Friday, February 02, 2007

Save a Horse, Ride a...?

Wow. It’s been quite the little week for me.

It all started with my father’s intentions on bringing me to Houston before the ASHRAE party/convention in Dallas. I, clearly had no objections.

As seems to be par for the course for me as of late, my flight is super delayed. While it’s not as bad as the whole latrine overflowing thing that happened on my last flight to Houston, it was still irritating and made me feel tired and gross. I have OCD, people, I need my flights to arrive and depart on time, please and thank you. Also, can we please take a moment to discuss recirculated airplane farts?

You know what, let’s not, and just forget I said anything.

Anyways, I clearly arrive late (CRAVING Chipotle like a starving orphan), and called Mom after quickly grabbing my bags. I’ll interject this to say a special thank you to Continental’s Priority Passes for VIP persons. Moving on. So I get Mom…but she’s at home…not coming. Dad is though…but in Mom’s car.

I definitely had to stop this convo to ask WTF???

I guess I should explain that a week or two ago my parents “went on a date.” At least that’s how my father described it. My mother…kinda dodged the question all together, but did—while not directly—say they didn’t…you know. Come to find out Mom and Dad are kinda living in the same place. At the very least, he’s got his stuff there.

Whatever the situation is…means…whatever, I kinda freaked out a little bit.

I mean, come on, these are my parents! The same parents that fought as well as they loved. I first recall hearing the words, “I’m getting a divorce,” when I was seven years old. They lasted for another thirteen. When they finally got divorced and people would tell me, “I’m sorry,” I responded with, “No, seriously, it’s a good thing.”

Despite what some people might say, (That’s for you, A) Mom and Dad don’t need to rekindle anything. V kinda summed it up well. When I told her what was going on, she responded with, “Oh my God, why?” And later, “Well, maybe they will just use this time around each other to remember why they shouldn’t be together.” If anyone knows what life was like when my rents were together, V does. She knows what’s what.

So anyways, I dealt with that little issue—Dad btw did not stay at Mom’s that night—and made up a bed on the couch. No Chipotle, but Mom did make me some food and I ate it gratefully. I stayed up for a bit after mom went to bed, and read some more of the fantastic Dearly Devoted Dexter until Mom’s automatic lights flip off. After that, I decide it’s bedtime.

The next day starts of badly. First of all, I’m up super early. Like, work early. Boo. I figure I should let Mom sleep in, and do my hair and make-up. A and I discuss food options. In the end, I call him back while laying in bed with mi madre and we set up something at Kobe. Sage, our cutie puppy—who’s approximately 14 years old—is throwing up, super sick, and the like. Mom steams the carpet and we get ready for our lunch date with A.

Lunch goes well, if a bit crazy. Mom and A have similar feelings on me, I think, so it’s funny to see the two of them together. This, of course, is not to mention my mother’s innate love of all things A. I think she knows he makes me happy…or at least has never mad me cry, so he’s one of my guy friends that she really cares a lot for. That’s not to take anything away from A and his many charms. It’s just that my mother has the same sort of issue that I have with her friends…I like them if they’re good to her. All in all the whole thing goes well. Mom and A spend a bit too much time discussing my flaws—My savings? No kids? Not enough food consumption?—but there are more laughs than otherwise. When the check comes, A snatches it, much to Mom and my protests. Turns out, I’m quicker than A—who knew???—and I snatch it back before he gets to pay.

Afterward Mom and I do the mani/pedi thing. I pay for both, as Mom got the lunch. It’s only fair, after all. We talk about my life in TO…the family…and her and Dad. It doesn’t seem like they are anything more than they appear to be. Thank God.

Later on, I finally grab my Chipotle, missing the very beginning of Grey’s Anatomy. Boo, I say, boo. Random weirdness occurs, and then I hang out with mi padre and some of our international Nailor salesmen. We had some talks, drank some drinks, and played some pool. Much fun all around. I especially work on my English accent. We end with a similar night at Mom’s place, but with me having a list of “to do’s” for Dad in the morning.

Said morning turns out badly, mostly because of the standard miscommunications between Dad and I. Mom takes Sage to the vet, and I’m without a car for my lunch date with V. Thankfully, I have some pretty considerate friends and get a ride with A.

V seems to be doing really well. It makes me happy because she’s earned it. She’s still working a mostly ‘A,’ occasional ‘B’ average. Says it’s hard as hell, which I don’t doubt for a second. I think I’d kill myself with that much anatomy. Anyways, mostly we just babble about nothing and play catch up. The whole thing is over far too quickly, but I’m so thankful to just have the chance to see her. V’s more or less the only sister I ever had. She’s family, and I miss her dearly.

