The long weekend started quite poorly with no functioning shower/bath in the apartment for two days. And while as a kid, I viewed bathing as unnecessary and encumbering, I realize that I do not smell like a baby anymore but more like the sewage in their diapers. So by day's end, I am usually over ripe and need to be hosed down.
Now, I am no handyman and instead, I tried to will, yell and seductively dance for the water to come out of the faucets but to empty results. And trying to reach my landlord to address the situation in a timely manner is like asking Babyboo (wife) if she can not go overboard while shopping:not happening. Babyboo was out of town and so out of laziness and because left to my own devices, I just slept in my filth on Friday night, leaving behind a greasy body outline on my sheets.
By Saturday afternoon, I relegated myself indoors so as to keep socially responsible to not disgust my fellow man but I was becoming quite the squeaky wheel and was persistently calling the management company, harassing the doorman and leaving nasty voice mails for said slumlord, asking if he wanted to smell how angry I am. I received suggestions from friends to sponge myself clean with a bucket of borrowed water from my neighbors or to Frebreeze myself silly. Finally, after threatening to report everyone to the City, the slumlord came and fixed the situation and I washed away my film of dirt along with my anger.
Sadly, not to be undone, I will confess that the pinnacle of Memorial weekend was that a group of buddies and I rented a car and headed out to New Jersey for some amazing fun. Not to go golfing or Atlantic City or any entertainment event but instead to go to The Cheesecake Factory (really? yes, really). Every great city is near one but The Cheesecake Factory is characterized by never ending menus, custom décor, large portions and of course, the hearty cheesecake. The adventure was suggested on a whim and hit a nostalgic chord amongst the dudes which reminded us of the treasures of strip malls and the suburbs in which we were nurtured. With anticipation we drove over there and gorged ourselves on the feast before us for over 3 hours, getting all the best of the best dishes we could remember from yesteryear.
It was clearly too much food but I even ordered some cheesecake for Babyboo to go. We were genuinely satisfied and so happy with ourselves. Hi-fives were had, chest bumps and out of context endzone celebrations and/or pre-game rituals/handshakes/dances exploded in the parking lot amongst us idiots. But pathetically, as we were heading back, we saw that the lights on our car had been left on and when we tried to start the car, the battery was completely fried and could not even get jacked. So after several hours of waiting for a tow truck, I consumed Babyboo's cheesecake (for survival) and at 1:30am on Sunday morning after a cramped ride back with Roger, the tow truck guy, we got home.
Was the Cheesecake adventure worth it? You bet your Avocado Egg Rolls and Chicken Madeira it was. (but not really)
How was your weekend?