The Partner and I spent Friday night with his elder sister, who was visiting from out of town. We had been hanging out on campus, entertaining ourselves with the sight that is Weekend Before Classes Start. Which means: watching and mocking the scantily-clad gals in stilettos trying to get laid mixed with guys acting macho trying to get laid going in-between the four bars closest to campus. It’s always hilarious. This Friday night we were able to get spots next to a great group of folks, whose main aim was critiquing all the drunks as they passed by us.

Rule #1: If you’re out to get drunk, don’t wear fucking stilettos.

Rule #2: Make sure your skirt/dress covers your ass. Your whole ass.

Rule #3: Drink water.

Highlights of the night include seeing three different gals fall while trying to (1) exit a building and (2) get off the curb and into the street and (3) just walk down the sidewalk, and two random guys pissing in bushes, which were in plain sight. Much to my disappointment, there were no pukers, no fist fights, and no one was arrested in front of me.

We ended our night and proceeded to our car. On our way past a fast food joint, we saw a neighbor, Patrick, sitting/slumped on the stairs.

“Hey, Patrick! Thought you were having a party at your place tonight.”

“Oh my god! The Partner! Anne! [stand up, stumble forwards into The Partner] What’s up?! …Where are my friends?!”

A confused conversation ensues, wherein we manage to learn Patrick’s lost the location of the friends he’s supposed to be with and is so drunk he doesn’t care and just wants a ride home.

Yay, neighbors!

We get him to our car, I point out the little garbage bag in case of pukeage, and we drive home. The whole time Patrick’s all drunkard and yelling out of the window at random people.

We arrive home and stumble out of the car to find his lights are all on, the doors are all locked, the windows are locked, he has no keys, and no damn cell phone. By this point he’s belligerent, we’re trying to get him to drink water, and asking him to remember his roommate’s cell number. It becomes a cycle. He finally remembers the cell number.

I call the roommate.

“Hey, Roommate, this is Anne, your neighbor. We found Patrick and he’s really fucking drunk, and without keys, so can you come let him in?”

“Who? Who is this?”

“Your neighbor. Patrick is sick. Can you come home?”

“[garble, background bar noise, background bar noise]”

Hang up. Text message Roommate.

“This is your neighbor. We are with Patrick. He is very drunk and has no keys and doors are locked. Can you come let him in?”

Reply: “Yea be there soon.”

Twenty minutes pass. Patrick has been wandering around the backyard, yelling, sitting, passing out, trying each door, stumbling about. Two people come into the backyard, a gal and guy. Say they last saw him falling onto the floor of a bathroom at a campus bar and passing out, but they weren’t sure what happened to him.

My thoughts: What the fuck kind of friends are you to see your friend pass out on a bathroom floor and not take him home?

They don’t have the keys, or any cell numbers, and eventually leave.

I message Roommate again. “Patrick is really sick. He’s pissing on the wall. Has no keys. Can you come get him?”

Reply: “What? Whos this?”

“Jesus christ. This is your neighbor. Patrick is fucking drunk as hell, has no keys, can you come let him in?”

“Alright on our way damn.”

Ten minutes later two guys show up, one very drunk, and they wake up Patrick, who has since been passed out in a chair, and they’re all, “Dude, you totally fell down in that bathroom! We didn’t know what happened to you!”

Great friends.

Saturday we get back from breakfast and are outside letting George out to do his thing. Patrick was down with some other neighbors playing cornhole, comes over and is all, “I just want to let you guys know I’m not an alcoholic. It’s just our last bash before classes. I’m not an alcoholic. I’m totally going to make you guys dinner. I’m not an alcoholic. Thanks so much.”

Later in the day, around 5:45, The Partner and I are sitting at the kitchen table eating. There are people outside and it’s going good seeing as how folks have been drinking since 9am. Then some dude says, “I’m going to piss in this plant.”

