I’m posting from the airport where I’m waiting to catch a plane to Australia! I’ve wanted to visit Australia pretty much my entire life, so I’m atremble with glee. Keep an eye on my Flickr account (link at left). I’ll post whenever I’m near an Internet connection.
Also, I’m a wee bit superstitious, and wasn’t aware that my otherwise excellent husband had booked international travel on Friday the 13th. So, uh, if you could keep the plane aloft with your goodwill and happy thoughts, that would rock.
Me: (reading sign)Gold Medal Strippers?
Bryan: They only strip to the national anthem.
“They had my mouth all stretched open, and my lips were cracking, so they kept putting Vaseline on, but it would dry out and get all stiff. They would just slap more on, like everywhere, without looking where they were putting it. I was laying there thinking, this is basically my personal hell, my mouth stretched open and my lips cracking as strangers apply Vaseline without discretion all over my face.”
Scenario: At our favorite Irish pub, the bartender is crying. She has just unwittingly served an underage informant and is receving a citation when we enter. The officer leaves, and for the next hour, the bar is abuzz with the news.
Bartender: (distraught)I thought she was older than me! She looked just like you, Lisa. Like your age. She was all dressed up and she had, like, a work case, like she just got off work.
Barfly 1: That’s dirty pool, man.
Barfly 2: It’s entrapment.
Lisa: Why the hell would the girl agree to do that?
Barfly 2: They probably got her on something.
Barfly 1: Armed robbery or something.
Barfly 2: Exactly.
Barfly 1: They didn’t Mirandize you. You’re innocent! They didn’t give you your Miranda Rights. Right?
Barfly 2: No. They didn’t arrest her. It was just a citation.
Barfly 1: But she admitted guilt. They can’t use that in court. This is San Francisco, man. This is a set up.
Bartender: (Tearing up.) I know. (She begins to phone other bars in the area to warn them that they should be especially strict about carding tonight.)
Barfly 1: This is how we spend our tax money? To catch criminals like you.
Barfly 2: You’re so bad.
Bartender: This is like the bar where old people go!
My hands, immortalized.
At an outdoor cafe, my bag rests near my chair. A woman walks by with her dog on a leash. She sees a neighbor and stops to chat next to my table. The dog wanders over to my backpack, sniffs it disinterestedly, lifts his leg, and pees.