Everything I Like Causes Cancer

Well, hi! Gosh, it's been a while. Have you lost weight? Changed your hair? No? Well, whatever it is you're doing, it looks good on you. Rowr.

What's that? How have I been? Meh. I'm having expensive car troubles again. It's possible this is the time I should have sent the old girl to The Great Junkyard In The Sky (guarded by Old Yeller and Lassie, BTW) but by the time we figured out the second half of the problem was INSIDE the transmission (*cha-ching!*), I was in too deep. Blahblahblahwhatever.

I had been without a car for about four days when I remembered a friend once mentioned he has an old truck he would loan me when I need to haul garden supplies. I called him up on Sunday and within an hour he was at my doorstep with the keys, which were handed over with a chuckle. It wasn't until I was trying to maneuver out of a parallel park that I realized Lil Truck (yes, I've named it) doesn't have power steering and that my friend was full-on laughing at me. I've gotten the hang of it - I park very far away from stationary objects - and have discovered that my briefcase can double as a drink holder. Sweet.

In other news . . .

WHISKEYMARIE VON PARTYPANTS AND I WILL BE REUNITED IN DOWNTOWN CHICAGO IN TWO DAYS!

At the annual Chicagoland Gang Christmas Night Out!

She's gonna meet all my other stupid friends!

Awwww, yeah, bitches.

I hope she remembers to pack extra underwear.

As some of you know, I spent a couple days in Chicago this past weekend. To be honest, I spent a day more than I intended but we'll get to that part of the story later. This trip is my annual summer junket to see my MacMurray peeps. You know, the ones who introduced me to burning Christmas trees last year? Yeah, that trip.

(This year the neighbor, Roger, had a new fire-pit toy: a beer launcher. It's a welded metal pyramid with a hole in the top. You put an unopened beer into the hole, upside down, and then set the whole contraption into the firepit. The pressure caused by the heat vaults the can into the air and makes it explode. It was wicked. He also burned a plastic chair for me. I felt bad for the environment until the legs buckled and it got all drippy and Dali-esque. Not surprisingly, the mosquitoes disappeared after we burned it.)

Anyway, I flew Southwest, aka Cattle Call Airlines. On my way up on Friday my boarding pass number was B44 so I was one of the last people to board. As soon as I stepped into the plane I started scanning the seats for an open one next to (or between) skinny, clean people. Right away I spotted a guy sitting on the aisle toward the front who resembled a guy on whom I had a little crush several years back. (It wasn't unrequited but it never went anywhere. The kissing was nice, though.) Intrigued, I pointed to the seat next to him and whispered, "Can I sit there?" He seemed pleased that I asked and nodded emphatically. I mean, c'mon, I'm skinny, clean and cute. Duh.

He started chatting me up as soon as I sat down, asking about the picture on my phone (his was similar), commenting on my breakfast, wanting to know what had made me laugh out loud while I was reading, and expressing regret that the flight was so short, all while looking right into my eyes. His approach was subtle, not at all icky, and I was enjoying it but for some incomprehensible reason I clammed up. I sat there, really enjoying his company, absorbing all the wonderful grown-up attention, but failed to engage. It was like I was 13 years old again. From our conversations I know that he works for a corporation whose headquarters are in a small(ish?) town in Oklahoma with offices in St. Paul, he has a farm with horses, he writes (swoon), and he teaches at an Oklahoma university, but I'm not sure which one. I think he said Oklahoma State but I can't be sure. He grew up in Connecticut and New York and was traveling to see his family out east.

So yeah, I'm a gargantuan dumbass. A cute, succesful man was interested in me and I chose to read and look out the window rather than learning his name. As soon as I got on the ground and realized what I had just done, I texted H and told her about it. I also spent a fair amount of time telling the story over the weekend. Even Cora had to listen to it.

By the way, that woman is an absolute delight and perfect for Eric. They are super cute together and I am thrilled for them both. I still wonder what impression I left as it's a wild weekend and I can be a handful in these situations. Loud. Gregarious. Exuberant. Overbearing. Let's move on with the story before I insult myself further . . .

Come time to go home on Sunday I was ready. The weekend is always a busy one filled with kids and dogs and parties and me moving from one house to another like a nomad in search of greener pastures. I was tired and I'd had enough. It was time for detox and solitude and quiet. Unfortunately, my friend JohnnyB . . . you remember the one? The one who made me miss my flight last year? Yeah, he did it to me again. Only this time there weren't any available seats on the remaining flights to St. Louis.

I'm still not sure what happened, exactly, but I think the first third of the trip to the airport from his house is the same as the route he drives to take his son to his mom's house and he flaked and drove to her house instead of the airport. By the time he realized what he'd done it was too late. He tried to convince me we would still make it but I just knew better. And then we ended up on a highway with more construction than Dubai. We had about 26 miles (or more) left and we were stopped. And it was 5:20. We turned around and I got to spend another night with my friends. Right? Right?

When we got back to the house I got on the phone with Southwest and was making arrangements for a flight the next day. The customer service rep couldn't have been sweeter. At one point she asked me if I missed my flight because I was having fun. With John sitting right next to me I replied, "No. I missed my flight because my friend is a dumbass." Everyone in the group rode his ass all weekend for last year and you know, that story might have died a natural death in ten years or so but this one? Never. He will never hear the end of it. Never ever.

