Romance is a Bitch
Yes, it's Wednesday, and I'm just now recapping the weekend. Suck it. I never get any responses or reads of my posts, anyway, so I'm doing all of this as an exercise in mental masturbation, which only happens when I feel pretty.
Friday was a hellish day at work, with everything going wrong, and none of it my fault. I wasn't the on call person that day, but I was asked to handle the problems because the person who was on call had some really important meetings to go to. Yeah. Right. These meetings? They were for a project that I was supposed to be working on that my boss decided wouldn't be a "good fit for my skillset." Translation: You're too much of a fuckup, Tony. At any rate, Jess rolls into Boston at 5, and picks me up at my building. I waltz on out when she calls, and get tagged by my boss. "Oh, you're leaving early tonight?" Umm. Yeah. 5 is early, especially when I had the gall to show up at the late hour of 7:45. Then I was brazen enough to take 15 minutes to go have a cigarette and get lunch. That conversation was quick, and didn't go well for my boss.
Jess and I drive up to Vermont to see my mother and sister (and, coincidentally, my brother, who also went to VT for the weekend) and such. It's nice and quiet, and the visit goes well. My sister, who does promotions as a Jagermeister girl, has a bunch of goodies to distribute, and hands me a Jager shirt, size "L." I'm like, What the fuck is this? I haven't worn a large since I was in 8th grade! Surprisingly, though, the Atkin's has truly worked it's magic. While it didn't fit to the point that I would ever wear it in public, the snugness level was only about where a typical "XL" used to be. The Dawn of Chubby Tony has truly arrived.
Saturday morning (well, it was 12:00, so not really "morning" per se) arrives, and Jess and I meet Emily (the Sister) and Michael (the Skinny Bitch) in Burlington for lunch at the Church Street Tavern. Now, you all know that I hate hippies. With a passion that burns like an asshole the morning after wing night at the Ruck. So, we're sitting there in a bar in the center of the Hippie Kingdom, and a protest marches down Church Street. There were only twelve people marching, and a drummer at the front. No chants, just a dolorous drumbeat, and 12 mis-matched signs. Seriously, one sign said "End Apartheid Now" another said "Israel's Occupation of Palestine is Illegal" and a third said, I think, "Cows Have Feelings, Too." It was amazingly pathetic. Every single one of the Terrible Twelvesome was white, college-aged, and had dreadlocks, and I think they were just protesting anything they could think of because they needed something to do. Either that, or it was some bizarre proto-hazing ritual where you need to march on something in order to be initiated into the Fraternity of Hippie Getta Jobbo. Just about the funniest part of the whole thing was that, as this started to go by, I was facing away from the window, and as such, my sister saw it first. She immediately says, "Oh shit! Tony, turn around, but don't go out there!" I guess my family knows me too well.
After the filth cloud of patchouli and bong leavings was gently blown away by the breeze, Jess and I left to go to Stowe for our "Romantic Weekend Getaway" at the Gables Inn Bed & Breakfast. We got to the Inn right at 2, when we were supposed to check in. This place was really, really, hella small. I think there were 5 rooms and 2 suites on the property. We, of course, had a suite. However, the overwhelming demands of the customer flood they had there meant that the desk clerk/owner wasn't there. His dog Yogi was, though, and he was awesome. Eventually, the guy shows up and immediately greeted us by name, which was a very nice touch. Then he took us on the tour of the suite. This thing was superpimpy. Big ass living room, nice size bathroom with a smallish shower, HUGE bedroom, complete with 4-poster, king sized bed of rough-hewn maple (really cool looking) and a jacuzzi tub. There was also a fireplace that opened into the living room, but had a clear wall so you could see the fire from the bedroom.
We settled in, and then took a nice walk around the property. Really homey little place, and I hate nature, but I enjoyed this. Maybe it was because it was free. We eventually make our way out into Stowe to go to dinner at the Shed, which makes my all-time favorite beer: Mountain Ale. To put it in perspective, I like this stuff more than I like Arrogant Bastard. The Bastard is just a lot harder to get out here, so I get more excited for that. I ate a pretty tasty Delmonico with Bacon, had a sip of Jess's beer, we basically did the whole "grown up, romantic dinner" thing pretty well. And the tab? Cheap as shit. $60 for the 2 of us, with 3 beers for Jess. The Shed is highly recommended as an eating destination for all who go to Stowe. I had to cheat a little bit, because they had maple-baked butternut squash, but I managed to hold that to just one bite.
