Jimmy Buffett tickets: Not found, but replaced for free thanks to the kind folks at Ticketmaster (I’ll never bitch about a service charge again).
But in an interesting twist, I have now lost a bra.
Please hold all comments until the end of the post.
Went out for dinner Thursday night with Shelly and her dad. After dinner, Shelly, being Shelly, just had to show us a new bar downtown, the Independent. Very cool little hovel with not much thought given to, well, much of anything. I go to the bathroom (spicy Thai=water water water=multiple potty breaks over the next few hours). When I walk out, Shelly’s dad has bought us each a beer. I’m not driving and none of us has had enough to warrant concern, so I accept the – I kid you not- TWO LITER glass of beer they draw from the tap. Ok, maybe it wasn’t quite two liters, but it was definitely more than the pint that is tradition when one drinks a beer this dark. It was called Hobgoblin, I think, and Shelly picked it out for me. Now, I’m not averse to a Guiness or the Sam Adams brew at Pizzeria Uno that tastes like pretzels, but this was the dark beer to end all dark beers. I cracked a tooth on it, honest. Plus, it took me something like an hour and a half to finish it (it was big and dark, kind of like a steak in a glass).
I finally tell Shelly that, as I woke up at 2:30 that morning convinced there was a ghost under my bed (long story, I spent way too much time on Snopes.com the other day and freaked myself out), I want to go home and go to sleep (I’m such a party animal, aren’t I?)
Shelly drives me home. We were hanging out in my massive backyard when we notice a rat creeping along one of the wires that leads to my house. Other than the whole Black Plague thing, rats don’t bother me- at least, their presence doesn’t, as my neighborhood has its share of hawks- so I point it out to Shelly, who stands up and goes to get a closer look. The cute little vermin takes off, demonstrating amazing agility and grace as it scampers along the wire, into a palm in the neighbor’s backyard, finally leaping to (it thinks) safety on a large oak (it was a sizable rat, because in the dark we could see this all). We then hear some very agitated vermin-esque chattering and hear a rustle, followed by a rat falling straight out of the tree, and, finally, a loud “plop”, followed by absolute silence.
When we stopped laughing, Shelly must have decided it was some sort of omen and takes off. I get changed and head to bed.
The next morning, I’m getting dressed and I can’t find my bra. I know I wore one (no way could I be mistaken on this), but it has simply disappeared.
Now, I felt like I had my faculties about me the night before, but clothes disappearing can be unsettling. I mean, I remember everything I did (except, obviously, where I put my bra), but I can’t find the damn thing. So I start to question myself, and then, Shelly.
Me: Hey, Shel, did I take my bra off before you left last night?
Shelly: I thank god I don’t know.
Which is just one combination of words I never could have predicted I would compose.
I should add that I had a dream the other night that my airplane propellor doorstops (my granfather got them in WWII, they’re wood props cut up and polished; very, very, VERY cool) had little arms and legs that popped out of the side (also some sort of flexible wood. It was a dream, what do you want from me?) and helped the little guys move around when no one was looking. In the dream, I “caught” one moving.
Now, I know it was just a dream, but I never did find the concert tickets and now I’m missing a bra, and I would swear the one going into my office is a little farther from the door than it was the other day…
“When we remember that we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained.” ~ Mark Twain
“All things considered, insanity may be the only reasonable alternative.” ~ Unknown