So, it was quite the couples weekend...We're all quite happy for Art here at Weenies and Idiots. Yay! For once Happiness for the Artful Scheme! Plus, oh my God! think of all the free massages!
However, we advise him to be cautious when entering any relationship. Why you ask? 'Cause it's been one fucked up relationship weekend:
We begin with Greg's brother--his girlfriend dumped him, but that's okay 'cause she's taken to throwing stuff at him (books, glass paperweights, etc.,) and given her particularly fine aim, it was becoming difficult to not defend himself --given his very strong anti-girl hitting feelings, the situation was untenable.
But really, the winner of the psycho-award goes to a former roommate and her husband who are in the process of splitting.
Friday, he started emailing me with a psychiatric diagnosis of his wife (my friend) 's behavior. (Evidently he came up with it himself, as well as the probably far-fetched causes for it.) I told him that his theory was far from an actual diagnosis by a professional and he should really stop sharing his ideas with all and sundry. Fine. He apologized. In the meantime, the wife called to see if I wanted to get together over the weekend. Great, tentative plans made.
Saturday at noon, about an hour before we were going to hook up, she called to say she was in Dallas visiting her family, 'cause he was too bizarre to be in the same apartment. No problem.
Two hours later, she called again, could we pick up the dogs in Hoboken and take them to a doggie spa in Chelsea? Evidently her husband's committed himself to an AA facility and "the two men who brought him home to pick up some stuff left the keys with a neighbor". A neighbor that she doesn't have contact information for--she's left a message with a second party, asking them to leave a note with the first neighbor to call her. Once that's taken care of, she can make the boarding arrangements.
In the end, at 5:15, she calls to say that everything was set: only problem, the neighbor with the keys is available only after 6. The doggie spa only accepts drop offs until 8. We need to travel, in a huge thunderstorm, to and from a different state, with animals, in less than 3 hours.
We got to their building at 6:30, luckily the storm has subsided. The neighbor let us in. Played with the dogs for a while, gathered their stuff, called the car service she normally uses. They have a new policy, they don't take dogs anymore. The clock's ticking. It's now almost 7--we have an hour to get to Manhattan. We find another car service--the very large driver is VERY concerned about the dogs scratching his leather seats and has Serpico playing on the backseat DVD: this is more than a little disturbing.
Ride into the City, the dogs are fine, no damage to the car. We get the dogs checked in, and go outside. The storm has kicked up again; it's a nor'easter. Greg's umbrella is bent in half and there's horizontal hail. Through sheer force of will, we make our way walking bent over double most of the time, to a Mexican restaurant on the Lower East Side. As we sit, finally warm again, with a pitcher of sangria between us, discussing the insanity of his brother's situation and the one we've just played such a role in I lift my glass toasting him with the inevitable conclusion:
"If you didn't look good before, you're looking absolutely FANTASTIC by comparison!"
"Here, here, Baby! Here, here!"
There's lots of loons out there...be careful.
Tiny mice...tiny mice...
Tiny mice...tiny mice...
