Five Days, Part 2

I'm suffering withdrawals. This past weekend was so great, so fun and carefree, that when we returned from our trip opening the door to my house felt like kicking the bottom out of a giant stack of cardboard boxes, each one hitting me with force enough to sting, but not to bruise.

How could I expect life to live up to the standards of our mini vacation? First, I had my new toy to play with, which dropped digital bread crumbs as we drove to New York to visit the Mistress's friend Filmic Lemieux. She's a hoot through and through, and we ended up wandering around Brooklyn in search of eats after the place we set out for was closed. We settled on indian, which was quite tasty, and had a great time before splitting the check and parting ways.

Though trying to find a place to piss in Jersey City that wasn't locked, closed, or occupied by those passed out from drug use sucked, the next leg of the trip wasn't so bad. That is to say, I honestly don't remember much of it: we drove down to Slim Jim and Bartlet's place, arriving after 3am. Bartlet was staying up with some Street Fighter, the kind that it's been a decade since I last played. I held my own to his challenges through my superior button mashery. I never had a Nintendo or a Super Nintendo, so my fighting game technique has essentially remained unchanged over the years: panic, and panic quickly.

Saturday was absolutely beautiful. Our first real spring day. Upon stepping foot outside I ran to the car where I've kept two mitts and a baseball for the past few years for just such an occasion. Between catch, the tire swing, and a tennis ball thrown up on the roof, we spent a few hours reliving childhood. That night Bartlet broiled up some steak, chicken, peppers, and cucumbers, and they were all fantastic. After dinner we settled in for beer, espresso, and the Battlestar Galactica board game. For reasons I can't succinctly go into, it was a fun game to play but a depressing game to win.

Sunday Slim Jim set up a shooting range for his fancy new pellet gun. It even had a real rifle scope on it, which I'd never used before. I thought I was doing pretty well in showing off what I have for marksmanship until the Mistress went all Annie Oakly on us and started dropping cans like it weren't a thing. She was the only one of the four of us who managed to hit anything while standing. I myself couldn't hit anything unless I was prone. If things get too much worse I know which one of us is getting sent out with the BB gun to net us some squirrel.

It was hard to leave, but we had jobs, cats, and untwatched Battlestar Galactica to get back to.