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Coffee Talk

Someone found my site here by typing, “I have a wedgie” into their search engine. Gotta love it.

Okay, this is the deal — the water cooler/coffee station is outside my office. Not close enough for anyone standing near it to be right by my door, but close enough so that sitting between my two desks, I can HEAR EVERYTHING that is said in the coffee corner. Sometimes, like this morning, for example, I arrive very early to the office, in hopes of organizing my To Do’s, settling in slowly into my work mindset, catching up on emails, writing this, etc. Not many people come in early. So, not thinking anyone is around, the things that these catty, small-minded ladies say at that coffee spot are outrageously petty, and I get to listen to all of it.

I always thought that age, where a woman is concerned, is just about synonymous with “grace.” Holy shit, are these people bad examples of that. Psst! Psst! MEOW! No wonder they call their half of the upstairs floor the Cat Box. I must say, though, I can’t help but be amused, and I tend to stop typing, fuck, stop BREATHING, when they’re out there. I listen to it all.

The Surprise of a Lifetime!

I pulled off the surprise of a lifetime! Cut to Friday night: My father and I sat in the front row at Copley Symphony Hall. Spanish music played on the speakers, the room was filling up with a mixed crowd, the show was about to start. I said, “Turn around, Dad. Look at all those people. Sold out show. And here you are, in the front row, the only fucker in this BUILDING who does not know who he’s here to see.” Let me backtrack a bit, before you draw the conclusion that my father is “slow,” because he’s not. This venue is nice, upscale, there is no marquee. After a lovely dinner, we headed downtown, scored a parking spot that was closer than the venue lot, and entered the building. I told the ushers not to mention her name, this is a surprise for my Dad, I said, and they were excited to help me.

They said, “Just don’t let him look over there.” In one spot, there was a picture of her. Nothing else in the building indicated who was singing. The screen on stage read, “Solo 2003” and that’s it. The Spanish music was misleading, and my father had no clue. Then, they came out, the back-up singers, the musicians, and the stage became backlit, as right in front of us, an androgynous creature emerged. The face was a black silhouette, the lights behind too bright, and then, she sang her first note, and right as the lights illuminated her from the front, a matter of maybe ten feet in front of us, my father exclaimed, “ANNIE LENNOX!? I LOVE Annie Lennox!” That’s right. Not until the diva sang her first note, did my father figure out who I was taking him to see. What a GREAT show it was, what a WONDERFUL time we had, what a PERFECT surprise.

Zsa Zsa and More!

My weekend was MOST eventful! Ah, it’s been a long time since I’ve packed a weekend so tight with wonderful people and events. Friday night, I dined with Honey, and boy did we DINE! Indulgence was the word of the evening, from chocolatinis to chocolate cream crepes, delectability was palpable in the air. It was wonderful to spend time with Honey, catching up and sharing stories. As we received the check, I was told dessert was on the house due to my V.I.P. status. Hmm? V.I.P.? I grilled the waitress on just how I obtained this status. She said the woman who took my reservation on the phone wrote my status by my name, and then she made reference to her knowledge that I was involved in a neighborhood business. Probably the gallery, I told her. She introduced herself, shook my hand, said it was a pleasure to meet me and skittered off to other tables. I, of course, was glowing. I do not pretend that I do not totally get off on being very important, in ANY situation. I constantly maintain my intrinsic self-importance to prepare for situations just like this.

Ah, but part of me is kidding (can you guess which part?) I arrived at M.s.’s just in time to say goodnight to his mother and whisk him away to a gathering in honor of Evan. That’s right, Mr. Bluetech was kicking off his European tour at Fizgig’s Palace, and friends were gathering to wish him well. We stopped in briefly, and I received more shit than I needed for leaving so early. This is the deal — I don’t have time for all the parties, and I’m beginning to find them boring.

Saturday was wonderful and full, and M.s.’s cousins came down to join us for an evening of art and dining. From Ray at Night, to Parallel 33, to Extraordinary Desserts, our evening was full and decadent. Great friends appeared, great hugs were exchanged, a beautiful necklace was purchased (and is on my neck right now), and great laughs were had. What fun!

Sunday we had dim sum and then hit up the Farmer’s Market in Hillcrest! Sunshine, people all about, and wonderful colors and things to look at! I love it all. A relaxing afternoon, and then dinner at El Zarape. Quick, in-and-out, and yet plenty of time for my car to be towed. That’s right, my car was towed. I should have paid attention to the signs, so I was only pissed at myself when I discovered another car in the spot where I had parked mine.

Yes, deus ex machina! Another tow-truck appeared to tow the car that took my spot, and I talked the young man into giving me a lift to the tow yard. He helped me save a LOT of hassle. M.s. and his mother walked to get coffee while I went about my adventure of the evening. As tow-man #2 was filling out my paperwork (another blessing, because tow-man #1 called him and asked him to stay and wait for our arrival), I couldn’t help but balk at the charges. My voice was slightly raised, but more in incredulity than anger. He felt bad, and I realized it’s just his job, so I backed down.

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