And then

Woke up with a mild hangover at my mom's place. For some reason I chose to crash in my old bedroom that now sports a twin bed, instead of crashing in the spare room which boasts a double. Oh wait! I remember the reason: I was tired and drunk.
Went out for brunch with my mom to a place she'd not yet checked out. I'm not sure if it passed muster. My mom made a comment, something to the effect that there weren't a lot of meals that struck her as memorable and, even though I eat out a tremendous amount, I would have to concur. I mean, you consistently drop $30 or $50 for meals, but they're not exactly extraordinary for the most part.
This one was pretty good though. To start out, our waiter had the I-am-so-fucking-hungover-from-last-night shakes, which I could sympathize with. God, if I'd had to be up and serving hungover wretches like me brunch with a grin on my face I'd've been right choked. I had a beer with my breakfast, which I think a lot of marathoners do. Shit. I felt bad since it wasn't even noon, but it's intriguing how one gets over things quickly.
Then I got to watch some guy trying to reverse into a parking stall for three or four minutes. It was like watching a lava lamp: an utter waste of time, but I couldn't tear myself away. Let's do the math here: you just spent three minutes of your life exhibiting your shit driving skills to everyone in the restaurant, while making 16 point turns to try and back your effing Chrysler New Yorker or whatever the hell it was into a parking space. What was the goddamn point? If you had just pulled in and parked, you would have saved three minutes, and then I wouldn't have had to write all these words about what a stupid ass you are. I never back into parking spaces. I guess that I, like this guy today, could do it if for some reason it was critical and I wanted to commit a good three or four minutes to it, but I've got significantly better things to do: like drinking beer with breakfast.
So breakfast was okay. I kept hearing what sounded like kissing sounds behind me from time to time, and I thought that some disgustingly amorous couple had been seated behind me but... um... no. It appears to have been a man and has son. Yeah. And the kissing noises? My mom told me she saw the guy eating pasta with his hands at one point. So. Okay. Wow. Plus? The TVs were all turned to CNN and the sound was off. Why. Why??? CNN is for assholes (see CBC shirt donned in prior post), and what is the point of having the news on, if you don't have any sound? Either show me Mike Weir on the back nine or fuck off. God I love Mike Weir.
Then I came home and called Michael and he was on his bike in Burnaby and was like, "I'll meet you for coffee in an hour". Got home. Dropped my bags. Freshened up and headed out again.
Had coffee in Lynn Valley and then picked up some eats and took them to the park. I underestimated the park. The park is nice. We ate and then watched the honeybees for a while. Okay, I watched the honey bees and commented on how their coloring and markings differ from the honeybees on Lasqueti while Michael smiled wanly and thought, "Why am I dating someone that spends five minutes discussing honeybees?".
We wandered over to a different area of the park (after Michael warned me not to step on any bees) and found a playground so I thought, "Hey! This is a perfect opportunity to get some photos of myself that Squishy approves of!". Dude, it's all about the blog.
Then we rented a movie and I got a wicked foot rub and we ate a lot and Michael went home and I spent a long time uploading shit onto Facebook (hate FB) and blogging (love blogging).
Oh, and the fireworks happened again so I got to show Michael the reflections of the fireworks in the windows of the building across from me. Which is just as good as the real thing, right?