So Esteban is now home. I made a brief yet vital misjudgement in the amount of time it would take him to ready to be picked up and he phoned me just as I was submitting the last diary entry. “Were you going to pick me up?” “Uh…. uh….” I frantically looked at the clock. His plane wasn’t supposed to even land until 2:08, and then there would be disembarking, luggage to be picked up, he would have to make his way past the armed guards and humvees, etc. I figured that I would leave our house at 2:00, getting to the airport at 2:20, which would probably coincide with his walking out of the doors of the airport. This was not to be. Apparently, this was the one time out of a hundred times of his planes being late or his luggage being lost, that his plane arrived before it was scheduled. I suspect that maybe the pilots were drag racing other planes in the air, popping wheelies and the like. Probably not, though.
He was starving when I finally picked him up and apparently had a horrible day thus far. He had left his cellphone charger in the hotel, then left his phone on the plane from Denver to Minneapolis, basically causing him to walk the length of the Minneapolis airport three times, wearing a flannel coat and lugging his laptop.
He wanted to get something to eat and wanted to eat at the Butt Splinter Sports Bar…(Yes, Outfoxed, I’m shamelessly plugging a previously written entry! ;).
I sat down very gingerly, after thouroughly inspecting the chair. We chatted and smiled at each other and were reminded again how great it is to be married to ones best friend in the whole world. He makes me laugh so much some times, I’m amazed that he’s so funny. He wasn’t always this funny.
Weird thing: He put this business card in front of me for a rather big computer company. It had a woman’s name on it, but then, in big loopy handwriting, another name written next to it. My first thought was that the first name and the handwritten name made the name of someone I went to high school with, but there was no way that Esteban met up with that girl in freaking Denver?
It turned out that was exactly what had happened. Esteban had been sitting on a panel and during the break, he was approached by this extremely tall woman, roughly our age, who said “Esteban?” And he said “Yes” thinking she was a reader of his magazine or something. Then she said “Are you married to Weetabix?” and at this, he was a little freaked out, but he replied in the affirmative (At least he’s not ashamed of me!). It turns out that she read the bio on the Class of 1989 webpage that I run for my high school alma mater and recognized Esteban’s rather unusual last name.
How freaky is THAT??? It’s just too funny.
I feel bad, though, because I let both my personal web page and that high school webpage go down when Homestead revoked their free webpage service. But I cannot be blamed for lax webmistressship… the weather was warm and I usually only do things like that in the cold weather months… this diary being a strange exception.
Buffy talk ahead…. if you haven’t seen the most recent episodes and don’t want to know… don’t go!
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Oh my lord. How cool was the musical episode? I had to go and download all of the songs! Plus, Buffy and Spike kissage toward the end!
Bunnays!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I was giddy, I tell you, giddy like a school girl watching that thing. It was a miasma of joketude! “I think this part is mostly filler” “His penis has disease from the Chumash Tribe!” “She needs backup… Anya Tara!”
Have I mentioned before how much of a musical geek I am? I lurve musicals. I wish I could live in a 1940’s musical.
I guess it’s a stereotype of us fat chicks. I hate to fit the mold, so to speak, but I don’t entirely because I haven’t got a witty gay friend to be snarky with nor do I wear extensive amounts of lipstick and an unnaturally dyed but extremely flattering coif. Not that these things don’t need to be fixed, mind you. Also, I look like a train wreck on the dance floor. I could use some fat girl dancing lessons. This is why I can’t live in a musical. I can’t dance to save my life. I would so enjoy wearing those great 40’s fashions, though. I’ve always wanted a finger-wave, too.
I had more intent when I started this entry, but I can’t remember. I’m just giddy that my sweetie is back home. That is all.
He makes me Com-Plete!…. nah, that’s too cheesy when it’s not being sung with a big old lesbian double entendre.
