This is going to be one weird summer.

Weekends!

This past one was an early birthday/bon voyage celebration and started with a mix-up of Elizabeth's famous bourbon slush. I decided to halve the recipe, so it went like this: 4 cups of water, 1/2 cup of frozen lemonade (thawed), 1/2 cup of frozen orange juice (thawed), 1/2 cup of bourbon, 1/2 cup of sugar. Freeze in plastic pitcher. It was frozen by morning, and we enjoyed it all weekend. This is the perfect summer drink treat.

Friday afternoon, we headed out for pizza with one of B.'s school friends and his fiancée. Blue moons and pizza were consumed and presidential politics was discussed. Then we watched Battlestar Galactica, which frankly was as dull as dishwater. It seemed like a lot happened, but it all happened so utterly boringly that I could not care. We also started The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, but I slept through most of the first half. I blame the Blue Moons.

On Saturday morning, we headed out to the farmer's market for muffins, lemon scones, garlic cheese biscuits, and coffee. At some point, we finished The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, which was so utterly gorgeous and profoundly moving that I wept throughout. I loved every performance in the movie, especially Max von Sydow's. Highly recommended. We had lunch at one of our favorite sandwich places and listened to the guitar man play the theme from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly on his fiddle very beautifully. B. went for a massage, and when I went to pick him up, I saw the teacher of my old circuit class!!!!! He gave me his card and I really hope to check out his new gym. B. said, "She loved that class," and I said, "I did. I really did." In the immortal words of my teacher, "Love yourself!"

That afternoon, we went to a reception at an art gallery where for some reason I almost had a heat stroke even though normally I'd be all about visiting a labyrinth, and then we went out to dinner. We had shrimp over eggplant and angel hair pasta and some other stuff. I can't remember. Oh yeah. A fried ball of crabmeat with little fried strings shooting out of it that looked like the flying spaghetti monster. Sazeracs. Cake.

A new dog park opened, so when we woke up early on Sunday morning, we decided to head over there.

I first brought Zuko home a little more than seven years ago because the shelter people told me he gets along with any dog, any time, and I didn't want a dog who would snap back at Daisy. They were right, and it seems this is his essential nature and hasn't changed. He just rambled around at the park and had a great time, not really engaging in serious play with the other dogs, but being unfazed by it all and peeing happily on every fence post he passed. Daisy was nervous, but she didn't snap at anyone and seemed to appreciate the wide open spaces she could retreat to. It was a good time.

Later that morning, we headed down the river for brunch. I got us hopelessly lost and was an asshole about it. But brunch was divine.

"Why don't we eat here all the time?" B. asked. "I was just thinking the same thing," I said. He had some kind of black bean soup with shrimp and bacon, and I had the best food on earth, otherwise known as a bread bowl with shrimp, yellow/red/green bell peppers, and purple onions in some kind of buttery, spicy heavenly sauce and a mimosa.

Then we split eggs over a fried grits cake topped with BBQ shrimp. All of this took place in a little old wooden building that used to be a general store right across from the river. This place is almost too perfect.

After that, we stopped at my parents' house so B. could look through their multiple boxes of crazy travel accessories. On our way out the door, my dad asked him if he had a pedometer. When he said no, my dad shrieked, "YOU CANNOT GO TO EUROPE WITHOUT A PEDOMETER!" and ran back into his study to fetch one. One of my dad's favorite things to do when traveling is to measure and then report how many miles he walked that day.

Early that evening, we met a couple of friends and their dogs back at the dog park. It was way, WAY more crowded this time, and while Zuko continued his easygoing wandering without caring where I was, Daisy was not as relaxed and stuck pretty close to my side. I think it was because she was pretty tired from the outing that morning and kept looking at me wearily while surrounded by fetching, spazzing dogs with an "I am nine, and I have had it" face. If she felt cornered and didn't appreciate it, she definitely let the other dogs know. B. kept reminding me that she picks up on my nervousness, so I tried to keep my distance, but usually I'd just walk away from the scuffle and call her to come with me to a less crowded area of grass, and it would work out okay. I really want to keep taking them, but I do worry about her sometimes. The funniest sight of the evening was seeing four large dogs sniffing the belly of a yorkie who'd rolled over and seemed to be loving the attention -- either that or seeing our friends' floppy, adorably clownish boxer / mastiff mix bound over, come to a face-to-face stand-off with a chihuahua, and lick it delicately on the nose.

The reason behind all of the festivity this weekend = B. is going to France for the summer. I just waved goodbye in the driveway and cried a lot. I am now consoling myself with cold cashew chicken and a Gossip Girl rerun.

I miss him already.