Getting served was not actually all that bad. A portly blond asshole with an earpiece handed me a bundle of papers, asked if my last name was Dutch (at least I come by my crazy honestly), and I went back upstairs to read and plot. The papers themselves are very straightforward. I have scheduled a consultation and will proceed, no meltdown required.
The day was rescued by my absolutely awesome and amazing and incomparable friends. LTP did not leave my side the whole time. a raw came over and made sandwiches to sustain me while we awaited the delivery. Gennie and Em came over with sparking wine, macaroni and cheese, and chocolate chip cookies. We watched Obama speeches until my faith and joy in the remaking of the world was restored. It was, actually, an almost wonderful day.
The following night, Menagerie House decided to go out to dinner and a movie. It had all the makings of another fabulous night. We had delicious sushi. I almost stole a giant sign form Chapters that read "Smarten Up," but was caught at the last second and had to pretend I only wanted my picture taken with it. Then, we watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. That's when things started to go downhill.
The movie was fantastic. From the opening scene, featuring a dying mother and her daughter in hospital in New Orleans while Hurricane Katrina was about to hit, I knew I was in trouble. The film isn't moving at all, really, providing you have never known loss or true love or aren't ever saddened by things like the impermanence of the world. I, of course, bawled for over half of that bullshit three-hour film. Gennie had to teach me to release tension in my face and buy me a shot of Maker's Mark at the Rex before I felt restored enough to make it home.
Yesterday was an absolute symphony of uselessness. Lily and I staged a mini Battlestar Galatica marathon and managed to have brunch before it was somehow 7pm. WE had just enough time to grab some Thai takeout, pick up tickets from Eyesore Cinema (which, between the hot indie boys and proliferation of European horror films, may be my new favourite video store), and make our way to the Trash Palace to meet Bill K. We watched an amazing film called The Massacre up North (the drill-bit-to-the-brain scene was beaten only by the bubbling-pitch-and-crossbow-and-kidnapped-girl-in-medieval-garb scene) and bought Luchedor masks. Apparently Stacey is an ardent Mexican wrestling fan and buys up authentic masks all the time. Lily and I wore ours to the mini post-movie party at Bill K's place, where there was South Park and cheese and scotch.
So getting served sucked, and getting divorced in general sucks, and sometimes it still makes me very sad sometimes. But it's hard to stay sad for long when food is delicious, the luchedor masks plentiful, and my friends are more awesome than I could possibly deserve.