In roughly 48 hours, some of my favorite people in the world will begin to descend upon my hometown for a 60 hour period of ridiculous fun, ass shaking, bratwurst swallowing (ding) and probably more boobs flashed than on Bourbon Street. Tonight, as I was finishing up on my school work and some freelance stuff, I sat at my desk and had my bouts of irrational thoughts. Everything is so set in place that I’d like to believe nothing can go wrong, but because I’m a little anxiety-prone, I start imagining the worst. Usually I run through the usual worries (‘I don’t have anything done’ ‘My car is a mess’ ‘What am I going to wear?’ ‘Oh shit, how can I be everywhere at once?’ ‘What the hell are we going to do for the karaoke game?’) a totally new one popped into my head: ‘What if I go into a coma and then wake up in the hospital and it’s three weeks from now and I will have missed it?’ I’d like to think this is some kind of inner knowledge that the aforementioned worries are livable, that I would somehow survive them, but this last one, this anxiety ante being raised, that was some impressive neurotic shit. I mean, yeah, crazy as hell, but you just have to sort of sit back and be impressed at how resourceful my sick little head can be. It’s the hormones. Oh yes. Because the universe just loves to align my social events with cocktail hour at Club Estrogen. Watch out or I’ll write a poem about my moon time.
I’d like to think that it’s an adorable kind of crazy, sort of a frantic Phoebe Buffay kind rather than a screechy Monica Gellar-Bing kind. I have two appointments tomorrow and instead of trying to work around them with my schedule, I decided that it would be far better for my impending ulcer to burn a vacation day and therefore give myself extra time to do everything. Esteban walked into my office and flopped into my leather reading chair (he sits in it far more often than I do, so really, it’s probably going to become his chair at some point). I explained that I needed to take my car into the shop in the morning, so I would drive him to Joel’s (he works from home but since he and Joel work for the same company doing the same thing, they often work out of Joel’s house) and I would take the truck throughout the day. He asked ‘You’re taking vacation? Why are you burning a vacation day?’ I explained about the stressing and the freaking out and also the coma and then started talking really fast and in a high pitched voice, so he said ‘It’s ok. You don’t have to be defensive, I just asked. I’m allowed to ask questions.’ To which I replied ‘No, you’re not, not unless you give me a big kiss. And also five dollars.’ He laughed and then I asked him to fix a picture frame with his Leatherman, which he did, as I continued to work on my article. Then he got up to leave, kissed my cheek, handed me a five dollar bill and walked out the door into the dining room.
Sometimes he’s such a pill and then other times, he makes it hard to be annoyed with him.
Later, Esteban announced that he had written a song for me. He sang ‘You’re going to stay home/ tomorrow when the People come/and then you will hone/your bourgeoisie guilt’. Except that it’s one of my greatest fears, to be home when the people are here. I think I would burst into tears. Or make them sit down and eat cookies while I scrubbed out the tub.
This is why I’m keeping the five dollars. Because one doesn’t joke about such things, not even sung as though we lived in a Broadway musical.
I wrote that last night.
Today, I woke up with Esteban, drove him out to Joel’s, drove home and then wandered around the house hyperventilating and writing To Do lists. After salting the driveway, I got so overheated that I stripped off my sweater and was walking around the house in my bra. Which felt great, by the way. Yes, somehow I became one of those. Later, I got a bit colder, so threw on a hoodie and then admired the cleavage action when I undid the zipper just so. I considered going to my meeting just like that. ‘Helloooooo Mister President!’ but just before I was about to vacate the house, I threw one the shell portion of a twin set and ran downstairs to fetch the outer sweater from the drying line. While I was down there, I heard a knock on the door. The People weren’t supposed to be coming until ‘the afternoon’ so I figured that it must have been Ward and June, who have been popping in and out with regularity in preparation for the sleigh ride (last time, it was because she wanted me to taste test a batch of brownie frosting. I am not making that up) and then as I walked up the stairs, buttoning my sweater, I see the back door open and then a timid voice say ‘Hello?’
‘Hi!’ I said, because I’m friendly just in case they are thieves who respect etiquette. Except they weren’t.
It was The People.
If I hadn’t blown my cover by saying something, I might have considered just hiding down in the basement with the (fucking) laundry. Except it was pretty obvious that someone was home. I mean, the truck was in the driveway and the garage door and side door were wide open.
When I saw them walking in, cleaning supplies in hand, I said, a little too loudly, ‘I’m just leaving! I’ll be out of your way in a bit!’ And then finished buttoning my sweater and then tried to vacate. Then I realized that I was being a jackass, so introduced myself to them, shook everyone’s hand, thanked them for doing such a great job and told them it was nice to finally meet the people (THE PEOPLE) who probably know more about us than our closest friends. They exchanged a look, which made me even MORE uncomfortable, because yeah, lady, what’s up with the seltzer bottles and all the hair in the bathroom? Then one of The People said ‘When we watched that back room getting finished, we thought it was going to be a baby’s room. But then we realized that it wasn’t.’ I made some joke about home improvement and then was out the door so fast they probably didn’t even need to pull out the vacuum. One foot wasn’t even fully in a shoe. I don’t think anyone can really blame me, though. In one fell swoop, I am confronted with the fact that I can’t keep my house clean and put my career where a baby should go. I was right to fear The People. That must never happen again.
I shouldn\’t have kept the five dollars.
Because someone asked, I took a picture of Tilly in her drag queen pet bed.
