That One Weekend
Ok, so I've let this go for long enough, and I'm certain that you're dying to know what I did, this past weekend. Before the euphoria of our kickball win on Wednesday had faded, I was back at work, fixing things and writing reports. That night, Julia was flying in from Boston, on a supposedly nonstop flight on Midwest Airlines. Upon closer investigation, I found that it was not a nonstop, by any stretch. She had to land, get off the plane, and get on another plane, in Milwaukee.

Unfortunately, she was flying out of Boston, so her flight was hopelessly delayed. She landed in Milwaukee about four minutes too late to catch her connecting flight, that for some reason, didn't wait for twelve connecting passengers. In fact, the plane left five minutes early, completely ignoring the paying customers that needed to connect.

She was placed on standby for a later flight, scheduled to leave Milwaukee at 9:45pm. It wasn't off the ground until about an hour later, however, which wasn't reflected in the flight status page on Midwest's website. So, I arrived at KCI to pick Julia up at about 11:15pm, only to find that her flight wasn't expected until roughly 12:20am. I was more than a little upset, and due to the weigh station hours the airport bars keep, I made a beeline for the closest open bar I could find: the KCI Marriott. I whiled away the hour, with a five-dollar bottle of beer, talking to out-of-towners about regional beers.

Julia's plane finally landed, and we drove straight back to my place and went right to bed. There would have been things to do and all, if not for the horrendous delays, and perhaps a little customer service and honesty from Midwest Airlines.

We slept until after ten, on Friday morning, got cleaned up, and went for an ambiguous stroll around downtown, looking for something that Julia might want for breakfast/lunch. Finally, I intervened, arbitrating that we should go to the food court in Town Pavilion. When I failed to find that, I directed us to Winstead's, in One KC Place, for tasty, mayonnaisey burgers.

That afternoon, I went to Roeland Park and got an estimate on my car($2600), while Julia took care of some homework. When I got back, at Julia's stern urging, we began cleaning the apartment. I found, however, that she had managed to waste a lot of studying time by chatting with my friends on Google IM. We removed dirt and grime that I wouldn't have even noticed without her help, and scrubbed it away.

The the cleaning was done to her satisfaction, we went for some errands. Julia needed a couple things at the grocery store, and we decided while we were in Midtown, to stop by Office Depot or Max, I don't remember which, and pick up some nametags, for the impending party. Just before the previous party, I got a brilliant idea, made even brillianter with a suggestion from Julia this time. As each person would arrive at the party, we would make them draw a made-up name from a bag, and a description from another.

When we got home, we brainstormed a bunch of adjectives and adjective phrases to use for descriptions, and came up with about forty or fifty cards. When people started to filter in, the nametags were a hit. Cole, for example, drew "Ennuomarsicon the Incromulent," Jeff drew, "Tentaculon the Purple," JC drew, "Emasculon the Theoretically Impossible," and Liz drew, "Susan the Unreasonable."

The party's initial invitation wasn't as well-received as the first party's, so we expected it to be a relatively minor affair. It definitely was not. I can think of 43 people that came, most of whom were not expected. That's not to say they were unwelcome, though. There were only a couple people I didn't know, and it was fun talking to them, to find out who they knew. "I'm friends with Tracy." I have no idea who Tracy is.

We ended the evening with a group of closer friends, and some neighbor dude that crashed the party at like 2am, sitting around the living room, reading off Trivial Pursuit questions. We called it a night at about 3:30am, when everyone was starting to nod, and I left the dishes for Saturday. I woke up the next morning at about 10am, and the whole place reeked of beer. Well, not the whole place, I guess. Just the places in the place that had beer glasses in them, which is to say, almost all of them.

Two loads of the dishwasher, some scrubbing, vacuuming, and nose-turning later, the apartment was semi-presentable again. By about 5pm, Julia and I were both ready to leave the apartment, and walk out into the blood-boiling heat. We took the bus down to Union Station. I usually walk that route, but just sitting still caused us to sweat through our clothes, and that day definitely called for some serious air conditioning.

We rolled to a stop in front of Union Station, and walked the LINK over to the Westin's lobby, where we looked at the jungle/waterfall, and deftly dodged slow-moving tourists and suburbanites. We walked back, and found that the Union Station Cafe has closed at 4pm, so we went instead to Pierpont's, and enjoyed their atmosphere instead. Julia, as one would assume, was quite impressed with the interior of Union Station, and made me stop walking, so she could get a proper eyeful. There was a wedding reception gearing up over in the old waiting room area, which now has some corporate name, and the sinlight from the elevated windows was hitting the tables with late-afternoon rays very attractively.

We walked from there over to the Freighthouse for some Fiorella's, for dinner. We met up with my friend Chris, who was in more of a drinking mood than an eating one. I had a whole plate of lamb ribs, and was unable to completely obliterate the crock of baked beans they brought me. We went from there to Grinders, and were disappointed to see that it was too crowded to be any fun, so we went down to Harry's instead, where we argued about the waitress' age, and the identities of the country music legends painted on the walls and columns.

It was about that time that fatigue got the best of us, and we made a quick stop at 12Baltimore on the way home, and went home. That night, Julia showed me the, "More Cowbell," sketch for the first time in my life. Yeah, yeah, I've been out of touch. Sue me, I don't watch television, especially on Saturday night.

We got up the next morning, and ate some overly soft french toast at the Peanut. It was a fun weekend, and I look forward to Julia visiting again.

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