I'm now too old for sleepless camping in May. Frost and tents do not belong together. Call me in a month or so.
This weekend, I crashed at my parents' place. I took my MacBook but did not blog. I took my camera but did not take pictures. I just was.
I drank coffee. And more coffee. I insulted a family friend in Portuguese. I confirmed that "doofus" and "dufus" are both legitimate spellings of the word. I played games quasi-competitively. I indulged in barbecue-y excellence. I chatted theology at length with my parents' friends who then listed off potential boyfriend possibilities for yours truly. I caught the late screening of Star Trek with my brother. I had a Toronto Project '02 flashback at church. (Funny how I can be nostalgic for a specific summer in the city in which I live.) I went for a two-hour walk with my mom, stopping by the waterfront to ponder my quarter-life existence. I ate ice cream on the back patio, thought about gardening, and waxed poetic about the agelessness of Winona Ryder. Oh, and Joel tried to balance a can of Pringles on my head. Fail.
Because I chose to just live the weekend rather than document it, most of the genius conversations went untranscribed. But a few moments deserve acknowledgment.
Smells Like Teen Spirit
I'm putting on perfume. Mom walks by.
ME: Shoot. Do I smell like you?
Mom looks at my bottle. It's the same as hers.
ME: No wonder I'm single. I smell like a married middle-aged woman with three adult children.
Calling In Dead
ME: I dare you to call in sick.
JOEL: Yes, I was hit by a truck covered in anthrax.
Movies Get In the Way
ME: Aren't we going to Star Trek?
MOM: Sorry, I want to get on with my evening.
ME: That's what I'm going to tell the next guy who asks me to the movies.
Act Your Age
And from someone who has known me since junior high:
You haven't changed a bit.This could be the ultimate compliment. Or the ultimate insult.