Back at home, I finish reading Dexter, chuckling at how many pages I’ve tagged as having funny quotes. The way the humor in the book sneaks up on you…reaches into your chest and pulls the laugh forcefully from your throat…there’s some sort of dark beauty in that. Which is appropriate, considering the noir quality of the Dexter books themselves. Let me give you a few of my favorites:

“Exchange trade talk and chitchat about dismemberment techniques. But no: [he] wanted me dead. And I found it difficult to share his point of view…There are still very few laws against thinking, although I’m sure they’re working hard on that in Washington.” Pgs. 6-7

“It was the first time I had ever seen him smile, and I have to say that I would have greatly preferred it if he had simply jumped out of the car and bitten me.” Pgs. 28-29

“Still, it’s always nice to be around somebody who thinks I’m wonderful. It confirms my low opinion of people.” Pg. 38

“He led us to a small table in the back corner and sat down facing the door. “We can talk here,” he said, and he made it sound so much like a spy movie that I wished I had brought sunglasses. Still…[his partner’s glasses] might come in the mail. Hopefully without his nose attached.” Pg. 58

“…the passenger air bag exploded into my face. It felt like I had been in a pillow fight with Mike Tyson…” Pg.181

“The shock was wearing off rapidly and she was fighting the pain by biting her lip and taking ragged breaths. I hoped the paramedics had something a little more effective for her.” Pg. 189

“What to wear? I could think of no guidelines on what we were wearing this season to a party forced on you to celebrate an unwanted engagement that might turn into a violent confrontation with a vengeful maniac. Clearly brown shoes were out, but beyond that nothing really seemed de rigueur.” Pg. 209

“…I was tired, my neck muscles felt stiff, and I hadn’t gotten to kill anything. I felt very cranky, and I wanted to go to bed.” Pg. 245

“A well-done dismemberment is neat, above all, or so I always say. None of this puddle blood and caked flesh on the walls. It shows a real lack of class.” Pg. 258

“After all, I had waded through flesh-eating alligators and an attack peacock to rescue him, and now here I was giving up my Saturday for who-knows-what kind of awful chore. I deserved an entire cake.” Pg. 264

See? Funny, right? Read it. Seriously. (And, since we’re on the topic, you can see every book I own, cataloged and rated here. Some are waaaaaaay old, but all of them I’ve hung onto…for one reason or another.)

After that I get ready for drinks at a local martini bar. Can I please tell you how freaking gross an espresso martini is when they go light on the vodka, heavy on the cream liquor, and don’t use, oh…I donno…ACTUAL espresso. Boo, chick bartender, boo. Anyways, Dad, A, and me cover an awfully broad range of topics over cocktails and suds. I find myself wondering—not for the first time, mind you—if part of the reason people are friends with me is because of my parents. Or…yeah, or if that’s kinda the main reason. Like we’re a package deal or something? I donno.

Anyways, Dad and I head back home and almost immediately Brother and girlfriend (Lindz) call and ask if I want to come bowling. You see Brother and Linz are trying to live the pure, clean life. No drugging, drinking, or—believe it or not—cigarettes. Bowling, it seems, is their alternative. While I am super tired at that point, I agree to come play. I honestly end up having a really good time. Considering the nail I shattered between two bowling balls, the worse apple martini I’ve ever had (MADORI?!?!?! In an apple martini?!?!?!), and the questionable substances on my pants glowing under the backlights (Since it was also on Lindz’s shirt and Brother’s pants, we decided it must be fabric softener residue. Which brings up an interesting point about CSI…and our respective washing machines, I guess.), and the fact that I fucking hate bowling, it has to be the company of Brother and Lindz that made everything so great.

Saturday rolls around and I question my need to be at ASHRAE two days before the show. I mean, we all remember how well that turned out last year, right? Riiight. So, anyways, maybe I’m hoping I’ll see more of my family and friends…and maybe I also kinda don’t want to deal with the preparty stuff.

Whatever. I get lucky. Dad’s not in the mood to drive to Dallas and, honestly, neither am I. Instead we both book flights—his for later that night, and mine for the next morning—and I end up on the same one as my brother. Yea!

Sunday isn’t exactly a day of adventure for me. Mom’s at work all day, Brother and Lindz are at school, and none of my friends could come out to play. :( Wah. Anyways, I make the most of my time by finishing up another book—and starting Perfume. Also, Back to the Future is on TV…followed by part II of the same. I can’t help it that I’ll read, watch movies, and text message all at the same time. I have to stay busy or my brain starts to eat itself. Seriously.

Whatever the case may be, I end up in Dallas around 5pm on Sunday night. I’m there for almost two seconds before Boston calls me. Heh. The convo is short and basically centers around the party. The same party that I’m required to help set up. Last I heard, they wanted me there at six, so I’m trying to hall ass. But thankfully M comes in, still in her casuals, and tells me I’ve got til seven. Even so, I get my act together…pop in the blue contacts, put on my best LBD, and start myself off with a DC and Vodka. I do not plan on getting drunk at the party. I do, however, plan on being WAY less keyed up.

