Everything floats down here

Aaron came down from Joplin on Saturday, and after wandering Nixa for a while, I met him at the mall for some mediocre hijinks. About the only thing worth noting about that was as a birthday present for a friend who's party we were going to later, I bought a paddle.

Afterward, we went to the cemetery to look at Confederates, then the park/art museum, which was even more mediocre because there was construction and unlike the last time, in which I wandered about by my lonesome, there was no one to let us in.

We did what any rational adult would have done in that situation: We nabbed a spotlight and took to the sewers.

It was hard to breathe down there, and very dark. The last time I'd gone I didn't have a flashlight, and just assumed that this underground tunnel ended somewhere, and it did; in a pile of human feces, graffiti glorifying murder and fellatio (in that order), and the car key falling off of Aaron's lanyard.

The sun was going down by the time we discovered what had happened, and by our second trip down (a search and rescue mission), no dice. Wheezing from the noxious fumes we'd just willingly subjected ourselves to, which being of a certain age bracket isn't too bad a thing, we called road service who promptly told us to fuck off.

I called my friends to help, even my dad, in search of a slim jim. Again, no dice, so we just relied on some buddies who'd already gotten drunk to come pick us up. The wait was spent in a Mexican restaurant, eating with our sewer hands and listening to the Mexican National Anthem on the jukebox.

We went to a shitty hick club, one of dozens you can find in Springfield, and aside from enabling my innocent young friend to be molested by the paddle I'd bought unintentionally for her boyfriend (apparently), there wasn't much to say about that aside from giving my phone number away to a cute boy with too many holes in his face, running into a friend of the family, and getting high in the bathroom.

I was too drunk to remember much of what happened, or at least the order. Aaron and I got lost in Springfield after deciding the best choice of action would be to drive an hour away for keys in my unreliable car, and then an hour back, again in my unreliable car.

On the way back, maybe five o'clock in the morning, Aaron and I were stupid from the kind of tired you can only get from staying awake long enough to be sober again. The highway would have been lulling, hypnotic, if my car didn't rattle in a disturbing way whenever it goes over 45.

As usual our peace of mind didn't last. Flashing lights, and shining glass on the road, lead us to a semi-truck that had tipped to its side.

Of course we pulled over to help. The driver had a broken collarbone but didn't seem too hurt, so we stayed until moar people arrived, I left my first aide kit, and we continued onward.

This was Saturday. Today is Sunday, and after having dinner with an apparently amiable ex-boyfriend's family (which really was nice, what with somewhat masochistic renewed interest and all), I am exhausted and still have a sore throat. My voice has been going all day, and Aaron is having troubles too. I'm guessing from the sewer, cheap weed, or cigarette smoke. Take your pick.

How was your weekend?