What I Did This Weekend: an essay

Some of you may have noticed my distinct absence in the blogosphere during this past weekend.
It was a difficult weekend for me, physically, spiritually and emotionally, and I found myself drained of words.

It all started on Saturday, where I was cruelly forced to sleep in until noon, and which was shortly followed by a rather lard-filled breakfast at Denny's. I'm not sure why we went to Denny's: perhaps it was because we needed a change of grease.

Then it was a trip to Big Lot's, where BIG THINGS could be had for small prices, and which typically leaves me with a BIG MIGRAINE. Neverthless, we managed to get 1/16th of our Christmas shopping done there, as well as purchasing a rather nice throw blanket that the cats have subsequently adopted and are now systematically destroying.

This was followed by even MORE SHOPPING, but as much of it was for me, I'm not about complain about this. Particularly when you find a really cool shirt for half the price.

This bout of fun was rounded out by a... well, I'm not quite sure how to say this.
That's not true. I'm very sure how to say it. I'm just not sure I want to.
Salome, Lakshmi, MGM (this is our new name for Lakshmi's husband, and it stands not for the famous film studio- you know, the one with the lion yawning but the sound guys dub in a fierce roar- but rather, stands for 'Magnanimous', which he certainly is) and myself all donned togas and, yes, with an average age of 37 at this place we were going to, we went to a toga party.

A toga party. Like, I did this in high school, and it wasn't even fun then (Amendment: it was fun back then, particularly since the girls wore only the togas. But then again, so did we guys. You can imagine what happened then. No. Not that. But remember in high school when the sexy French teacher, whom you'd been lustily ravishing among the hay in a barn in your daydream while she enchantingly speaks of 2nd declension nouns suddenly invites you to come to the front of the class and recite? You don't need your book for this exercise, but you carry it anyway, because you have to have something to cover the sign of your budding arousal. Okay. You remember. Now imagine a similar scenario, only all the guys are wearing sheets). Plus side of the party: they had beer. Negative side of the party: the beer was Bud Light. But hey, when it's your 40th birthday, I guess you get to re-live the high school memories that you never really had, and if the beer is free then do I have an actual right to complain?

Back to Lakshmi's and MGM, where we sat and talked and I introduced MGM to the joys of Kahlua, Vodka, milk and Diet Coke, which he graciously pretended to enjoy. Then Salome and I headed for home, and slept until 1 pm.

You're begining to see, no doubt, what a terrible toll this weekend was taking on my psyche.

Up at one, and the wives go shopping. MGM and I have plans, but as always they're somewhat tentative, as we never know when the other one is awake and ambulatory. Our conversations usually go something like this:

Voice mail (from MGM): 'Hey, it's me. I wanted to see if you're still up for going out to...'
Voice mail (from me, an hour later): 'Sorry, I was sleeping. Let me know what's up. Call me...'
Voice mail (from MGM, an hour later): 'Hi, just got your message. I was taking a nap...'
Voice mail (from me, 30 minutes later): 'Hey, sorry. The game was on and I didn't have my cell.'
Phone call (from MGM, an hour later): 'Hey, sorry I missed you. I just went and worked out.'
Me (On the phone with MGM): 'Cool. Wanna go see _____________________ (insert name of the latest, most violent and special effects-ridden movie out there)?
MGM: Yeah, but I gotta eat first.

So, plans that were scheduled to begin at maybe 1 pm actually take place at about 5-ish, depending upon how interesting the game is.

So we sit for two hours watching a movie, share a couple of jokes back and forth, and then each return to our respective homes. I can't of course, speak for MGM, but I come home and Salome and I watch The Amazing Race, and then read for hours.

And people wonder why I'm so tired on Monday morning.