After dinner, we went to the Matrix. I don't know why the critics are blasting it as bad as they have been. It wasn't a great movie by any means, but it was enjoyable. Was it as good as the first one? Hell no. Was it as good as the second, which was itself inferior? Not really. But it was well worth the $7 per ticket.
After the movie, we went back to the Inn and I went all Boy Scout and made us a nice, roaring fire. We cuddled up under the thoughtfully-provided red flannel blanket, and watched football. Unromantic, you say? Maybe, but I wanted to watch football, and Jess was fine with it, as long as we had a fire, the blanket, and her bottle of wine. Besides, I ended up paying for my football later in the night. I had to keep putting logs on the fire, and at one point, I tossed a log into the fireplace, and as I pulled my hand out, I lightly brushed against the upper rim of the fireplace. Immediate blisterage. This one's going to take another week or so to heal.
The rest of the night is censored.
Sunday breakfast at the Inn was unremarkable except for one thing: they made the fluffiest omelet I've ever tasted, and they used Hella Sharp English Death Cheddar inside of it! I love cheese that's so bitter it makes your face cave in, so that was a nice touch, and to top it off, they used Harrington's thick-cut bacon. Mmmm...pig flesh... After breakfast, we drove back to Burlington to hang with Maem and the fam for a while, then rolled back into Boston at about 8:30. Went out with Doherty to Cambridge Common for dinner, where I had 2 bacon cheeseburgers, no bun. I think the waiter, a skinny gay man, was a little appalled at that, because he didn't seem to want to come over to bring me water.
The Troy recap that we got from Doherty that night was way funnier than the one he wrote up in his lj.
Jess didn't leave until Monday morning, so I got a ride into work, where I did absolutely nothing, since my boss was in court for a speeding ticket. Weaselly bastard managed to get out of it, too.
Friday was a hellish day at work, with everything going wrong, and none of it my fault. I wasn't the on call person that day, but I was asked to handle the problems because the person who was on call had some really important meetings to go to. Yeah. Right. These meetings? They were for a project that I was supposed to be working on that my boss decided wouldn't be a "good fit for my skillset." Translation: You're too much of a fuckup, Tony. At any rate, Jess rolls into Boston at 5, and picks me up at my building. I waltz on out when she calls, and get tagged by my boss. "Oh, you're leaving early tonight?" Umm. Yeah. 5 is early, especially when I had the gall to show up at the late hour of 7:45. Then I was brazen enough to take 15 minutes to go have a cigarette and get lunch. That conversation was quick, and didn't go well for my boss.
Jess and I drive up to Vermont to see my mother and sister (and, coincidentally, my brother, who also went to VT for the weekend) and such. It's nice and quiet, and the visit goes well. My sister, who does promotions as a Jagermeister girl, has a bunch of goodies to distribute, and hands me a Jager shirt, size "L." I'm like, What the fuck is this? I haven't worn a large since I was in 8th grade! Surprisingly, though, the Atkin's has truly worked it's magic. While it didn't fit to the point that I would ever wear it in public, the snugness level was only about where a typical "XL" used to be. The Dawn of Chubby Tony has truly arrived.
