once we had settled into our seats in the balcony so we would have an easy exit route to go pee, i realized my folly. i had forgotten to go pee. so off i went.
just before i reached the staircase leading down to the restrooms, a girl around my age stepped in front of me. i scrutinized her cocktail dress with its tea length and beading and cap sleeves and burgundy fabric. i scrutinized only because it was paired with black flip flops. for some reason, i believed the flip flops might somehow have been acceptable if the dress had been black. i thought my story of this girl would end on that note until i continued to follow her into the ladies room and into the bank of stalls where i witnessed her pull her dress up over her ass and up to her waist before turning around to look at me. i was in the twilight zone. it was so weird, it wasn't weird. and she could've done a better job matching her underpants to the dress. who wears light beige granny panties on a night they feel is special enough to wear a cocktail dress? i took my jeans and scurried into a stall on the opposite side while trying to act as if pulling your dress up over your ass in public was completely normal.
i came back to darren on our perch and soon realized we were sitting right next to Jingle Shoes and her party. darren explained to me that apparently the new trend in footwear is shoes that make noise. we were both aghast. then i told him it might be to go along with all the frightening new bohemian prairie skirts they're hocking at the old navy. we shivered and cuddled up trying our best to shut out the rest of the offending world.
but it was hard considering who was sitting behind us. i never got a good look at the two girls, but i think Jingle Shoes might have when she turned around to will them to shut up. they were talkers. and not just talkers, but the talkers who believe the movie is a real event. no such thing as fiction for them. [SPOILER APPROACHING] when the audience is shown that the daughter is not actually killed in the school shooting, i heard a shaky, tear-sodden “OH THANK GOD!!!” rise up behind me followed by a parade of sniffles and kleenex-grabbing. and they just couldn't get over how humorous the overuse of The Angry Cat was or how utterly enchanting paul newman was in his role as the cantankerous, old father. “what a delight he must be to live with!” “oh! that must have been such a fun role for him!” "thank goodness! i really needed some comic relief!" "AH! it's that cat again!"
we wanted to stick our fingers in their vocal cords.
as “Chapter 2” (of 8, as it would turn out) flashed across the screen showing us Empire Falls, i began to feel pressure from my bladder again. as Chapter 4 gave way to Part II, i began to wonder what had happened to our intermission... as had many others who had begun to scramble from their seats below. i couldn't fathom why HBO would insist upon serving us as much free alcohol as we could pour into our gullets and then not give us at least one intermission during a 3.5 hour movie which the HBO spokesman admitted himself would be broken into a two-part series for the paying HBO subscribers. perhaps this was his warning shot. buy HBO now. the pain you are currently enduring is just a foreshadow of what you will feel if you don't.
"HBO has become much more crafty since the days i helped sell their services via telephone," i sit here thinking as i sip from my decade-old plastic HBO tumbler and toss my CINEMAX nerf ball up in the air.
as a result of too many theater seats and not enough parking spaces, everyone was forced to use valet parking. this meant that everyone was forced to wait in a mob out front for their vehicles once the movie was over.
as darren chatted on his cell for a few moments, i had some time to ponder nature and the ways of the insect world. i have noticed over the last two weeks that every single time i have spent even a barely appreciable amount of time outdoors and immobile, i have come away with a barrage of mosquito bites. and so it seems, i am the only one ever affected.
i scratched at my hip through my jeans. this year has bred a hardy species of mosquito. they have rarely been content to stop at exposed skin. don't get me wrong... the cluster of five bites just south of my elbow and the single bite below my belly button attest to their need to rest before the final push, but then they do push on. they make their way inexplicably to places no ordinary mosquito should be able to survive. lands with a heavy sky of well-fitted jeans and snug bras. how do they do it without ever getting crushed? brian insists they are actually bed bug bites. even considering there have been hotel reports (confirmed by dave who works in one) of an infestation of bed bugs, this would still not explain why brian comes away clean. i reject his theory.
and so i fear this will be my Summer on the Nile [virus].
to compound that fear, i have had unusual exposure to downed birds in the last week. if i don't contract the nile or some other version of a lethal avian flu from the ostrich-like bird who sat stunned in the middle of the road leading to the gym who i felt compelled to corral back to the grass with a stick his diseased body had likely fallen from, i will still have another chance to contract it from brian who retrieved a living fledgling of a bird obviously too sick to fly properly enabling ozzie to secure it from the balcony yesterday and begin carrying it about in his mouth.