Cute title, right? But, for real, let's catch up.
First, I want to brag on my mad skills.
This is my hurricane son's bedroom about 30 minutes ago.
This is my son's room NOW.
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| I even made a redhead materialize. |
Who's the boss? I'M the boss. That's a work of art right there.
Back to business, I recently took a couple of kidless road trips and I remembered that they actually aren't torturous trips designed by the devil. I delighted in the fact that I could drive all 5 hours without stopping to pee once and that I could buy snacks and didn't have to share with anyone.
The first trip I took, I went to see Justin Timberlake in concert. I went with one of my dearest friends and had an absolute blast. We stayed in a HOTEL. I felt like the Queen of the world; my bed had FOUR pillows on it. Heaven, obviously. Aside from the absolutely incredible performance by JT (if you haven't seen him live yet, bucket list that shit NOW), the most notable part of the trip was when my friend's gay intuition took us to dinner in one of the gay strips of Dallas.
So, we arrived at the hotel room and immediately lounged on our beds and talked about what to eat for dinner. My friend looked at surrounding places to eat on his phone and mentioned an Italian place close by that looked tasty and cheap. Those are my two favorite adjectives when describing food, so of course I jumped on board. We got ready to go and when we arrived in the neighborhood, I immediately sensed something different. For one, the only people I saw on the street were men. Two, one or more of the shops we passed displayed more risqué clothing than I've seen in other neighborhoods. But, what definitely sealed it for me was the framed pictures of drag queens and a poster for The Bridegroom in the Italian restaurant. I looked at my friend and we both realized what had happened. It was awesome. There was even an amazing, two story gay bar across the street that, of course, we went to after eating pizza slices the size of our faces. In short, that trip was awesome.
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| He sings to my SOUL |
My next trip was this past weekend to see an old friend graduate from college. This trip was so nice and so much fun. My friend lives in an insanely small town and I met some great new people. We drove around town, blaring Miley, giving no fucks, held hands at the mall, and danced to Katy Perry's Dark Horse at a local bar like nobody's business. It was a perfect, relaxing trip.
On the way home, I stopped at Baby Head Cemetary because I'd been dying to ever since I passed it on my way to see Justin Timberlake.
It's exactly as creepy as it sounds. Apparently, a child in the 1850s was killed by Indians and its remains were left on the mountain near here - thus it was known as Baby Head Mountain. Later on, a community formed near the mountain and took the name Baby Head as well. I know, that got morbid fast, right?? I'm really into history and cemeteries always fascinate the fuck out of me. Anyway, the oldest grave in this cemetery was from the 1850s! So, obviously, I spent almost 45 minutes in this tiny graveyard.
And now, we're caught up. I'm going to go drink a beer in celebration of my mad cleaning skills.
Sincerely,
The Average Person
