highlight reel


Highlight Reel; or, Why Am I Not Still There?

Thursday: Left work at about noon, drove for approximately forever. I didn’t particularly mind the drive, though. It was a nice change, being totally by myself with my own thoughts for that trip. Good thing I enjoy my own company.

Got to the hotel at about eight; checked in, and pretty much crashed immediately. Everyone kept calling me Miss Boyle, which was weird, but neat. There was even a Bellman to take my stuff up to my room for me. The bed was wider than I am tall. The pillows were all feather, which took some getting used to.

Friday: Room service breakfast for the win. I love a good cup of Early Grey, with a dollop of milk. Death Becomes Her was on HBO when I woke up, so I watched that and then got dressed. Wandered about the Square for a little while, bought Bunny Suicide notecards, a couple books and a sweatshirt that I really should’ve tried on first at the BU BN across the street from the hotel. I didn’t have my hat, though, as I’d left it in the car the previous night. So my ears got cold, and I decided being inside was a far better idea than being outside without a hat.

I scheduled a massage in my room. It was bliss.

Met up with the Tommys for dinner. We went to the Boston Beer Works, right across the street from Fenway. Considering it’s not baseball season, the place was not busy. The food was excellent. The beer was OK. It’s always hit or miss at that sort of brew pub type place. My blueberry beer was fascinating, though; they put actual wee little blueberries in it, and they floated up and down in the beer like an alcoholic lava lamp.

After that, I met John and we went dancing at 90s Night at Common Ground. Had a blast; almost got punched in the face by an overly energetic drunk practically off her ass coed. And we’ll not talk about the skeevy guy. Yeesh. It was quite a crush; I maintain my insistence that this was because I was there.

“I think 90s music for most of those kids holds the same appeal as 80s music does to me,” I observed in the cab headed back to the hotel.

I’m still awesomer than they are, however.

Saturday: I thought we were going to take the train around town to see BU and Tufts, but John decided to drive. Actually, I’m glad, because I feel like I got a better sense of the layout of the city from driving than I would’ve from taking the T. Here’s BU, and here’s Alston. Here’s Davis Square and here’s Tufts. Here’s the Hancock building, and over there is Newbury St. It was right around this time I realized that Boston gives me the same instant feeling of comfort and home-ness that London gave me.

Basically, I’m fucked.

After dinner at The Cellar (food? Yummy. Beer? Lovely. And well poured, too. Bartender? Oh so adorably rockabilly), we went to Improv Boston to watch the Main Stage show. Having literally never been to an improv show, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But they had cheap beers that you could take into the theater! And the show was amazing. It was absolutely hilarious. I had a blast. We hung out for a little while after the show ended and the second one of the evening began; I drank more and quizzed John on the shows they had posters for up on the wall—he’d seen most of them and been in a few.

I wish we had things like that in Baltimore.

The drive back to the hotel is pleasantly fuzzy, as the beer caught up to my lack of appetite at dinner (my eating this weekend? Straight up weird, yo. Well, weirder than usual). I crashed and slept the sleep of the drunk, waking up really early Sunday.

Sunday: again I ordered breakfast. The food was great. I’d meant to go eat in the restaurant at least once, but it never happened. Room service rocks. I got started packing, hoping to get on the road by ten or eleven in the morning. I was worried about driving into Snowmageddon, to be honest. And the drive home is never as much fun as the drive to somewhere.

At least I didn’t fly, because I probably wouldn’t have made it home Sunday.

Then I discovered that the BU bookstore, at which I’d bought that sweatshirt that ended up being way too small, didn’t open on Sundays until noon. And there went all intentions of getting on the road early. So I meandered through packing, and asked the front desk to hang on to my luggage for a wee bit while I walked around and waited for the BN to open.

That taken care of, I finally got on the road right around 12.30. Drove for approximately forever. My mother managed to piss me off before I’d even been on the road two hours. Which really made me look forward to getting home.

It was a lot harder to leave Boston than I was expecting it to be. I love to travel, but generally at the end of any trip I am looking forward to getting back home, and back to my own bed. What I wanted to do instead was grab onto the nearest stationary object and scream and wail that I didn’t want to leave.

and there you have it.


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