December 17, 2005
The Big Wait
Thanks to some last-minute Christmas generosity, Simon is at this very moment not beginning a seven-hour drive to LA but instead boarding a plane for a free flight to the OC—the first leg of his trip to England. He doesn't get back until New Year’s Eve, and during that time I will do my best to ignore the phantom limb pain that comes with having my best pal ripped from my clutching arms. (I only cried a little at the airport and only kissed him good-bye two dozen times.)
I don't leave for Salt Lake until Monday, which means I have to occupy myself for a good number of hours with activities that don't require two or more players and/or involve tongue-kissing.
"Whatever will I do while you're away?" I lamented. "For starters," he said, "you should drive straight home, put on your bunny slippers, wrap up in a big blanket, and watch a movie. The rest of the time is up to you."
He always has the best ideas. So here I sit, ho cho in hand, be-bunnied feet, cat on my lap, and White Christmas (which I have never seen*) on the tv.
The phone rings!
Simon just called from Seat 12B to tell me "Good-bye and nice knowing you in case the plane goes down in flames over the Pacific."
"Just don’t go over the Pacific," I said.
"I'd rather go down over the Pacific than over, say, Ojai. And hey, if the pilot's any good, maybe he can skip the plane across the water like a big Tylenol capsul."
Famous last words.
Before he got off he reminded me that Stan needs to be fed tomorrow morning ("and not 1 p.m., but 'morning' like normal people would define it"), but then we realized that Stan's food is kept in the same closet as my super-secret Christmas present. In order to feed Stan, I'm going to have to reach into the closet blindfolded and hope I don't touch anything Christmassy.** The crazy thing is I'll probably obey; I've come along way since the years when my parents had to hide my presents not under their bed or in the car trunk or in the back of the closet but across town in my grandparents' apocalypse cellar. A little snoop dog, I was. Woof.
The phone rings!
Teddy. He's leaving his car at my place while he's in Atlanta for vacation. This means I'll have at my disposal three cars—a sports car, a sports utility vehicle, and a rusting pile of metal. So many choices! If I were more ambitious I'd probably drive each of them all over creation, but it's too cold and too stormy and I just want to sit here with a cat on my tummy for the next two days. Alas, I have errands to run, bags to pack, Stans to feed. Well, just one Stan, but he weighs as much as two. (22.4 pounds! Treefen wins the contest and gets a prize!)
Next up: I think I'll post some pictures while I wait for the boy to call. He should be landing soon, safe and sound and on solid ground.
(The fridge lies; he doesn't weigh quite that much.)
*Holy fake set, Batman.
**Somehow I'm a little disappointed that spell check says “Christmassy” is an actual word.
UPDATE: The boy just called, safe and sound in SoCal, having survived a rough landing in perfect weather. It's only been three hours and I miss him already. Let the weeping, moaning, and rending of garmets commence.
