception of one -- a fabulous rendition of a 1970s housewife playing tennis at the country club -- I couldn't tell you who was in costume and who wasn't. It was that kind of party.

And there were cupcakes.

I got home about 1:30, took a long shower and went to sleep.

Sunday

The day started a little too early for its own good. I didn't sleep well on accounts of the preceding night's conviviality, and so I woke at 9 and could not get back to sleep.

Around noon, I talked to Rather Shy Classmate about plans to help her find some special fabric for a costume she's making. We decided to get something to eat before going to the fabric place, as I was feeling very hungry.

But when I got to her place, she was engaged in a little house project, which I helped her with before we ... went on an hour-long walk to a nature preserve near her home. By the time we were done, I was FAMISHED.

I ate too much for "breakfast," which I finally started to eat around 4 p.m. I had florentine benedict with roasted potatoes and a pancake with almonds and granola in it. I didn't finish it all, but more than enough. So as I felt a twee sick.

I was feeling really cranky by the time we got to the fabric store. Fabric stores always do a bad number on me. They make me sleepy. So do thrift stores. There must be something in all that cloth. Because I'm *not* kidding: Every time I walk into a fabric store or a thrift store, I almost *immediately* become tired enough to nap right there on the spot.

RSC's 8-year-old daughter was really enjoying the place, though. She found it highly stimulating for reasons I clearly don't understand. She started getting very excited, and RSC asked her to "calm down."

"How can I calm down when I'm in paradise?!" her daughter replied with earnestness and enthusiasm.

That seemed like a fair question. And so I laughed, as did RSC. "And," the daughter said just then, "I don't understand why that's funny at all."

I had to repress a big laugh. And even more big yawns.

When we were done, I dropped them off and headed home. Barely made it in the door, I was so freaking tired. Kicked off my shoes, laid down on the bed, talked on the phone for a few minutes, set my alarm and slipped into a cat nap. Gave me the extra little bit of energy I needed.

So I could finish watching all the episodes on "The L Word" DVD. Whereupon I promptly decided to put more of the discs at the top of my Netflix queue. I need my street cred back.

And now, I bid you goodnight.

After a weekend like this, I need my beauty sleep.

And some time to myself.