Boy and I tried to celebrate our anniversary this weekend. We didn’t get very far, but at least we made an effort. Last year he bought me a pearl necklace at a gun show and called it a date. This year we actually booked a motel. Woot.We’ve been wanting to stay at the Modern Hotel ever since they remodeled it. It was originally a seedy motor court in the homeless district until they did it up right. I love how you can take random nastiness from the 60’s, call it “mid-century modern,” and it’s instantly awesome.
It actually has a lot of character and a rather active following. The smallness and originality of the place kind of draws you. Which made me wonder why anyone would stay in one of those giant stuccoed boxes full of stale air and ice machines. This is just so much more fun. I noticed that as guests arrived they would begin unloading a milieu of bicycles. As if they all knew that this place was the beginning of a great weekend. From here, the city is yours. We weren’t as savvy. We brought our van. It died rather indiscriminately. Instead of having the city and the weekend as ours – we had to solicit strangers to push our van and then await the ill-fated news from the mechanic. That being: go buy another car why don’t you. For some reason this unhappy business took all morning and we did not actually get to walk hand in hand to find breakfast at Berryhill, or peruse the farmers’ market, the Mixing Bowl, Anthropologie, the Chocolate Bar, or Sturman’s Cigar Shop – all while eating gelato and drinking bubble tea. No, none of this actually happened. We didn’t even get to eat breakfast until 1:00 in the afternoon. But I didn’t mind. I don’t think it caused us to so much as hiccup. We already have all the best things. And when you have the best things, they are kind of hard to add to, and even harder to subtract. There is something to be said for being old, married, and indolently content.I wouldn’t have made it far in my maternity heels anyways. 🙂 I had a lot of work to do at the house to get it ready for showings, so we didn’t even make it to dinner until 8:00. I was still on the rebound from my what must be my third round of stomach flu since Christmas and I wasn’t even hungry.Who goes out to a nice restaurant so they can eat quinoa anyways? Yes, that’s me. Marc ate real food. The menu was really quite amazing and they brew their own beer on the spot. Boy was stoked to find that they even served it warm, dark, and flat – just the way he (and all of Britain) likes it. I asked him if Twin Peaks still held the title as his favorite restaurant. He was visibly torn. “I don’t know, the food is better here. And Twin Peaks’ beer is so cold it’s slushy [i.e. not warm and flat]. But I’m starting to think that to be a waiter at 10 Barrel you have to wear cut off short shorts…and have a beard.” Between a rock and a hard place, I tell you.
Here we are the next morning. We weren’t planning on going back to the house all day but we had to switch the van for the truck. Boy made a quick trip for antifreeze and discovered that he didn’t have his credit card. He sat here for around a half hour making phone calls looking for it, while I used the opportunity to take our hot, sweaty photo. Mr. & Mrs. The other day I got home from the midwives and announced, “I’m 145 pounds! That means I weigh as much as you now.” He raised an eyebrow and said, “I only weigh 140.” Pfft. In any case, I think this picture show how it’s getting to the point where I could totally take him. By the time our affairs were in order our babysitting had expired so Rahab and I settled for a manicure and pedicure, respectively. That’s only because it was stinking hot and our house was still tied up in showings. A reclining chair and air conditioning seemed like the natural solution. The pedicure was more or less incidental.
The proprietor took a liking to Rahab and hers was on the house. He hollered at his daughter and said something to the effect of, “Hot pink, hot pink!” while gesticulating at the Rabid Rabbers. She was thrilled.Meanwhile Judith ate their hard candy and re-arranged the furniture.
I would take a picture of my Pepto-Bismal toes, but I think it’s virtually impossible to take an attractive picture of my cave woman feet. But I can assure you that they are very unmistakable. We spent the rest of the day in a bit of a stupor looking at used vans on Craigslist. That was after we drove around town in the 100 degree weather with Boy in the back of the truck on top of the firewood. Hello passenger van. Actually, I was looking at hearses, short buses, and limos. If I had any money at all I would totally buy a hearse, retrofit it, and paint it pink. Who doesn’t want to drive around in a pink Cadillac with swag curtains, six kids, and room for a coffin? Honda Pilots are for the faint of heart. The very least we could do is a Scooby Doo van with ball fringe and a dashboard terrarium. But I imagine it’s best not to get my hopes up quite yet.