Just Off Center

This past weekend was one of the most enjoyable in recent memory. I traveled to see friends in California, took in a fun bike ride, saw the ocean, had a cook out, and just chilled. But the most enjoyable thing of all was that, for the first time in a while, I was happy to be spending this quality time with Nina. Nina and I have been having a difficult time these past few months. She nags me because I didn’t do this or that. I tell her to get off my ass and throw in a few unnecessary jibes. Things escalate and turn into monstrous, hideous arguments. And after a while, it wasn’t that I wanted to be apart from her… I just didn’t care. It’s a very sad feeling when you realize that the person you have chosen no longer interests you. Happily though, it wasn’t as bad as I feared. We just simply couldn’t find a way to reconnect. Couple these problems with the fact that we were preparing to celebrate our seven-year anniversary and you have a recipe for the consideration of splitting up.

But we won’t. We’re happy. Don’t wait for the sad ending you’ll usually get out of me. And that was the focus of this weekend. Friday morning, still very dark, we piled into the Impala and I drove us to Grace and Steve’s. The ride up was relatively quiet, at least if you were a passenger. I spent most of the drive listening to my Ipod and jamming out to whatever popped up on shuffle. But we talked about this and that. I almost ran out of gas in a shithole called Indio, and that made me blow a gasket, but only for about twenty minutes or so.

When we got to Grace’s place, we hung out and relaxed from the drive for a bit. Grace was working from home, and I had a work situation pop up that required my attention. Coworker Mike chewed me out far beyond his authority. Effective immediately, coworker Mike is on my “Destroy Him” list. Afterward we ate lunch at a cool little mall joint called Wahoo’s. I had a fish enchilada. I felt so bad eating an enchilada on my diet. Then I felt like a pansy for feeling bad about the enchilada, and sucked it down like a real man should. Steve dropped by to hang out during his lunch hour. He looks so harmless in his work clothes. Effective immediately I am deathly afraid of Steve and what destructive power he keeps under wraps.

Later on, I talked Grace and Nina to come on a bike ride. I wanted to sample the concrete trails they have out in Cali. They’re very cool. They’re wide and smooth and shared by all sorts. Whenever you descend ride under a road you have to peddle hard to get back up the hill, forcing you to put some real effort into the ride. We made it about four miles and turned back. Grace’s saddle is not padded. She has a sore coccyx. Coccyx.

That night we all went to a cool spot called Ten and had sushi and sake. Ten is my kind of place. You get to sit on couches and ottomans around little tables, surrounded by other diners well within earshot, and try to look like you belong at such a hip establishment. I’d never had sake before. It tasted a lot like rice wine. Plus I learned that wasabi is more fun than anything ever invented. After Ten, we got back in the car and headed to the beach. Nina and I bounded around from bolder to boulder like a couple of kids. Well, actually it was more just me doing the bounding. Nina’s leaps were more like arrhythmic jerking. We watched the sun set on the water and saw all the groups of stoners and Asian churchgoers having dorky campfire fun. Then it was back to their pad to watch Ocean’s Twelve on their North wall. Projectors rock my socks! Then we went to bed because we’re old and feeble.

Early the next day Steve decided to take up on a bike ride beyond where Grace went with us, all the way to Newport Beach. He thought it was just a couple miles past where we stopped the day before. All told, the trip was 23 miles long. But we did make it all the way to the broadway. We even crossed a river on a ferry. While riding down the beach, Nina took the lead and showed us that courtesies such as calling your position, slowing for those in front of you, and not scaring oncoming cyclist out of their shoes are rules for pussies. The beach road was hers. I stayed about ten feet behind her to survey the carnage and apologize accordingly. Steve managed to smoke both of us throughout the entire ride, using nothing but a hard-forked, cheap-frame, Y-brake, dial-shifting piece of K-mart crap. I have a new reason to both respect and fear Steve. And he didn’t have a drop of water the entire time. I suspect Steve has an internal sustenance generator implanted in his body. Afterward I had a sandwich, a beer, and painkillers for my achy quads. Grace was prepping Jell-o shots and recovering from her perfectly logical fears that since we had been gone so long, we must have all wiped out, broken our necks, been fallen upon by rapist cannibals, and had our violated flesh ripped from our bones and our skeletons tossed to the pack of wild coyotes that lay in wait. We did, however, get a couple of nice, juicy sunburns. How the fuck did that happen? I live in goddamned Arizona.

Nina and I went to Old Navy. It occurred to me that the jeans I brought didn’t fit. It wasn’t so much the fear of looking like I’d taken a dump in my pants that spawned the shopping trip as it was the absolute certainty I would be pantsed and photographed… without adequate financial compensation. Nina couldn’t find anything she liked. The words “short crotched” came out of her mouth. I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds like a deal breaker for new clothes. I got a new pair of jeans and the illinest shirt ever made. It was like a second skin, which is good because my real skin was looking extra crispy.

The details of the barbecue can be found on Grace’s blog. It’s all true. And yes, my wife will be checking herself into a Betty Ford clinic this next weekend. We made her wait until 6:30 before we let her have her first drink. Then at 6:31, she opened her mouth, which expanded to a maw the size of a small car and initiated a vortex leading to her stomach that ripped every drop of alcohol from our hands and the fridge. Then she put on a sweet smile and said “Oopsy”. It even had the little squiggly line going in a clockwise motion. And for the record, I have never received more or more severe peer pressure from anyone about anything than I did about doing the goddamned pony dance. And I’m a guy who’s had his share of peer pressure. It’s a spontaneous thing, people! What show you got, while graceful and beautiful, was a forced act to quiet the throng. Then everyone got hammered and fell over… except for Steve. He did dishes. He’s a mutant.

After nursing my mild hangover and tending to Nina who would rather have been dead, we got in our car and drove home. Before we left, Grace put together the sweetest little picnic for us, a bag filled with sandwiches, fruits, crackers, water, and sweets. Then she started crying and pulled some hair out in clumps. Steve shook my hand and gave me some awesome CDs that I suspect he burned for us using a laser implanted behind his left eyeball. The drive home was going rather well until we ran out of gas 23 miles out of the nearest town. And how fortunate for us to have run out of gas right next to a state prison, ensuring nobody would ever stop to help. After about an hour and a half of walking around the desert, we managed to get a phone call in to our insurance company who sent us a few gallons of gas. This allowed us to make it to the nearest and most expensive gas station in the universe. It’s ok though because I shoplifted a lollypop. Ok, not really. But that would have shown them. Fuckers.

The entire weekend, Nina and I got along famously. We had fun, handled our business with grace and style, and we even made it through running out of gas in the middle of a California desert an enjoyable experience. We talked and laughed. During the party I even got in a toast to our anniversary. It’s nice to see that we can disconnect so terribly and then reconnect with just a little patience, understanding, caring, and concern from us both. We got home at about 7:30, ate, unloaded, and went to bed. And after a solid pass was made at my bride, I was shot down with the excuses of hangover, sore muscles, and sunburn. Grace and Steve had given us a great weekend within which Nina and I could rediscover some hidden love, but still managed to keep me from getting laid. Oh well. Thanks for a great weekend anyway.

# posted by Mike @ 11:14 AM