After hearing my story, the nice Southwest lady told me that she was convinced that this happened to me for a reason and that something good was going to come of it. You know where my head went, right? To boys. Specifically, to Oklahoma boy. I spent the rest of the evening daydreaming about running into him in the airport and finally learning his name.

When I got to the airport on Monday - I made it because I insisted that John's wife Laura drive me - I was immediately delayed two hours. With only one chapter left in my library book, I headed to Hudson Booksellers. I took my ole sweet time shopping since I now had two hours to spare and as I was checking out I felt someone walk up to my right. I turned to see who the hell would be so bold as to enter my personal space and there he was: Oklahoma Boy. I almost fell over. He was grinning from ear to ear and said he had seen me out of the corner of his eye and just had to find out how the weekend went.

I couldn't believe my eyes. I'm pretty sure my heart stopped for a second. We chatted for a bit about our respective weekends while I finished checking out. I could tell he was on-the-go so spent the whole time mentally screaming at the check-out lady to PULL HER ASS OUT OF THE MOLASSES AND MOVE FASTER, DAMNIT!!!! instead of implementing my plan to obtain a name or other identifying information. Sadly, just as I was poised to make my move, he raised his arm and said, "Gotta run! I'm glad you had fun!" And he was gone. Just like that. Poof! Gone.

With my friend Jeannie coaxing me over the phone, I did what I could to find him again. We decided that it wasn't stalking but rather a scavenger hunt for a human and that any reasonable judge would agree. The bookstore was directly across from Gate B5 and a quick check of the arrival/departure board confirmed that passengers gathering at Gate B5 were headed to St. Louis. Score, right? Not so much. I never did see him again and can't imagine I ever will but the whole experience was a kick. I may not have gotten his name but I still get a rush when I think about looking up and seeing him standing there. Maybe next time I'll act like a grown woman instead of a dork.

Who am I trying to kid? We stopped because of the name.

But the fried perch sandwich was yummeh in my tummeh!

Once everyone arrived we went out for dinner.

And apparently had mussels.

Later on, back at the house, we opened presents and someone had a pants-off dance-off, Christmas style. I've decided this is going to be next year's card, captioned "Merry Christmas, assholes!"

These two are always in charge of making the obligatory stupid gag jokes using household items and they do excellent work.

The paper towel-holder phone is ringing!

Our gracious host had stocked the house well - the ham and the booze were plentiful, and much appreciated when I woke up at what felt like 3 am but was probably 1:30 and went to the bathroom and somehow ended up scavenging in the kitchen with the other vultures.

Drunkenness and lack of clocks aside, there really was a time warp in that house. The setting was idyllic, the company was side-splitting, and time melted away even if the ice and snow didn't.

The guys started breakfast as soon as we got up Saturday morning - WHY were we up that early? WHY? - and the rest of the day was spent sipping mimosas and bloody marys and homemade hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps and grazing on the last bits of the 9-pound ham we had started eating a mere 12 hours earlier. We lounged and played Christmas music, told stories and raunchy jokes, picked on and laughed at each other, and played games like Yahtzee! and "Jumbling Towers", a generic Big Lots version of Jenga that came with the house.


Zellmann and Johnny B even started a game of table-top football using the wine corks scattered around the house from the night before. At some point they must have decided to incorporate the biscuit basket into the game and needed to empty it because I found the left-over biscuits in my purse when I went to leave. It could also have been Jeannie, but she doesn't generally put buttery things in it.

I told Scope earlier that I don't have the right words to express how comfortable and funny and generally awesome these people and these visits are but I've watched this video a couple times and I think the warmth and general awesomeness of the weekend comes across nicely in it.

The front door is one of the most stunning architectural features of this house, an Arts and Crafts bungalow built in 1924.  I've always wanted to post a picture of it but until now I didn't have a good reason and it seemed bragadocious.  It is huge and solid and surrounded by beautiful leaded glass.  The Christmas tree lights the front foyer well enough that the front door is the perfect spot for Christmas cards.

A couple days ago Fancy was talking about her collection of Christmas ornaments and lamenting having to pass them down to her son. She said, "When he's 21, he's probably going to be living with a bunch of guys who's idea of decorating a tree is throwing empty beer cans at it. Believe me, I've seen that. And you probably have, too."

I genuinely laughed out loud, because I have.  In fact, I helped make one and her comment flooded me with the memory of the dorm room on the corner of Jane Hall First stuffed with drunk undergrads reveling under Beer Can Tree.  I wish I had pictures of it, I know some were taken.  I was able to find pictures of the brain trust that brought us Beer Can Tree, George and Jason.

Wasn't my dorm room cool?  No?  Then look at all the beer!

These two were numbskulls.  Unreliable, maddening, funny, sexy numbskulls.  Being bad boys, I dated them both.  I dated George when I first arrived at Mac.  Well, to say we dated may be revisionist but go with me, I have a reputation to manufacture.  George wasn't a student, but he had been, and for some reason he was back in town, mostly hanging out with us on campus.  

