So we eventually left the Sav/Mal/Joy triumvirate to their peace and headed back along the rain-slicked streets toward Grafton. And this is when things got truly hilarious. First, ben launched into an unprecedented monologue about the restaurant Dino's in Worcester. This was excellent and contained a rather thorough and disgusting description section. Sweet. And then Ali and Ben began worrying about what they would do with Heidi that weekend, as their planned (and to be paid) dogsitter had fallen through.
"What ever shall we do?" the PGoat cried.
"I know not!" the Grin declared.
The entire car was in an uproarious state of distress over the care of Heidi over the coming weekend. It seems Ben-Ali will be traveling to Mexico this coming week, not just to counteract current Amnesty-laden congressional bills, but to attend a wedding of friends of theirs. Ben is going to be acquiring a prescription snorkel mask for the occasion, having calculated that purchasing the correct mask once would be cheaper over the long haul than renting one every time he goes to a wedding. A shrewd businessman, that one. I tried to ask what kind of wedding requires a snorkeling mask. Dead silence. Damn. Apparently the time of concern for Heidi is not a funny time at all. After roughly ten minutes of debating what to do, it occurs to them that, as planned, I am staying at their house next weekend! So they were about to hire someone to watch over Heidi and I would have been there. This is, quite plainly, highly insulting. Nevertheless, their short cancellation notice problem is solved, as now I will take care of the Heidster, free of charge. Much laughing occurred, and someone (I'm guessing Ali) asked what they could do to make me feel better about the gigantic dis. I wryly declared that it was okay, so long as they sang the "I'm retarded" song. (Please note the comedy value of offensiveness for the sake of being offensive - it's debatable how relatively heartless and cruel this is, but given that the phrase "wicked retarded" gets ballied about Bostonian parts without a second thought, it's pretty much a fair statement that we've all been brutally desensitized. If you feel the need, you can blame the Farrelly brothers circa "There's Something About Mary").
It was meant to be a passing comment. But I had inadvertently tossed a softball in the Gringoat wheelhouse.
"How does it go?" Ben asked.
I sang a rather tuneless melody to the lyrics "I'm retarded," complete with indecipherable accent portraying a vicious speech impediment. This is vicious and mean, I know, but again, it's in the spirit of a comedy game of "where's the line?" Well, Ben and Ali joined in and left the line well behind them. They belted, quite joyously, an impossibly loud, offensive, tuneless, enthusiastic and absurd version of the I'm retarded song. So they won the offensive game, hands down, maybe even moreso since Ali capped off the performance with "Oh, I didn't realize that was offensive." Brilliant. I burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. I am a terrible, terrible human being.
After I stopped peeing in my pants, we managed to take the GG home and headed back ourselves to get ready for the Dean's Awards Dinner. We snappy-casualed up ourselves well enough and then headed over to the Worcester Marriott to pick up the iRents. And then we hit up the country club for the first in what I'm sure will be an insurmountable mountain of graduation events. Ali quickly noted that drinks would be in order as there were approximately 37 awards being given out in the evening. iPJ gladly obliged, grabbing a Cosmo for the PG and scotches for iPMM and me. Good times! We had a fine cheese and fruit pre-dinner , ate a nice standard fare buffet meal, and spun our chairs around to the front, eager to listen to award winner's names being announced through the most fuzzed out amplification system this side of the Sex Pistols.
Well, it's a good thing Beck and Ali are friends with Almond Joy, because otherwise our little corner of Vetverse would have been totally shut out on Awards Night. Ali was near tears when I reminded her that they don't give out a Prettiest Girl of All Time award because that would be akin to giving an award to the sky for being blue; we don't need to acknowledge the blatantly obvious. This seems to cheer her Goatness up. beck, on the other hand, was not near tears at all - degree (nearly) and job in hand, she has accomplished more than enough the last four years and any award would have just been the cherry on top of the icing on the cake. Plus, as Beck pointed out, these were the types of awards that were likely swayed by isolated incidents and anecdotal evidence, and as we all know, anecdotal evidence makes an anec out of dot and al. There also seemed to be a disproportionate number of awards handed out to the ten or so male students in the class, leaving the analytic likes of ben and me to conclude that voters were allowing themselves to be swayed by stand out factors - essentially the same reason you remember the last commercial featuring Jennifer Love Hewiit you saw but probably don't remember the last general commercial you saw. Stand. Out. Factors.
So we left the shindig empty handed, but everyone knows there are no winners and losers, only people who got $500 stipends and people who didn't impress their professors enough. So it goes. We bid the GG and the iRents goodnight and headed for the homestead, where I briefly contemplated staying up to watch the Spurs scores scroll by on the monitor but opted for sleep instead. (The Spurs won, by the way, and the only asterisk that requires is the one that reads "comma, beeotch!").
Saturday has been a slow one so far - one tutoring job and a quick stopby at a Vet function at Canyon Cafe - saw Emmy and Dave and Steve and Jason and Cindy and a bunch of other Vet-peeps. Everyone looks so dolled up, and everyone in Cindy's family looks incredibly like her. Otherwise, I am apartment packing for the PM and headed down to Newton for a shindig and perhaps one of the most spectacular evenings... ever. Oh, you shall see...
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