Once I’m done and Brother is as well, we head downstairs to hook up with the rest of the party starters. There’s five of us to the cab, headed to the Gypsy Tea Room. Oh, we pass it. The cabbie drives right by it. Not once, not twice, not three times; oh, no. Say it with me kids, FOUR times. I swear the guy was a lobotomy victim. The best moment comes when Is asks how much of a discount we get for all the turning around. Finally there, we set about getting the place set up and meeting the staff. Bouncers at the doors with the lists, bartenders in place, and us greeters lined up at tables like the judges on American Idol, the party gets started.

I have good memories of the party itself. I felt like I constantly went from one group of customers to the next. Back and forth, all night long. Between all the walking and my 4 and a half inch hooker heels, my ass looked amazing the next day. All the walking was interspersed with me dodging various advances, ignoring Boston’s increasingly drunken apologies, somehow getting invited to the bartenders’ after party, and Cindy and my random gossip/giggling.

Besides feeling very appreciated—which, lets be honest here—is always cool, I really, really enjoyed seeing/hearing how many people Brother had helped out. So many customers would say something nice about him, and it really made me feel like a puffed up big sister. I mean, he’s kinda like…a real grown-up. Or, at the very least, trying to become one. He backs this up even more later, when a blow-up between me and Dad turns ugly and he steps in on my behalf. Brother, I just want you to know that it’s been a very long time since I was so proudly honored to call myself your sister. And that was a very, very wonderful early birthday present you gave me. Thank you, and I love you, Bubber.

The party draws to a close. Boston, apparently got a little too heavy into the shots and got sick at the party…possibly on someone. While some might say it would have been a nice piece of Karma, I was super glad I missed that little showing. I notice the hat he always wears and figure I’d be the bigger person and take it back with me to bring to the show in the morning. Brother and I end up back at the suite with the usual suspects. Someone starts a pool game. I order food. And we have a rather hilarious conversation around drunken Spanish.

“El futbol en la cocina es frío,” was probably my favorite. I defiantly looked to Gerardo—who just so happends to be Columbian—and asked, “I’m sorry, did he just say the football in the kitchen is cold?” Gerardo responds with, “This is what I heard.” The speaker then protests that he said, “concha,” and (not sure on the spelling here), “bollo,” not “cocina,” and, “frío.” Unfortunately, I misunderstand, “bollo,” to be “pollo,” so now I’m thinking he’s talking about chicken cunts.

See? Languages are fun!

Brother and I end up sharing a room. It was actually quite hilarious, because he set up a line of pillows down the center of the bed—like we used to do when we were five and had to share a sleeping space. Not quite four hours later the alarm clock goes off. Brother doesn’t move, so I climb out of bed to stop the blaring racket. When I try to wake him, he starts pummeling me with a surprisingly hard pillow, then rolls back over to sleep. Soon enough, though; we have food and coffee.

Wonderful stuff, caffeine.

We separate to get ready for the show, and I manage to get all the way down there before I decide I’m really not in the mood. Later, Boston calls me, another apology at the ready, and is happy to discover I am in possession of his hat. Would I also like to have lunch with him? Well, kiddo, notsomuch, but since I’m headed that way again anyways, I might as well be nice and bring it to him. I check in to my flight online, while chatting on MSN with A. Somehow we end up in a “fight,” although it’s hard to tell in these texting services when someone’s actually upset and when they’re just playing snarky. Off to the show…take two.

I do a little walking, a little talking, a little hat returning, and a general run around before I head back to the hotel, say bye to Dad and uncles, and go back for the airport. Oddly enough, I have this premonition that my bags are not going to make it to Toronto. The feeling is so starkly obvious to me, I almost say it out loud to the chick behind the counter. Then I’m worried she’ll send them to Cuba out of spite, so I keep my chomper closed. Sure enough, when I finally make it to TO, my bags are still chilling in H-town.

My car hits the driveway right around 11:45pm. I’m exhausted and—despite enjoying the time I spent with family, friends, coworkers, and customers—I am lusting after my bed like a junky with a fresh bag of heroin. I manage to get into my PJ’s, turn on my electric blanket, and open to my place in Perfume before my phone rings.

It’s midnight, and MGFM is calling. I figure he’s making sure I got home okay, so I pick it up, instantly apologizing for not texting…but I thought it might be too late and— MGFM interrupts me to say that he’s been officially kicked out of the house and, with everything he owns in his car—basically has no idea what he’s going to do. So I do the only thing I can think of to do. I tell him to come over, and we’ll figure out the rest in the morning.

Three days later and we still have yet to figure anything, but more on that next time.

Good night, good love, and good luck.

Quote of the Moment: “How does your view of Catholicism deal with making out?” (pause) “It’s cool in mine.”
Soundtrack of the Moment: Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats”
TV/Movie Quote: Back to the Future, “Last night, Darth Vader came down from planet Vulcan and told me that if I didn't take Lorraine out that he'd melt my brain.”


Lauren said...

You know, one might, just might, assume that any martini purchased at a bowling alley, would maybe not be very good. I think you're better sticking with beer (I know, I know) or simple mixed drinks. I mean, really, a 5 year old could mix a vodka and diet.

I think you have only yourself to blame for that one.

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