Laptop Assholes

I can't believe I forgot to mention that the previous post was written in the lovely confines of 6 North again. Steve and I shared another day off today and I had initially suggested a trip to the pool. Since the day dawned cloudy with threats of storms, we decided not to waste the money on pool admission. I suggested a day of laptop assholery at the coffee shop instead and he agreed. We got there around 10am and I got my croissant, iced latte and Steve's chai from a rather stupid and unhelpful girl. Quite unlike the baristas on my first trip with Michael. We got ourselves nice and comfy and I took a chance and called Michael to see if he wanted to be an asshole with us. Happily, he agreed and showed up about 45 minutes later. We ended up staying for almost five hours and it was a lot of fun. Steve watched baseball on his computer, I wrote, Michael wrote and we surfed a while, checking out a curious assortment of penis bondage gear and chastity equipment for both sexes. Michael also sent me to a gay D/s online store and we shall not speak of that again. In the course of our conversation we discussed something in St. Louis called The Club, which turns out to be a gay bath house/sauna/gym. I had never heard of it, but Steve was quite familiar and Michael also knew of the place. I was outraged to find out that women are not allowed. Not surprised, but outraged nonetheless. I insisted on driving past its midtown location on our way home. It's fairly unassuming building but I want in! There's an outdoor pool! A dry sauna! And, seriously, I don't mind if there are guys blowing each other around me. Nay! I'd really enjoy that! Let me in, Club!

On our way around town we stopped at the kind of icky thrift store on Delmar at Grand. I got a couple of things I'm rather happy with. These shoes (hey, I'm thrifty; and cute shoes are cute shoes):


And this vintage silk scarf with this tag:


Then we stopped at Home Depot for a new fan. We have a mighty powerful fan at work that I generally hate -- it's noisy and fucking cold. But I'm generally out voted and the damn thing is always on. At home though, with no air conditioning we need a fan with some muscle. So we got this:


Last but not least, here's Michael from the first trip we took to 6 North, and me just a few minutes ago...




See y'all later.

Tell me that you want me/Tell me that you need me/Tell me 'cause I'd like to know/Now!

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Forget your fancy manners/forget your English grammar/'cause you don't really give a damn/about this year's girl

Yesterday evening I got the idea that it would be fun to spend my Tuesday off in a coffeehouse, drinking, eating, and browsing the Intarnet with Michael. I called him early in the a.m. and he sleepily agreed, though his diva nature and morning habits made it another hour before he was even ready to leave home. I couldn't wait any longer and I headed to 6 North to await his arrival.

Is it traitorous to patronize a rival, independent coffeehouse? Or just traitorous to enjoy it so much? The espresso is good, the pastries are good, the free wifi is a bonus and the B.L.T. featuring slices of avocado and chipotle mayo is outstanding. I am definitely coming back here.

It's been a few days since I last wrote. Is it too late to chronicle the drunken debauchery (yeah, I wish) of our (me, Steve, Michael and Michael's friend Chaste Matt) night out last Friday? Perhaps I'll just hit the high (and low points): 1. A bachelorette party at the Loading Zone. Really? Low point, though the bride-to-be did score when she got Steve to pose with her as "a tall guy" for her scavenger hunt. 2. The beautiful emo boys who, alas, left too early. 3. The sadly, pathetically, beautiful rent boy who louched around the joint making eyes at anyone and everyone. The boys in my party were much less sympathetic to this poor child than I. I felt for him and his spoiled fruit beauty. 4. $4 cosmopolitans. High and low. Sugar sweet drinks make me suffer the next day, and I had more than enough of them to cause suffering. 5. The Metro Station,Fall Out Boy and FloRida videos. 6. The man equivalent of Candice Bergen. You'd think maybe high, but definitely low. 7. Heading to Novak's when LZ closed. High. 8. Five dollar cover charge at Novak's. Low. 9. Huge crowd, dancing, and a consistently short line for the ladies room. 10. The girl of my dreams is an employee of Novak's. Sigh. 11. Being felt up and asked repeatedly, "Baby? Vagina? Baby? Vagina?" by a friend of a customer (not even one I like), in the street, at 3 a.m. 12. The killer 12 hour hangover the next day.

Eh, I'm tired of writing and am hankering for shoe shopping.

I firmly believed that I didn't need anyone but me/I sincerely thought I was so complete/Look how wrong you can be

Steve, Michael and I made the Novak's Myspace page! I was pretty excited that they decided to post our photo until I checked and saw that they posted all 4,000 photos they took that night. Ah well, fame is fickle and fleeting, but aren't we fabulous?

He's so mercifully free of the pressures of grace/Saint Peter in satin, he's like Buddha with mace

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To be the words that never made the page/Be the one that's always/Left out in the rain

When I posted my last estate sale finds, I was vaguely aware that there weren't enough...things to account for my happiness with the sale. I blame the sun frying my brain all the subsequent afternoon that I forgot six of the best things I bought. D'oh.

First, I got two identical metal serving trays, about 18 inches square. I've already put them to use, which is perhaps why I forgot to photograph them immediately.


And then, this set of four leaf trays, made from subtly sparkly plastic. And for all six of these items? Two dollars!

Sweet like the way it was/like swimming for the very first time

Late Saturday afternoon I found out that, due to his co-worker popping some stitches in his knee, Steve would be off work with me on Sunday (it also meant he had to work an 11 hour day on Saturday. It was predicted to be a gorgeous, hot day and I knew I wanted to do something outside, but I had no concrete plans.

We woke up early Sunday morning and Steve, brilliantly, suggested we go to the Sunset Hills pool. What a perfect idea. The pool is one of the few in the area open to non-residents and we've spent a good deal of time there in summers past. It's not one of the new fancy mega-pools, just a basic smallish place that caters to families. It's a testament to how much I love sitting by the pool that I don't even mind, heck, I even enjoy, the constant stream of shouting and splashing children.

But before we hit the pool we wanted to visit an estate sale in nearby Webster Groves. Stepping into the garage it was clear I'd find some good stuff -- the lady loved her paper products and was clearly a most active shopper in the late '60s/early '70s. I immediately grabbed some '70s paper napkins and plates, a little box of really cute post card notes, two hostess sets - one a bridge set and one a set with various napkins, coasters and matches(!), and box of smallish bird print notecards and envelopes.











And finally, I got a nice chunk of '70s kitchen fabric in those classic yellow, red and brown tones. This will definitely become the property of a certain reader if she wants it. I bought it with her in mind.


I also got another very excellent item, but it must remain a secret as it's not for me!

So, on to the pool! It wasn't very crowded and it was getting quite hot when we arrived. Slathered in not very protective tanning oils (me) and SPF 30 (Steve), we proceeded to lounge in the sun, dipping into the pool occasionally. It was kind of like heaven. Some 3+ hours later we gathered up our things and I realized I had not been very prudent about sun protection. Nothing like the season's first sunburn! My face is rather red, and my formerly fish belly white stomach is quite burnt. Hot to the touch and and hurting. But no matter; it'll turn to tan soon enough.

A stop at the grocery store on the way home got the ingredients for a barbeque and we spent the evening on the deck eating and drinking a delicious bottle of fume blanc.

A great day.