Snapshot of a Weekend

Oh, the thrills of our Milwaukee life.

Friday: Jon is home prepping for Saturday's test and while I am out for a run manages to eat a bowl of Rice Krispies cereal, two rolls of spicy tuna sushi and a chocolate ice cream bar. For breakfast.

That night I meet up with Erika, otherwise known as "Superior" (my fellow florist who - at 23 - whipped my derriere at everything but bucket cleaning), and we head to Verge Music Festival, a concert of up-and-coming and alternative bands. Saw The Championship (local band - will now be stalking them), Crash Kings (lead singer = Jack White meets Billy Joel), Reni Lane (um . . . special) and She & Him. Everyone was there for She & Him, which led the promoters to shadow the rest of the band in creepy red lighting, including "Him," the incredibly talented M. Ward, and to turn the spotlight and volume up on just Zooey Deschanel to the point that all you could hear was gurgle. Yes, gurgle. We went as far back from the stage as we could in order to make sense of the mash of words. Girlfriend needs to step up the performance or stick to her day job (even though her voice rocks and is super unique). On the plus side, her hair also rocks. Sweet bangs.

Saturday: Jon had created a detailed schedule (6:00 AM wakeup; 7:15 double espresso with a drop of milk and 1/2 of a Splenda; 12:05 arrival with bag lunch and second espresso - you get the idea) that I diligently adhered to until 5:05 PM when he collapsed into the car from exhaustion. With no test results for 3 months he's off the hook from studying and also finally off the wagon. It's about dang time. I need a drinking partner and Houston and her water bowl just aren't cutting it.

Since it poured buckets Saturday night we decided to see a movie, which Jon, as Special Man of the Day, picked. AKA "Splice" with Adrien Brody-where-have-you-been-since-The-Pianist and Sarah Polley-that-indie-chick-with-the-big-eyes, about genetic scientists creating a human-animal hybrid. AKA horrendous. AKA never seeing it again in my life. AKA if the words "you just had sex with a reptile" and "then that reptile has now switched sexes and is attacking your girlfriend" sound appealing, I suggest you sprint to the theater. Scarred. Horrific. Furious. Thank God for buttered popcorn. I had a bag to myself.

Sunday: After awaking at 4:30 for the past month, we slept in to a lazy 6:30 AM. For the first time in the history of our relationship - I typed that lefty style with my right hand on a Bible, friends - Jon went on a run with me. And when asked if this could become a routine announced to me: Yes. Once a year. 

I capped this day off with breaking my phone for the second time this year and officially re-catching whatever Jon has been sick with all week. I can barely swallow. You know what feels best for a sore throat? Ice cream. 

I hear Dairy Queen opens at 10.

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