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September 10, 2007
Toothache
I'm typing to you, dear reader, from a motel in the Canadian frontier. It is a mix of surprisingly nice (free wireless internet) and not-so-nice (a gigantic fly that refuses to be shoo-ed out the door). It's a mere 9:22 p.m. and yet I have a strong suspicion that I will be collapsing into a deep sleep in a matter of moments. Nonetheless, I feel compelled to take advantage of this internet connection to do a quick review of the last week's events.
I am finally shedding the headache resulting from two nights in a row of drinking (I can see Ms. NYC Rogue rolling her eyes and trying to remember the last time she went two days in a row without drinking), but have discovered a toothache that is not just annoyingly persistent, but almost assuredly an early sign of jaw cancer. At least, it feels that way tonight.
My trip here is going to be really fun, I think, but already I'm missing my new place. I moved in on Tuesday, but it was only this morning as I dragged my hastily packed suitcase into the pre-dawn lull of the parking garage that I felt the place was sufficiently "moved into" to feel like home. And then to get on a cross country flight, spend 4 hours in a layover, and then get on a prop plane with WAY too much turbulence for my comfort--well, it created an instant homesickness.
Last night I went out with Ms. Secret Blog and Her Boy, along with his two brothers. We saw a fun band (including a post-coma lead singer), drank cider (that in a perfect world would be accompanied by a peanut butter sandwich), and even heard a bit of the Silver Spring Jazz Festival during our arduous trek to find parking (and the subsequent meandering over to the Irish Pub where non-adventurous dinners were later served).
After all that entertainment I was even escorted home by a fireman and a policeman, sort of. These public servant siblings might take a cue from their older and wiser brother, who is a paragon of good manners and who, I'm sure, would have seen me all the way to my building instead of waving a nonchalant goodbye a block from my front door. But they are young and it's possible that I seemed WAY too old to warrant such attentions, and so I will forgive them the oversight.
In the spirit of catching up, I would also like to explain to you, dear reader, about Friday night with Mr. HSBF and how he finally made a move (apparently, removing the fear that my dad would walk into the room in a dramatic repeat of our youthful indiscretions was key to the whole endeavor), but my poor tooth hurts and puts me in a very non-sexy mood. Suffice it to say that I could not be more delighted to finally be in my own place.
Reader Alert! I am searching for a fun blog name for my new place--something like Tara, or Green Gables, or possibly The Den of Iniquity. All suggestions are welcome--especially those that convert to a great acronym.
Comments
Plato's Cave
Posted by: jason at September 10, 2007 08:13 AM
It had nothing to do with your age. Unfortunatley I have not had time to impart my wisdom upon them. Rest assured I will have a conversation with the young lads.
Posted by: Ms. SB's B at September 10, 2007 01:54 PM
"I can see Ms. NYC Rogue rolling her eyes and trying to remember the last time she went two days in a row without drinking"
HEY! It was, like, last week. Or something.
Posted by: Ms. Post No Bills at September 10, 2007 02:00 PM
