The Iranians are launching missiles, somebody found water on the Moon and I bought prescription drugs on the internet. But right now I'm committing gluttony by stuffing freshly picked apples into my mouth, apples that I'm supposed to be baking into a deep dish, cheddar crusted, delicious pie.
It all started with a lot of eyeshadow, a margarita, some enchiladas and my best, but failed, attempt at being somewhat slutty. In the middle there was a small town bar serving $4 doubles where everyone didn't know my name. I unloaded at least thirty dollars into the digital juke box and danced the night away to Britney and Beyonce until someone slipped a country song or five into the mix. Later, I laid on a gigantic bean bag with friends of friends of friends in a peculiar loft apartment out of place in this small town. Towards the end I scaled perilously paved sidewalks in, I kid you not, six inch shoes and was rewarded with a #12, no mayo from Jimmy John's. After which things became a little fuzzy but I ended up face down in someone's guest bed and woke up to freshly brewed coffee and some blueberry muffins. I have the best friend ever.
When the aspirin kicked in, we went to eat some wings while watching my college alma mater barely win a football game. Then we drove in circles around the country side trying to find an apple orchard, only to arrive to a scene that was more "two young women murdered on a secluded family farm masquerading as an apple orchard" than clean family apple picking fun. So we hastily collected our 8-10 pounds of apples and then found some time for a donut and a caramel apple before leaving.
Soon it was time for the outdoor movie which involved snaking a power strip and extension cord through wet grass, allowing for the projector to illuminate a vintage screen from 1971 with horror movies. Mix in some vodka ladened apple cider and you get four screaming girls on a chilly September evening scared of shadows and wind rustled trees. Kind of perfect.
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