Monday, July 18, 2011

Master of my domain

As soon as I saw the headlights, I knew a masterpiece was brewing.  This is the kind of masterpiece that has such masterful potential, you fear you might wreck it before you even begin.  I thought of angles and counter angles, strategized and rejected said strategies until I finally decided there is nothing to it but to do it. 

I should back up a little bit and explain the beauty that is now.  I bailed from the apartment that I was 'renting' a few short days ago.  If this were a James Bond yarn, it would be me jumping from the plane without a parachute attached to my back.  It isn't a James Bond tale, so it was simply me jumping ship without a firm grasp on my immediate plans for the future.  Or even that night.

The coolest boss in the world-who is simultaneously the most devout in spirit, pleasing to behold, and seemingly kinder than kin-offered her place since she was going out of town.  And after a few modestly scornful glances from her beau, she set off with Mike on their Pacific Northwetern tour to take in Eddie Vedder on a Eukelele, or banjo, or some such silly stringed instrument.

So, after a few brief farewells and promises of leaving the place how I found it, and a pre-emptive admonishment from Rachelle to not sniff any panties, I set about my weekend of wall staring.  The fun part comes when they get back and I haven't secured a place to stay for the night.  What do I do?  Campout!

So I drive over to the parking lot at work-only after pilfering some wine out of a box in Rachelle's fridge-and begin the stakeout.  I struck out on calling any homies about the fun times I was in the middle of experiencing.  I then resorted to the old standby, hanging with my best pal.  Me.  And so it was.

Roughly twenty minutes ago, I saw headlights turn the corner as I was listening to some Bob Marley in my car.  I turned and who should approach the new whip but Mama Bear herself.  "What are you doing?"

"Huh?  Oh, just having a slumber party in the parking lot." 

She shrugged and stifled a scoff.  "Do you want to come in and sleep on the beds?"

It was the opposite of "Friday", where rather than pointing and saying 'no' after D-Bo asked if I wanted some, I pointed and said, "yes.  That would be sweet."

And sweet it is.  Like Tom Hanks in the terminal, I'm just rocking it.  I might put some of the robes on and stroll around.  Maybe there's some shaving in the cards, or perhaps crude, hastily executed bathing performed at the sink.  Who knows?  The possibilities are endless.  Endless, I tell you.

So, while I was looking forward to my first car campout and a bold step into the hobo experience, I'll gladly take the semblance of civilization that is the office.  And it's possible that I'll blog five times tonight as the evening unfolds.