Saturday morning (well, it was 12:00, so not really "morning" per se) arrives, and Jess and I meet Emily (the Sister) and Michael (the Skinny Bitch) in Burlington for lunch at the Church Street Tavern. Now, you all know that I hate hippies. With a passion that burns like an asshole the morning after wing night at the Ruck. So, we're sitting there in a bar in the center of the Hippie Kingdom, and a protest marches down Church Street. There were only twelve people marching, and a drummer at the front. No chants, just a dolorous drumbeat, and 12 mis-matched signs. Seriously, one sign said "End Apartheid Now" another said "Israel's Occupation of Palestine is Illegal" and a third said, I think, "Cows Have Feelings, Too." It was amazingly pathetic. Every single one of the Terrible Twelvesome was white, college-aged, and had dreadlocks, and I think they were just protesting anything they could think of because they needed something to do. Either that, or it was some bizarre proto-hazing ritual where you need to march on something in order to be initiated into the Fraternity of Hippie Getta Jobbo. Just about the funniest part of the whole thing was that, as this started to go by, I was facing away from the window, and as such, my sister saw it first. She immediately says, "Oh shit! Tony, turn around, but don't go out there!" I guess my family knows me too well.
After the filth cloud of patchouli and bong leavings was gently blown away by the breeze, Jess and I left to go to Stowe for our "Romantic Weekend Getaway" at the Gables Inn Bed & Breakfast. We got to the Inn right at 2, when we were supposed to check in. This place was really, really, hella small. I think there were 5 rooms and 2 suites on the property. We, of course, had a suite. However, the overwhelming demands of the customer flood they had there meant that the desk clerk/owner wasn't there. His dog Yogi was, though, and he was awesome. Eventually, the guy shows up and immediately greeted us by name, which was a very nice touch. Then he took us on the tour of the suite. This thing was superpimpy. Big ass living room, nice size bathroom with a smallish shower, HUGE bedroom, complete with 4-poster, king sized bed of rough-hewn maple (really cool looking) and a jacuzzi tub. There was also a fireplace that opened into the living room, but had a clear wall so you could see the fire from the bedroom.
We settled in, and then took a nice walk around the property. Really homey little place, and I hate nature, but I enjoyed this. Maybe it was because it was free. We eventually make our way out into Stowe to go to dinner at the Shed, which makes my all-time favorite beer: Mountain Ale. To put it in perspective, I like this stuff more than I like Arrogant Bastard. The Bastard is just a lot harder to get out here, so I get more excited for that. I ate a pretty tasty Delmonico with Bacon, had a sip of Jess's beer, we basically did the whole "grown up, romantic dinner" thing pretty well. And the tab? Cheap as shit. $60 for the 2 of us, with 3 beers for Jess. The Shed is highly recommended as an eating destination for all who go to Stowe. I had to cheat a little bit, because they had maple-baked butternut squash, but I managed to hold that to just one bite.
After dinner, we went to the Matrix. I don't know why the critics are blasting it as bad as they have been. It wasn't a great movie by any means, but it was enjoyable. Was it as good as the first one? Hell no. Was it as good as the second, which was itself inferior? Not really. But it was well worth the $7 per ticket.
After the movie, we went back to the Inn and I went all Boy Scout and made us a nice, roaring fire. We cuddled up under the thoughtfully-provided red flannel blanket, and watched football. Unromantic, you say? Maybe, but I wanted to watch football, and Jess was fine with it, as long as we had a fire, the blanket, and her bottle of wine. Besides, I ended up paying for my football later in the night. I had to keep putting logs on the fire, and at one point, I tossed a log into the fireplace, and as I pulled my hand out, I lightly brushed against the upper rim of the fireplace. Immediate blisterage. This one's going to take another week or so to heal.
The rest of the night is censored.
Sunday breakfast at the Inn was unremarkable except for one thing: they made the fluffiest omelet I've ever tasted, and they used Hella Sharp English Death Cheddar inside of it! I love cheese that's so bitter it makes your face cave in, so that was a nice touch, and to top it off, they used Harrington's thick-cut bacon. Mmmm...pig flesh... After breakfast, we drove back to Burlington to hang with Maem and the fam for a while, then rolled back into Boston at about 8:30. Went out with Doherty to Cambridge Common for dinner, where I had 2 bacon cheeseburgers, no bun. I think the waiter, a skinny gay man, was a little appalled at that, because he didn't seem to want to come over to bring me water.
The Troy recap that we got from Doherty that night was way funnier than the one he wrote up in his lj.
Jess didn't leave until Monday morning, so I got a ride into work, where I did absolutely nothing, since my boss was in court for a speeding ticket. Weaselly bastard managed to get out of it, too.