It’s been a long week, ladies and jellybeans. Let’s recap, shall we?
Besides playing roustabout to a bunch of wishy-washy dinosaurs (“The dry ice won’t last forever, reptiles!”); applying baking soda poultices to a spider bite that just won’t go away (Where the hell are my Spidey senses?); setting up a neat lightbox situation with Pringle-can light reflectors; gambling hard and winning hard ($100 on a gift scratcher — whoo-hoo!); and spending said booty on a long, long, long overdue haircut (a year and five months — a new record), I have been waging an epic battle in the wee hours of the morning.
Mostly, I have been playing at Ahab, stalking back and forth across the planks of my office, the plastic doohickeys on the bottoms of my sweatpants clicking ominously with every uneven step, reddened eyes affixed to the lined diagrams laid out across the whiteboards, hopeful for a glimpse of that elusive, rare event in this writer’s life where I would finally lay down the words like a gravestone: “The End.”
Alas, I have been unmanned by a startling beast, a cunning Wolf de Resistance in wooly couture and a seductive smile. This creature keeps bringing me gifts of short story ideas — delicious, cheesy, savory bits of delight — shoving them under my quivering nostrils, always cutting in line in front of my Big Scary Project.
“You have time,” he always tells me. “Just write this one real quick, before it gets away.” And even though I know his motivations are unfriendly, aimed at keeping me forever cutting bait for lesser creatures, I fall for it…every single time.
But just outside my window, beyond the rolling deck and the salt-rimed railing, is a marvelous creature awaiting my harpoon that it might finally fulfill its destiny, its flesh laid out in fine-cut filets, fit for public consumption and enjoyment.
Which is how I find myself working simultaneously on four new short stories while taking tiny little nips at the Big Scary Project.
So I says to myself, “I need a better plan.” That’s what I said to myself.
Hmm. So how do you vanquish the Big White Whale? Easy. You get her good and drunk.
This Friday night, I was joined by not just one dear friend, but three. And like all dear friends, they came bearing gifts.
The first friend was Ninja Jim, and he came bearing gifts of Indian food, among other things. I heart chicken tikka masala! This simple act of culinary generosity has activated the escalator provision in our friendship contract…meaning he gets to pick the restaurant next time.
The second friend was my dear, dear friend Kellie, who arrived with a Spanish Moscato in one hand and a German Riesling in the other. She also brought pajama pants, which turned out to be a shrewd move since Saturday morning found her tucked happily into the couch. They’re so cute when they sleep.
The third friend was, of course, Miss Marian, my partner in vino, who showed up at the end of a trying day with a smile — always with a smile! — and an Argentinian Torrontes.
My offering was a Meritage wine, Lost Sonnet, selected because it has a picture of old Willy Shakespeare on the label. My thought-process is deep and mysterious.
Ninja Jim scrammed early due to ninja duties, so it was just us girls. So it’s not surprising that the evening started out Twisted, thanks to a Moscato from Spain. Damn good. A sweet wine, to be sure, but tasty.
Then we moved on to frolic in the Ziergarten, with a Riesling from Germany. I have always been fond of the Riesling varietal, which is also a sweet wine. I am partial to Blue Nun, which always reminds me of my 20s…which was like, you know, yesterday…but the Ziergarten is good, good, good! Plus, it comes in a pretty blue bottle.
By the time we got to the bottom of the Ziergarten, Marian had moved to the couch to “rest her eyes.” Yeah, I know. She’s young.
Kellie and I, being older and wiser, tougher and stringier, forged on without her, but not too far. We didn’t want to embarrass anyone. So we broke into the Crios, an Argentinian Torrontes, more for show than anything else. A much more dry and stronger wine, but I liked.
The Lost Sonnet remains undiscovered at this point, but not for long, I am certain.
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Revelations and highlights from the evening:
People do not talk about poop less as we age, but more…and with much more specific detail, including texture, form, and density.
Girl talk is a necessary, critical activity that fills a friendship with camaraderie and laughter and reminds us that we are not alone.
When Marian says she’s going to move to the couch and rest her eyes a little, what that really means is she’s going to pass out for several hours oblivious to shouts of “Fire!” and the oh-so careful placement of salami slices over her eyes. (I’ll can’t wait to show her the pictures. 😉 )
There is lots of mojo that needs to be found, and peeps should know that they can always count on their friends to tramp through the wilds helping them look for it.
Winner of Friday Night Vino’s Spoonerism Gooberism…me. “I think you need to use the spour pout.” Yup. Future Pulitzer Prize wiener right here, folks.
~ ~ ~
Emboldened and recharged with the treasures of Dionysus, I have doubled my efforts against my white whale. Refreshed and renewed by the company of my friends, I embark on these efforts grateful and happy.
So how the hell was your Friday?