So, I leave for RT in a week, and I think I’ve hit that point…
You guys know that point?
Where the avalanche of stuff on your desk is so big, and your list of deadlines so huge, that you can’t focus?
Like before you can do laundry and pack, you need to curl up in a little ball and go comatose and plan shit in your head.
Example?
Just as I sat down here to write about the stuff I had to do I remembered that I’d FORGOTTEN to take ZoomBoy to dance practice today.
But I remember lying down to nap and trying to pinpoint exactly what it was I was missing to do today, and getting “Blog tour…Did I set up the sale for the LG?… finish story… add extras… can I submit that thing before I leave?… you have two edits… you need to do laundry… did you get your swag in order?… what about that dress, DO YOU HAVE THE DRESS?… what about your hair?… makeup–all your makeup is crap… HOLY GOD DO THE ANIMALS HAVE FOOD?’ And that ran around my head until I literally fell asleep to escape it.
So that point.
It’s this really surreal calm point as you try to plan all the chaos.
And it’s distinctly uncomfortable.
Anyway…
So we went to a Republic game last night, and, as I always am, I was struck by the sheer gorgeousness of athletes in their prime. Maybe it’s because I was never an athlete–and now a mile with the dogs a day feels like a booyah moment. But I watch the young people on the field, and they’re SO fast, and they’re SO strong–I’m just grateful I can try to capture them in fiction, is all.
But also, funny thing happened there–
Mate and I had premium seats, but we moved at halftime to sit with his friends, one of whom has been known to coach soccer herself. So Mate and Lauren are chatting about soccer–completely absorbed–and Lauren’s husband, Derrick, looks at me and says, “Are they still at it?”
“Oh yeah–I’m glad he’s got someone to talk to about it.”
Derrick was like, “Yeah, sometimes I just have to call halt–I can’t hear it anymore.”
“I don’t mind so much,” I said, shrugging. “Besides, I talk about my job sometimes, and he’s really nice about letting me bounce my ideas off him. ‘A guy would really say that, right?’ can be a really important question sometimes!”
Derrick definitely agreed.
Oh!
And this is a Chicken story.
She came with me to buy some swag bags and some T-shirts (the T-shirts were hers) and Squish came with me and generally we chatted and had fun. Then, at the end, I was putting together “s’mores kits” for the baskets I’m giving out, and Chicken was loading bags at the grocery store.
In our travels she’d gotten a lollipop–one of the really big kinds–and she had that thing in her mouth and was just sort of doing her thing, oblivious to the 25-ish, attractive clerk tapping her on the shoulder.
“Uh, Miss? Miss? I can help with that. Would you like some help with that?”
We all knew the moment she realized he was addressing her– she practically choked on her lollipop and her face exploded.
Her sister and I looked in horror as she started coughing, eyes and nose watering, and the clerk had to help her out while she tried not to choke and die.
“Smooth,” I said, when she could finally breathe.
“I know,” she wailed.
“Haven’t seen moves like that since your father.”
“Thank God there’s precedent.”
I comforted her on the way home–“I bet that happens to that guy a LOT–he was really cute.”
“I hate you.”
“I”m sorry–it’s all I got.”
“Still hating.”
Well, she had reason.
And Squish had an awesome moment– I put it on Twitter.
I ordered Geoffrey Symon’s new book on Crime Scenes, and Squish saw it.
“Oh that’s great! Are you going to share that with Karen (Rose)? That way she’ll know how many bodies will fit in the refrigerator!”
Mate heard her as he was walking by. “I thought we agreed, it depends on how well you chop them up!”
“Yes, but this book gives you TIPS!”
I mentioned this to Geoffrey and Karen on Twitter– they adore Karen, and are big fans of Geoffrey’s last book–and Karen thought that they would be the most popular kids in school if they knew good criminal procedure.
They seemed to think they would be too!
It’s a good thing they love me, or I’d be a little worried…
And that’s it!
Oh– if you have any Kermit Flail to share, don’t forget to e-mail me, okay? I want that post ready to go next Sunday morning–I’m going to be in the airport and crotch of a slutty dawn o’clock.
