How a Dull, Childless Thirty-something Spent the Weekend, as Told in Three Acts

Act One: Water City Thrill

Friday night we had dinner at Water City Grill, which has been my favorite local eatery for the past five years. They serve, in my very humble opinion, the best entrees in town … some of which are actually *looking nervously over shoulder* meatless. (This is against the law in some Wisconsin counties, so you have to be careful.) But the food is so delicious it’s like your mouth won a million dollars from the Publisher’s Clearinghouse, but without Ed McMahon stuck in your craw. Also, WCG makes three things I adore:

Martinis, martinis, and martinis. Which are so heavenly and smooth I usually have one polished off by the time dinner arrives and then I always whisper conspiratorially to J: “Honey, I’m kinda DRUNK.”

I know! Can you imagine?

Then silence falls while we devour our food with a single-minded focus and purpose that could probably qualify us for a competitive eating event. Later, we will fall asleep in front of TLC’s What Not to Wear and Log in for Love. Rockin’ good times.

That was how I spent Friday night.

Act Two: Arctic Stunkys

Saturday, I worked. (snooze blah yawn snore boo blegh zurgggg) Afterwards, I visited my parents. Thank you to everyone who wished my dad well! I’m happy to report that he was feeling chipper enough to gripe about how spectacularly unfunny SNL has gotten since the late 1970s, and also about how loud and obnoxious the musical guest Arctic Monkeys were.

I’d been looking forward to hearing them since Rolling Stone and Entertainment Weekly and Newsweek fellated them with praise in various reviews, and the band was decent enough, but I liked them the first time I heard them … when they were called Jet. And The Killers. And The Hives. And The Vines. And The Strokes. The Arctic Monkeys were like mini-Strokes, only without the partial paralysis. But I’ll give them another chance, because they used the same stage on which Ashley Simpson did her lipsync hoedown, which probably left an ugly karmic residue in the air.

That was Saturday.

Act Three: a Preview of Coming Detractions

Sunday, my mom made me oatmeal for breakfast (Yaay! Nostalgia! Happiness! Sparklies! Love!) and then I worked again (bleak dreary drudge brap boo zaaaaag) When I returned home I made “Garlicky Lima Bean Soup” for dinner, which infused the entire house with the delightful smell of bitter dog farts and onions, and then we watched the first episode of the new season of The Sopranos. *cue swelling orchestra music and chorus of hallelujahs*

And there was indeed enough profanity, dysfunction, violence, dark humor, and death to reward MOST of the endless wait. But HBO? Screw you for not giving me a “Next week, on The Sopranos” clip at the end of the show. I depend on the preview to sustain me through a week of soul-sucking work!

I tried to nurse my disappointment with HBO’s new show Bill Paxton is a Polygamist who Takes Boner Pills, but watching him try to juggle three different families in three different homes really wore me out. And there is no way these writers will get me to empathize with Chloe Sevigny’s character. Not unless they give her a new wardrobe, new hairstyle, new attitude, new head, and new voice. Or have her drown in the family pool.

I need to get a life, right? Well, don’t worry, I just ordered one. Sadly, it’s on backorder ‘til June.

So. What did you do this weekend?