And then one day he was gone.  Though there were rumors he was living in New York, I was never sure.

And then one day he was back and this time he had a friend with him, Jason.  I fell in love with Jason on sight.  These two were fucking Frick and Frack, I tell ya.  We got in so much more trouble with these two around.  Again, not enrolled in classes but essentially base-camped in our rooms.  They came and went with no warning or explanation and one blustery frigid night in December, a night much like tonight, they showed up outside the dorm dragging a live Christmas tree across the lawn and regaling us, between howls of laughter, with a tale of near-death at the hands and shotgun barrel of the angry farmer who formerly owned the tree.

See what I mean?  Lovable dirtleg numbskulls.

The tree was huge and barely fit in Vance's room.  I don't know how we got it in there, and there was very little room for us once we did, but there was much rejoicing and Christmas cheer.  Someone put in a Christmas tape and we had ourselves a first-rate Christmas party, finals be damned.  

We were practically required to decorate the tree with empty beer cans as there was only enough money for beer.  Back then you could get a case of Keystone Light for $6 so it was our obvious drink of choice.  Mmm-mm, bottled beer taste in a can.  Anyway, in less time than it takes Santa to press his index finger to the side of his nose and whoosh up the chimney, we had our first Beer Can Tree.

As redneck as the whole affair sounds and probably was, it makes me misty and nostalgic.  Those years were tough - I was on my own and paying for school and working 2-3 jobs - but they were the years and the people that made me who I am today.  We were rotten and loud and did some crazy shit, much of it illegal, but I learned spontaneity and how to not take myself so damn seriously and how to love and so much more, like how to get rid of crabs.  I'm kidding.  I swear I never had crabs.

This story ends as you would expect it to, we were all written up the next day for open alcohol violations even though the only alcohol left in the room was backwash.  C'est la vie.

I apologize for disappearing the last few days. I could actually use a couple more carefree days where I tune out everything but work and food and TV but I can recognize the rumblings of a coup d'etat from as far away as Westchester, PA.

I keep an extremely busy schedule, all the time. I am always on the go. I like having lots of things to do, places to go, and people to see. But lately, instead of feeling fulfilled and happy, I feel harried and ill-prepared. I hate feeling harried; I like to be prepared. I like to take my time and put thought into things. I like to savor things. So far this month I paired a busy social calendar with an obsessive drive to enjoy the last few warm days of fall and found myself always doing two things at once but never fully engaging in either. I had to take a break. Plus, as blog friend words, words, words so graciously pointed out in the comments to the last post, on Monday I had a hangover. A hangover like no other in many years. It was, I hope, the hangover of the decade so that I carry on, safe in the knowledge that I won’t have to suffer like that again for at least 14 months.

You may be asking yourself what led to such a hangover and I would answer . . .

October 2: My car broke down and it cost $600 to repair it. Not a good way to start a busy month. Especially when your mechanic, a great and dependable guy, only accepts cash. I also attended a debate party that night. After paying the bill at the repair shop, spending time with my friends making fun of Caribou Barbie sounded nice. So did the free food.

October 3: Soulard Oktoberfest



October 4: Best of Missouri Market


Elizabeth Taylor was there. I thought for sure I captured this shot of her without her knowing it, but as you can see, she saw me. And was apparently pissed.

October 5: a baby shower - the third in a long string of baby showers - there are more to come


October 6-9: WORK, WORK, WORK, TOIL, TOIL, TOIL


October 10: I had dinner with a friend I just don't get to see often enough at Chimichangas.

October 11: two baby showers - I could only attend one because they were two hours apart and started within an hour of one another. By this time I have become so socially frazzled that I left the house without the directions, went back in to get them and proceeded to leave my purse on the kitchen counter. I realized it when I was too far away from the house to go back. I forged ahead without it and later realized that I wrote the directions down wrong and spent 20 minutes driving around trying to find the house, without a cell phone. This is what happens to me when it's been too much; I lose my brain. I made it, but I was 30 minutes late, which drives me fruit. I got home in time to change clothes to meet Peabody and LM and Mary for dinner.

October 12: Columbus Day Parade on The HIll

These two little guys were a riot. Every time there was music in the parade they were shaking their little booties.

The house seen pictured here, across the street, is the residence of Yogi Berra's direct descendants. That's them on the stoop watching the parade! I bet they are saying Yogi-isms.

So that's how I got there. I had Monday off, it was a beautiful day for a parade, and I drank too much. I let my hair down. I blew off some steam. I stayed up waaaaay too late IM'ing with Fal and words3. I'm so glad he opted not to post the transcript of our chat. They did a lot of making fun of me and I typed a lot of, "SHUT UP!"

My pets, and home, and yard, and TiVo, and sanity all remain neglected. I don’t see anything getting done around here considering I’m leaving town Friday and heading to beautiful Jacksonville, Illinois to attend my college Homecoming with these weirdos.

Sometimes you just have to let go and enjoy the ride.

This is my friend Johnny B.  You've probably seen him skulking around here lately, he's been commenting every now and then.  

Skylar says, "Come over!  We'll burn some Fatwood and drink a beer!"