It happens every year, usually in February: all of a sudden it is spring! It’s like nature knows that we are shriveling up into a disgusting wet corn flakes mush and so it does us a quick solid by giving us a freaking gorgeous few days just so we don’t run amok and dissolve. The fake out will not last long, and we’ll be back to drizzle fo shizzle (oh yes I did just say that) but for now, I am not going to think about that. For now it’s just SUN! SUN! SUN!
The weekend started off by us having a meeting about death, because, you know, we are badasses. Not really. Part of our beginning of the year stuff that we do is to go over our financial plans for the future, including updating our retirement plans, insurance policies, etc. WOO! We’re a couple of party animals, I know. Anyway, our financial guy (I still find it so weird that we have one of those) was going over some things with us and it always throws me, having these conversations, because I feel like he should start our meeting by saying “It’s about to get REAL, YO.” Because that guy can break it down. He’s all “so, statistically, we have to plan for you” he points at Nordic Boy “to die at about 84, and you” he points at me “to die around 96.” Um, sure. Yes. I suppose we do. And we’ll be damn lucky to have it happen that way. And we’re being so responsible and adult to map this out and make sure we are taken care of. And our plan is a good solid plan. Good on us. And also, by the way, and I probably should have said this up front, but GAHHHHHHHHH.
I mean, yikes-o-rama, you guys.
Anyway after that I proceeded to spend the rest of the day in the sunshine having giggly girl fun with Biogirl. Because I kind of had to, after that. First off, we drove southward to see the boots and hat in Ox Bow Park. Those are sculptures, for those of you who don’t know. I have to make that clear since it would not be out of the ordinary for us to take a field trip to look at actual boots and a hat. Anyway. Turns out, nothing will make you forget about your own mortality like a giant pair of cowboy boots as big as a house. We took silly photos and laughed our heads off, in that way where you don’t even really know what is even so funny, but dang, it’s just HIGH LARRY US. We then went to have tea at a little tea shop that boasts over a hundred tea varieties. I am a serious tea lover but somehow I ordered one that pretty much tasted like dirt (this is where I cannot help but hear Nordic Boy’s mom’s voice in my head saying the ever-wise “God made dirt and dirt don’t hurt, honey”). I think I got lucky at that choice though because our tea menu was talking about a whole line of teas called Poo Air. So at least I didn’t drink that up.
Sunday I decided to get my ass out the door to check out the Jason Wu collection at Target. Listen, some people have the Superbowl and others have Jason Wu at Target. Priorities. By the time I got myself there it was seriously picked clean. There were like three pieces left, I am not even lying. Ok, so I got there at lunch time. I am ridiculous enough to make a date on my calendar to show up to Wu opening day but not ridiculous enough to go wait in line first thing in the morning. Everyone draws a line somewhere. But really, folks,* I am not kidding when I said there were three items left.
Nordic Boy and I rounded out the weekend by making a big Indian dinner (well, ok he made it) and watching old Deadwood episodes. What could be better? And no, neither of us watched the Superbowl, but I did learn something about football and the Superbowl this week and I am going to share it with you. I have learned that no one needs to hear the following phrases regarding the Superbowl ever ever again, and they are: “I only watch it for the commercials,” or “I don’t watch the Superbowl. I don’t even know who’s playing.” I have to shamefully admit that I was, twice this week, that person. The one who says those things. Getting my passive aggressive smugly on, people. So classy! It seems that I too have an inner hipster doofus that longs to be freed and turned into a Portlandia skit. At least I haven’t gone to the “the half time show sucked! they should just not even have one!” place, because that place is truly unbearable. Anyway, as soon as the “I don’t even know who’s playing” exited my mouth the second time (or actually my fingers, since I was typing), I wanted to call it back in, but I couldn’t. So I am hereby using the power of my blog to recall that sentiment. Just go back in time, erase erase erase, and done. You didn’t know my blog had that power, did you? I know, pretty cool. I should probably use it for something more concrete, like going back in time to convince 9th grade me to stop tucking my pants into my socks, but I thought I would start with this one.
I’m going to go run around in the sunshine now.
*Sorry I called you folks.