I woke up on Monday morning with no idea that it was Monday morning, and after a brief period of confusion was quite tickled at how I had come to be on a bright orange couch underneath a quilt homemade by someone else's Mom amidst party wreckage and dog fur.
The story of my Easter began a few days earlier in a series of texts/calls with my sister in Seattle:
"What are you doing for Easter?"
"I don't know. Driving up to see you in Seattle? ....Naw I don't have the cash to go up there for the whole weekend. Maybe we can meet halfway for brunch."
"What's halfway?"
"Centralia? I know they have an authentic Mexican resaurant. Would they do brunch?"
Sunday morning brought us together in the wholesome and family-friendly town of Olympia, Washington at a fish house on the pier. It was a gorgeous, idyllic Easter morning leisurely munching on fruit, wandering the farmer's market, people-watching the happy families with dopey dogs and fat babies, window-shopping boutiques and sipping coffee. We hugged goodbye and I continued to wander the waterfront for a while making friendly Easter phone calls to family before heading back to Portland. Don't worry, the whole situation unravels from here.
As I turned the key in the ignition I registered the immediate task at hand. My "Low Fuel" blinker had started up just before I rolled into Olympia, so I figured I had just enough gas to make it to the gas station. I took my exact route back to the freeway without seeing any gas stations, so instead of wandering around and getting lost I just hopped back on the freeway with the intention of pulling over at the last exit, where I remembered there was gas. Of course, before I can reach the last exit, I feel the uncontrollable slowing of the car and look down to see my RPMs plummeting quickly as my hungry little car sputters off to sleep. With a sigh of defeat, I manage to coast along the shoulder pretty close to the next exit, where I see a couple gas stations.
I sit for a moment in my car kicking myself. This is not the first time this has happened. Dammit, Danielle. Okay, let's do this thing. As I trek up the shoulder of the freeway I flashback to the groggy state in which I chose my outfit that morning. Even though I wasn't going to Church, my inner Catholic guilt had forced me to put on a wholesome white A-line skirt and a pink shirt, complete with flats and a cardigan, as if dressing like an innocent 8-year-old would make up for me being a heathen. I looked ridiculous wandering up the side of I-5. Like an Easter Hooker. On the walk back to the car I convinced myself that the strange looks darting at me through every passing windshield were actually stares of jealousy at the gas station Choco Taco that I was so clearly enjoying. ("Yeah, Fools! When was the last time you treated yourself to a Choco Taco? I'd be jealous of me too!")
So by the time I was crossing the border back into Oregon, I was overjoyed to receive a text from my magnificent friend Leslie: "What are you doing? I need a dinner date." After recuperating at her apartment, the two of us enjoyed a nutritious Easter dinner of LOTS OF BEER at the Lucky Labrador with her dog Cleo in tow. By the time the Lucky Lab closed we couldn't fathom abandoning Cleo to go to a real bar, so we walked to the friendly neighborhood sketchy convenience store. Needless to say, for Easter dessert we each killed a 40oz of Steel Reserve and split a package of vegetarian chicken nuggets. In my mind, this is how my Easter ended:
"Oh man! Sorry Leslie, I must've fallen asleep. I'll get out of your hair before it's tomorrow."
"It's already tomorrow. It's like 6:00 a.m."
"What? Really?"
"Yeah dude you destroyed that 40. You passed out like ten minutes into Drive."
"Oh yeah we were gonna watch Drive! Well sorry, dude. Thanks for the quilt."
"No problem. I've been up for two hours watching PBS."
"Awesome."
.....Awesome.
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