Weekend Report

So, A’s Big Three-Oh.
Great friends/ old roommates visiting from Indiana, great friends from our hipster neighborhood over for semi-spontaneous burgers and cornhole and general yard-ing and sitting on the garage porch. No sleep. Big fun, Big drinks, no sleep. Did I say that part already? Bird does not care how much fun you were having or what time you put everyone in cabs and turned out the lights--she is ready for mad clapping at 5:30 in the morning, and you would be an ogre to deny her.

What Did A. Want For His Birthday?

A tattoo, of course. Of a bird. And it looks bad ass.
I thought it would be a good idea to take a seven-month-old to the tattoo place while daddy got some ink. And on second thought, not much to do for a baby in a tattoo place. What did we do, you ask? Well, I put Bird in the Bjorn and we tried to hang out with A, but she was making all kinds of sudden noises and I don’t think the artist (or A.) appreciated her enthusiasm. We walked around the waiting area. Paged through the poster rack of tattoo options, made “Raooooowwwwwwwl” noises when we came to the big-bears-and-tigers-with-pointy-teeth sample page, asked a million questions about the stuff in the body jewelry case (where would you put that? Really?) looked at professional tattoo magazines, and talked to a girl named Patty who was waiting to have her nips pierced, and was wisely going to have them both done at the same time. Gotta hand it to her—I probably wouldn’t have thought about that.

Before that we went to lunch (which is probably the reason I went to the tattoo place—the promise of tacos) at the taco place where you have to fill out a form about what you want while you’re in line. It’s really narrow and really rushed and people yell and I always come close to having some kind of aneurism over it, between the high-pressure food ordering and the gathering of utensils, drinks, salsa, napkins, straws, etc.

Free Gift With Purchase
I went to a yard sale on Friday morning, and there were actually some decent clothes there, and I spent $1.50 on a pair of pants and a shirt, because I am the THRIFTY QUEEN. Sadly, I had to skip one basket of what looked like pretty nice clothes in my size-ish, after holding up and examining a pair of jeans and looking inside for a tag and finding a pair of wadded up panties inside. No, I did not accidentally touch them, but eeew anyway, and I had to back away from that particular basket, which is a shame because I still had $4 and change to spend. Today’s lesson: Inspect your goodies for goodies before you put ‘em up for sale.