BATTLE OF THE ANTS

This is a photo of my two black cats/blobs of fur, sitting on the couch as if a houseguest had never been here...but the little one is still a little anxious. She needs a kitty valium or something.

It's been several days since I returned from Yosemite, and I realize I haven't really written a darn thing about it. Reasons include the reasons I had to go to Yosemite in the first place. So far Linda's written about arriving in California, which is all fun and games. I think what I'll do is write my posts behind her posts so you can get the backstory/things she's left out for propriety's sake (or whatever).

You'll note that her first post is about drinking. The beverage of choice is a Key Lime Pie martini. I wasn't kidding when I told her I used up my allotment of clever when I came up with that as the first stop on the trip. You see, a few weeks ago Linda did a brave thing when she went and told her mom about her touch of teh gay. Doesn't matter how old you are (and boy howdy is Linda old [I know, I know, "shut up, mouse girl"]), it's always a rough thing. So a series of comments on that post devolved from patting her on the back and telling her how brave she was to threatening to withhold the traditional coming out pie. Of COURSE I meant it in a fairly irreverent way, although why I dragged seeker into that I don't know, and where I thought I was going to find some clean hookers, I also don't know, so thankfully the rest of the comments were all about literal pie and thus I just went with it.

Except there's also the traditional drinking that goes along with such a feat. Since I knew we were having sushi when she got into town (literal sushi from a Japanese restaurant, thank you very much), I wasn't sure how the drinking and pie-eating would work out. Also, I didn't have time to bake a pie. Then I remembered my buddy telling me about the various pie-flavored martinis at PF Chang's, and a plan was born. Two very determined people stormed into the bar area (ok, one determined person and one very trusting person) and ordered up two key lime pie martinis. They were quickly downed and we were on our way to stop number two: sushi.

Now, I love me some sushi. I could eat it every damn day. As Linda comments in her post, "Sushi eating with Julie is not just a meal; it's an event. There's no dainty nibbling on a roll or two and a few pieces of fish. The table is filled and everyone feasts." 'Tis true. However, what she's really trying to say is that I'm a big fat sushi hog and we eat sushi in waves. Carpaccio, several rolls, then white tuna sashimi and several more rolls...lather, rinse, repeat. Sometimes if there's room there's tempura fried ice cream, but there was no room this time. There was beer, however. Throughout the dinner, Linda kept referring to the crappy-ass sushi place in her town, the only one, and how it's run by some white people who seem not to understand what sushi is all about. I'm afraid for her.

After dinner, we wandered back to my condo whereupon Max began to whore himself all over her and Deuce hid and hid and hid and hid for days and days and days. She's better now. I think we watched crappy TV for awhile and then Linda went off to the bedroom with my warning: "I hope the bed's ok. I've never slept in it." It's true. I sleep on the couch all.the.time. It goes along with my fear of the silence and the dark. [Remember that fact for future stories.]

The plan wasn't to leave right away on Friday, because I still had to work at least until noon and until my boss said it was ok to go. So I sat on my ass in the morning while Linda went for a run. I think my ass got bigger just because of that. She came back from the run and I was still sitting on my ass, and I felt bad because what kind of host makes her guest sit around and watch Little House on the Prairie reruns while she works? A crappy one. So I asked if she wanted anything to eat and I whipped up some breakfast: eggs, toast, hash browns, grits. As she says in her post, it was through a true act of friendship that I allowed her to put sugar on her grits. She was still harping about this sugar-in-grits things several days later, at which time a complete stranger at the food court in Yosemite Lodge informed her that, indeed, sugar-in-grits was disgusting.

Two hours later, my boss said we could leave. Hooray! I was hungry, so we stopped for lunch (since I hadn't eaten yet, only Linda had) and then to Target for some film, and off we went on the first leg of the journey: to Yosemite. I was a terrible California driver, as no less than thirty minutes into the trip my work called and we had some emergency thing that falls under the list of things that I deal with. So I drove while talking on my cel for 40 minutes, walking my co-worker through exactly the things to type and where and how. Fun for all.

Labels: misc life, outdoorsy