First of all, well, most recently of all as I just came in from there, my hallway smells divinely of key lime pie. Someone send a team over to keep me from scraping the linoleum with my molars.
I am not surprisingly all about this getting up at a very early hour and exercising with Team Droop. Or by myself.
The interesting thing about waking up in Adam and Maggie's house is that, up until four pm every day, there is no natural light in the house at all. No matter what the weather conditions.
So you wake up, have a healthy cleansing session of throw the cat against the wall, squint and tiptoe gingerly through the kitchen to make your toast, wash your face, wash your teeth, and by this time you have automatically adopted the mindset that you are in the bleak midwinter.
You step outside. There are birds and animated heroines dripping from the trees everywhere. SUN.
This morning I got up after my five hours of sleep (because last night I went out with some friends, and some new friends, and then made some fresh friends. Went. Enjoyed myself. Am SO EXCITED that I enjoy things like that now ; ) and sat in the chair in the living room waiting for Adam to get up so we could walk to the Empire. We had planned on leaving at 8:15 sharp.
Promptly at 8:16 Adam exits his bedroom. He stands a moment in the hallway looking very rumpled and Vietnamese.
By 8:30 he is ready to go. So I get ready to go. I had not gotten ready to go previously because when he hadn't appeared whistling and making dandy little sandwiches at 7:30 I grew very b suspicious that he had thrown over our plans.
But we go. We walk to Lowes, where my car thankfully still sits.
We drive to the Empire. We moan and whine our way up the sidewalk about how we do not have time to go to Lift. We run into Matt. Matt hands us a box of bagels. Isn't life lovely.
We go upstairs, receive a passive-aggressive talking to, and then Wendy trots off the elevator, surveys our bereft cream cheesed faces and announces we are going downtown to storage to "check out the situation."
Bless her.
We go.
The situation complete x as everyone knew it would be, but I suggested that we carry some crap up the alley anyway because it wasn't that far to walk. I suspected that this would earn us a gold star sticker from Mr. Bruce Rennie.
It did.
My dad buys me a milkshake, which I drink languidly while surveying the sunlight and the water spurting out of the fountain and feel the breeze and look at large color pictures of The Debra and Jonathan Spivey playing the piano (which SO impresses me). I then immediately feel as though I am going to vomit. Hard. My body has vetoed its' open arms policy to vats of sugar every hour on the hour. Which I think is a good thing. Will be good for me to keep it that way.
Also- the flowers around here smell wonderful. Flowers, pie and jerky. The scents of the fan.
We do some work, blah blah blah.
I go home and shower, then meet Hannah on Colonial and we have a very necessary drive to the Tavern to take in the show.
The show was lovely. Jonathan played the piano during blackouts. Definitely did. Few things impress me more than the ability to play the piano without music and just improvise. While being completely relaxed. He came out on the back patio after the show and took a seat at the wrought-iron table over which I was artfully draped. I sat up after he sat down and continued conversing with Hannah- but all the while I was secretly thinking. I know that man. That man plays the piano and doesn't even try. HOW important am I?
So I'm going to bring a friend day in the morning with Hannah. It is her birthday.
I told her I already went and you are not allowed to go again. She made the very good point that last time I went it was the middle of winter and I was wearing my green huarf and a pea coat. So no one will recognize me.
But I'm excited. A bunch of us are having breakfast afterwards.
It's time for the Droop Posse Routine.
Then I am catching up on my favorite. And eating something that I'm sure will be extraordinary. Am excited to find out what.
1 comment:
I do hope that the small plated and artistically cinnamoned pumpkin pound cake satisfied your expectation of the extraordinary. Perhaps next time we will make hunter souffle...will require human sacrifice, of course. Any ideas?
I don't think Adam could pass for our blonde vamp - I doubt the blondie in question would ever awaken looking rumpled and Vietnamese.
Don't let me forget to restock the beaver beer.
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