sad dirktoberfest

I had kind of a sad Dirktoberfest. First, there was no tinfoil hattage for us, as Dirk had an overwhelming week and decided to lay low. So we went to see The Libertine instead. And it had lots of pretty brocade getting splattered with mud, and Johnny Depp got uglier and uglier until the syphilis rotted off his nose and turned one eye milk-white (that was something of a low point), and there was lots of vulgarity coupled with poems I remember from McDayter’s class (not the ones in the anthology, the ones he photocopied special for us because he didn’t want us to get a whitewashed view of the era). And yet, I felt kind of hollow afterward. Maybe it was because I spent the entire day cleaning up the basement so that I could have Theresa as a babysitter with a clear conscience. I cleaned like I haven’t cleaned in over a year, and by the time we went out I was exhausted and the Boy & I were on each other’s last nerve.

Or maybe I just wanted one night without the alien rays.

Today was kind of awful. We went to church (all fine so far), and afterward the Boy left with Blake while I went to a committee meeting. I was already dressed for Afternoon Tea in my Summer Wedding ensemble, and I had written out a 7-point list for the Boy so that he’d be able to pick me up straight from the church and we wouldn’t be late for swanky afternoon tea. Wasn’t I surprised when he showed up

1. late
2. not dressed
3. alone
4. with none of the items done

We had to go back home so that the Boy could change and we could get our child, his outfit, Dirk’s present & my lunch (which the Boy said was at home). I got home, whipped through the house, and had everything in the car in 4 minutes flat (meaning that if I’d caught a ride with my committee chair, I still would have been earlier than I was). Then I found out that

1. there was no lunch
2. we had no cash
3. we had no gas

And when we stopped for food (inexplicably eschewing the drive-through) and I asked for chicken, The Boy brought me a chicken burger. Gross.

He’s still in the doghouse. I haven’t felt that much frustration or cried that hard since the last time I wore that outfit: Poet’s wedding.

We got to the hotel a mere half-hour late, changed our son in the backseat of the car, and carried him in. And everything was brilliant right up until the point that Brendan & I got into an argument about bullying. And when I say, argument, understand that I am a seasoned combatant with hundreds of argumentative minutes under my belt. I think I freaked out a little when he started to say, “I disagree with you on so many points,” but refused to elaborate because the conversation would be “too heavy” for tea. By then I was already upset, so there was no going back.

Anyway, it was highly unpleasant. I didn’t think anyone could disagree with my attempts to stop my students calling each other “fag” and “gay,” but there you go.

Everything up to that point, however, had been lovely. Dirk was splendid in his finery, my huge hat was admired, Blake kept us hopping throughout the fascinating lobby, and the tea was good enough to drink without milk or sugar. Oh, and Stacy’s arms were like velvet; I couldn’t stop touching her once I’d started. She’s softer than Blake, the baby-skinned rascal.

And my present was pretty great. I knit another pirate cozy (cotton this time, very New World) and filled it with an empty bottle. Inside the bottle was a note from Captain Virago, instructing the recipient to take her place at 2 knitting lessons in May. I got a kick out of writing “present this note and the propriatress will equip you with enough material to make a Handsome Scarf.” Guess it was all that Earl of Rochester stuff last night. Thank heaven they let me buy a gift certificate over the phone.

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 4/02/2006 08:58:00 p.m.