Weekend of Weird

I had a weird weekend. Weird. It involved a parent, old flames, a very sweaty party, and the track. There wasn’t much of a common thread so i’m having a hard time pulling it neatly together. Perhaps it could be A Weekend of Scenes Stolen From an Indie Comedy.

Imagine your first boyfriend with whom you fell obsessively in love, with whom half of your nostalgia for New York City remains wrapped up, who introduced you to parts of yourself you never knew existed, who kinda broke your heart into a trillion pieces and then stomped on those pieces several times with big heavy hard-soled boots, whom you haven’t really seen in 3 years and haven’t really hung out with in even longer. Imagine he shows up in the city (with quite a few surprise developments in his life to boot). Then imagine he comes in on the same night as your mom is coming in to town stay with you from LA, and the two of you have a mint ice tea and then run into mom outside your building and he helps her with her bags up the stairs and then the three of you sit in your unlit living room (because you still haven’t fixed the lamp that the subletters swear they didn’t break) and talk about the plight of the third world’s labor force.

Fast forward to he leaves to meet other friends, you and mom have a nice dinner of nearby french food, you and your mom arm wrestle because she’s been taking kick-boxing classes and challenges you. She handily beats you on the left arm, but you sweat out a narrow victory twice on the right arm. That night you invite First Boyfriend to a party out in Bushwick that you’d wanted to check out but only with a vehicle, which he has. So the two of you sweat and half-dance and half-talk and share way too many sideways glances at this party full of cool kids, take a moonlit walk in the car graveyard nearby, and get home at 4:30AM where you make a bed for him out in the living room and creep into your own bed with your sleeping mom.

Then the three of you wake up, he goes to the store for eggs and juice, you cook up eggs with an avocado salsa, and mom sets the table, and the three of you sit down and eat a homemade brunch which is actually really very pleasant in a CBS sitcom sort of way. By then it’s 12 noon and you have to shoo everyone out so you can go meet another former crush and take the LIRR to Belmont Park to go bet on the horses. Which turns out to be super duper fun, and the two of you end up $31.40 ahead. You suggest earmarking the $31.40 to treat yourselves to something cool, but now that you’ve had a few days to think about it, $31.40 “treats” two people to very little in this city. You can only think of a movie with a soda and popcorn each, and maybe shared Milk Duds if the theater is semi-reasonable, but not ice cream. Nope, it can’t cover ice cream.

It could have been weirder, but probably not by that much. But nice. There’s something about seeing First Boyfriend that reminds me of when i was a little stupid, but less cynical about things. I was still cracking one-liners which i can’t remember doing so much when i was 17. I liked seeing Aaron again. I liked that he’s still a person i enjoy being around. I like that the people from my past are not locked away and gone forever. They can show up and we can eat eggs and make small talk with my mom. I liked that my mom is much more able to roll with the punches than i give her credit for. And i like watching the horses and winning money for nothing, regardless that it gave me overwhelming urges to drink Bud Tall Boys and smoke Parliament Lights, which if you must know, i resisted.

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