I had a lot of good laughs at my own expense this weekend. The title is one of them. We went out on a big box hunt and filled the truck with boxes from Plaistow NH's state liquor store. In NH, the state runs the liquor business, so the liquor stores are few and far between. They don't sell beer at all. You can buy beer all over the place, in gas stations even, which doesn't happen in Massachusetts.
New Hampshire is a very peculiar little place.
Anyway, there is a state liquor store right off of the highway going up I-95. Perhaps you've seen it. We went there first but only got two boxes. We then had to go to Plaistow to get to the next closest liquor store to our house. We could have gone up to Portsmouth or out to Rte 1 to Seabrook, but we wanted to get closer to home... so we hit Plaistow.
They had tons and tons of boxes and told us we could take as many as we wanted. So we loaded up the big ole truck, and drove away with our "Box Booty." Jess said we were like Pirates on the prowl for treasure.
While we were at the liquor store, Doug made some purchases. One cannot be low on Gin when one has five days left to pack all one's belongings, can one? No. One cannot.
So we had four bottles of booze in the truck.
We got home, and Jess said "I'm going to go inside for a minute and then come out for the box booty."
"Yes," I said, "And we cannot forget liquor booty as well."
And I stopped and put my hand over my mouth -- Liquor Booty. Oh dear God, did I just say Lick Her Booty in front of my daughter?
"Oh, that came out wrong." I muttered. And Jess died laughing. She caught it, and knew what the entendre was.
So Liquor Booty is the new inside joke between mom and Jess. Every mom and girl need an inside joke. We have about 100. And now, 101. Luckily my daughter didn't turn around and say "Liquor box is just as naughty to say, mom."
Heh. Liquor box.
And as many of you know, there was insane amounts of rain last weekend. We had tons of flooding all over the region. Our creek and pond handled it wonderfully with no overflowing ... and our basement got less than an inch of rain in it, which, compared to others (cough, Mr. Garfield) is nothing.
Long time followers of this journal know that a year ago right about now her 12 year old daughter had brain surgery, almost didn't make it, there was a LOT of drama, and there continues to be a lot of worry and drama for K.
Suzanne and Gerry (pictured here) went with us to Mohegan Sun when we went to see BNL. She was my ticket buddy, and is a good pal. I am proud of her, all she managed to accomplish, all she fought through. All she did and all she will do -- I can't say that this is a meaningless event for me, watching from the sidelines in her life.
Here's to you Suzanne (and Gerry! and K and J and all the family). Hopefully next year won't be nearly as stressy. Congrats girl. Congrats.
Anyway -- we're packing. We're making progress. We're throwing out stuff, we're saving stuff. We're making little funny discoveries that crack my shit right up. Doug has spent two days on one closet alone. Two. Days. He is reading everything in there, and we don't really have time. I would rather he bring everything with to the new house, read it there, and then use it for kindling in the woodstove when the time comes. But. If I argue he'll push back and no progress will be achieved.
When we went to go to on the box hunt, we argued a little as to who would go. Geoff and I went last Saturday. I thought he should go.
"We both could go," he suggested.
"Well, that wouldn't be an efficient use of our time, would it?" I replied.
He sniffed sadly and said, "Our love is inefficient."
Yes, he ended up coming with me. Our love may be inefficient, but it is lasting.
I'm sure he's sitting in the other room muttering and cursing me right now for not participating in the packing, but I needed a break.
And I leave you with this:
So a lot of parents stuck around, and I knew my friend Suzanne would be there, burning off the stress of her recent nursing school graduation. So I agreed to stay and skate as well. Jess doesn't skate. I think she was ten and was trying to learn and fell down, and has never gotten back on skates. I wanted to show her that one would not die if one skated.
So. I skated.
Dude -- check out the size of those gianormous feet. I have Side Show Bob feet when they're inside skates!
They had inline skates and old-school skates. I had to go with the old school, and transport myself back to 1980 which is I think the last time I actually skated. "This is me in Grade Nine baby, yeah! This is me in Grade Nine!" I was singing it in my head over and over as I went around the floor, getting lapped repeatedly by 14 year old boys and girls. The only one not lapping around me was Courtney's three year old brother. I left him in the dust and the boy had to EAT IT! Yeah, eat my dust kid!
I gave up after it felt like my calves were going to explode.
I was trying to figure out how to use my thigh muscles to skate, and they were no help at all... so the burden was entirely on the calves. I hated it.
Now I'm sore.
And I predicted correctly -- Doug just came in and sighed. So I better get back at it. Wish us luck in getting it all done, y'all. Wish us luck.
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