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My Profile
Fairytales for a Practical Princess - 2008-11-30
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5:47 p.m. - 2005-10-25
Okay, so I've been trolling around some of the other entries and trying to sift things into some kind of recountable order. But my poor brain keeps rabbitting around. Going from such disparate things like being trapped in an airplane seat next to a nebbishy theology professor from St Louis who was a white knuckle flyer and made hectic chat the entire flight from Missouri to NY. Then as we endlessly circled Queens waiting for a runway, bouncing on storm choppy air and hoping the pilot's intercom jokes weren't the blackest sort of gallows humor manifesting over our rapidly approaching deaths, said nebbishy professor began to pitch woo. Even with the panicky fear of becoming one with Sheepshead Bay zinging through my overwrought nervous system I couldn't help but think, "Dude! You are SO far out of your league!" Which conversely made me respect him a tiny bit simply because he had the cajones to hit on me at all. Imminent death will make players out of dweeby middle-aged mid-western theologians, you heard it here first. Then BOING! My brain is off doing girly-girl things with Paula and coming into the delightful knowledge that not only is she one of the adventuresome people I know and she's a rocket scientist with a Janis Joplin soul, but that I now had one of Life's most valuable treasures- someone I could shop with! There is a stunning intimacy to getting a department store make-over with someone and it's not something I'll do with just any random retail partner in crime, I'll tell you that. BOING! Off to the bowling alley with the ethereally beautiful Melinda and my fiancé in the next alternate universe over from this one Kevin. (Side note here to M & K: Guys, I take back the Rumplestiltskin thing. Your friend showed zero signs of angry dwarfishness. Besides, his aura was sober, thoughtful and spoke of hidden sentimental depths.) Hanging with us at the bowling alley were Erica, and Amanda the utterly bewitching Aussie. (Though seriously, have you ever met someone from Oz who wasn't a total trip? Yeah, me neither.) And Pratt, who comes up again later. So while the lovebirds bowled we hangers-on swapped stories and laughs and got to see an almost 300 game. Pratt creamed his coffee, the other two knit like fiends and I got into cigarette smoky convos with the other addicts huddled around the ashtray outside. BOING! Here I am having breakfast with Pratt. (See, I told you he'd come up again. And no, you filthy minded cretins, we were NOT having breakfast in bed. We met up in the coffee shop, both of us still being on Eastern time and unable to sleep until the Pacific dawn.) Over dense carbohydrates Pratt and I talked about lighthouses and bunnies and libraries and romantic gestures gone awry and heart disease and MS and the weird way your mind goes sideways when doctors tell you you're going to die. BOING! Now I'm looping drunk, doing The Time Warp and completely unable to distinguish my left from my right thus putting me out of sync with the rest of the Transylvanians. BOING! Alternately laughing and weeping during the readings by Mary, who is (no lie) one of THE coolest women I have ever met. A former clown, giver of red noses and rubber chickens, and a bona fide author. She who birthed a story for NaNoWriMo that grew up to be a real book. (Buy it! It's wonderful!) Dear Mary who shares my love for Doug. Premiere dinner companion. Fellow Catholic survivor. And a wicked wicked woman with a washcloth. BOING! Wanting to give Thumper kisses all over his face for making my darling Jess so deliriously happy. And that roguish band of siblings! Each of them more adorable than the next. Look, I have sisters. A lot of them. And I can tell you that sisters like Jessie's do not happen but once a century or so. I am not the first, nor will I be the last to beg for a room at the Biensoul Compound just so I too can have babes like this as family. BOING! Catching up with the elusive Deb, who did NOT give me enough of her time and is now under orders to bring her kid and her fabulous self up to the Hobbit House for a long weekend of nothing but talk, talk, talk. I truly don't know how someone in the banking industry can be so sparkling, merry and perverse, but there it is. BOING! I stop here to give thanks to the cuter-than-hell Ray for coming to my rescue when my fucking nervous system decided to fritz (helped in no small measure by a circulatory system that was one part plasma and seventeen parts bourbon). I thank him for his patient steering me around. Too often when asked for help by an Amazon, people go skittish and flinchy. Whether they worry they'll be crushed should I fall on them or whether it just fruits them out to be with a mountain gone freakishly unstable, Ray is a tattooed angel who neither flinched nor skittered. Dude, I totally owe you one. Now, kiddies, I have to run. Mom duty calls. A looming book report and an empty boy belly demand my presence. Fish sticks and Hardy Boys for everyone! ~LA
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