The Partner and I look at each other. We leap and race each other to the door, as we’re the only folks on our side to have plants outside.

I get there first, throw open the screen door, only to see some skinny drunk dude pissing into my fucking ficus benjamina.

“WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE? YOU DON’T PISS IN MY FUCKING PLANT!”

The guy stuffs himself back into his pants. Looks shocked.

The Partner starts in, “WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOUR THINKING?”

I’m all, “YOU DON’T PISS IN MY FUCKING PLANT! There’s a fucking FENCE there, fucking piss on that!”

He’s all, “It’s only water!” and goes to the fence to finish peeing.

I’m all, “It’s only water!? YOU DON’T PISS IN MY FUCKING PLANT! Let me piss on you, asshole, it’s only water!”

Yeah, the fucking students are back.

Jeff, I miss you.

Perhaps he thought that since my dog was doing it, it was okay.

On the flip side, the majority of the state of California voted to WRITE INTO THEIR CONSTITUTION A BAN AGAINST SAME-SEX MARRIAGE.

How can a constitution DENY RIGHTS?

So now, all the tens of thousands of couples who already entered into the marriage contract may be told, “Whoops! It turns out you’re actually NOT citizens! Your marriage is annulled! Sorry! But we can still be neighbors and friends and co-workers, right?”

What. The. Fuck.

You want to talk about change?

How about recognizing ALL citizens as having inalienable rights?

I don’t think I can even finish the series now.

Throwing a psychic into the mix does not make the movie X-File-y. Why was it so disjointed? Why were they living together? All was forgiven?? And why was it so religious??

What the fuck.

Wilson (aka Will Dawg, aka Big Kitteh Style), my most favorite cat, got out the other night and hasn’t been seen since. We’ve notified friends, neighbors, the local shelter, and posted flyers. But there are so many neighborhoods; he could be anywhere.

The bad thing about this is that we’re leaving this Saturday for a week-long vacation.

I’m terribly sad.

UPDATE: Wilson was found!

We got home around 1:30-2:00AM and, having been in the car for a short while, I took the dog out back to do his stuff. Looking around at our Outside Stuff (things such as a grill, an outdoor fire pit thing, plant stand, bicycles), I notice the dirt outline on the patio of where The Partner’s bike usually sits. And its sans bike. I look around, thinking perhaps someone moved it, but there’s only the regular stuff and my bike.

“Babe, your bike’s gone.”

“What?”

“I don’t see your bike.”

“What?!”

The Partner went outside to search the yard, thinking a bike by the neighbors might have been his, but found nothing.

“Someone stole my bike.”

The Partner’s bike worked, although it was shitty and most likely needed air in the tires. I took my bike seat off right before winter hit, so that probably made mine less appealing. We bought them maybe four or five years ago at a big box store. Our compact four-door could only fit one at a time, so I had to drive home with one bike, wrangle it out of the car, then drive back to get The Partner and the other bike.

I can’t believe someone stole it. Right out of our backyard even. The past two mornings I’ve gone downstairs and looked to see if anything else has been stolen in the night. It’s Spring Break for the university, so either someone really did steal it, thinking all the students would be gone, or someone thought it would be funny to take our shitty big box bike.

While The Partner feels dejected and we’re both rather pissed our stuff isn’t safe outside right by our back door, we have been planning on buying new bikes for the spring—decent bikes from our local bicycle shop downtown—and this sort of forces us to start planning it out now. Still.

If you could hear The Partner when he says, looking sadly out the back door, “My bike was stolen”, your heart would weep, just a little.

When I first watched this video I thought it was ridiculous that folks would have a problem using a pooper scooper or just putting the bag over your hand. Life with a dog can be pretty gross, but I couldn’t come up with a justification for this product until I saw this video—I guess it would be great for those who live in concrete cities or other places with little-to-no access to grass.

It still seems weird to me, though.

Do you see that? Do you see her flipping us the bird?

How stunning, indeed.