love letter

Sleighride
Holy fuck, my thighs hurt. You know it was a good weekend
when you come home and your thighs are aching all the way up and all the way
down, and you tremble like an old woman when you try to straighten yourself out
and the idea of sitting down seems like the best idea ever in the world, except
that you know it’s such a terrible idea, with the immediate stiffness and
once you get up, you will wish you did not actually own legs because nothing
could be worse than the ouch and then you remember that you had a goddamn fine
weekend and you earned these aches and pains like a rock star, the way you
dropped it like it was hot, and good on you! Go take a bath, and a handful of
Tylenol, and get to the important part where you start to worry about when the
pictures will appear and what, exactly, they might reveal.

I’m pretty sure I kept my tits in my dress, but I can’t promise you anything. It was pretty much that exact kind of
weekend, you know? High five, hallelujah, and I need to lie down for awhile.

Weetabix is kind of a stunner of a host—she’s lovely, she’s gracious,
she’s organized, she knows from activities guaranteed to make a group happy
even when it’s a negative amount of degrees outside, maybe even especially
then. There was a sleigh ride, and a fire, a hall full of delicious food made
by her delicious mother-in-law, a raffle for which all the money will be
transformed into meat for the needy and which was filled with ridiculously
fabulous prizes. Then karaoke. There is
video. I do not approve. Some shots taste like Jolly Ranchers. I like to dance!
A lot. Talent? Not a consideration! Or an option.

Back to the hotel, up at tired o’clock…okay, around 11:00.
Winter festival in downtown Coldington! It is neither as wintery or as
festivally as I imagined it would be. I think I expected balloons and frozen
mimes and possibly a booth of some kind. There was a guy with a chain saw and a
block of ice, though! That ruled. Also, I enjoyed the wooly things that were
possibly alpacas. They had many teeth.

Back to the hotel, and breakfast is chicken strips? That’s
what I recall. That sounds about right. Also, a Manhattan.
It is always five o’clock somewhere.
Group trivia (go team Judgmental Dance Party!) with a lot of failing. A
restaurant where you brush your steak with butter, and then add some more
butter, and then just go ahead and pour the entire bucket of butter over your
meat and call it a day, because you’ve got some grilling to do. You can grill
your own meat! I do not grill. But I ate what was put in front of me, and lo,
it was good. "Are you eating enough protein? Are you eating enough?"
Yes, yes, I love you too. Steak is so nice! I like wine.

And later—it was a very bad bar. When you say that, you have
to say that with admiration in your voice and love in your heart. I dropped it
like it was hot, and have I mentioned my thighs are on fire, still? Rumors of
video, again. I continue to not approve.

When you talk about the people, though, there is nothing but
approval. And oh, the people. Some of whom are my favorites, ever and from all
time, and some of whom are now new and delightful favorites, whether or not
they agree. Well, probably they should be given the opportunity to agree. We
are very polite. Every single one of them, we wanted to take home with us. They
would not all fit in our luggage, and we were not about to pick and choose, no
sir. We are getting bigger luggage. We are moving to Chicago to stalk everyone. Chicago is a
hub! It is a plan like you wouldn’t believe.

Home, the worst flight ever in the history of flights:
people dropping their seats all the way back, the weird and persistent smell of
acetone, the guy behind us who defined, in his very own special way, the term
"giant steaming asshole turd prick" oh my
god shut the fuck up I hate you so much
. He was a little annoying. Got off
with creaky legs, and we staggered home, and I am wearing monkey jammers, with
a needy cat on my chest and this far from all the sleep in the world.

It was a weekend like you wouldn’t believe, where I was sad to go home, even
while I was still there and not going anywhere, just yet, perk up! I was proud
to know these people, and I spent a lot of time feeling a lot of lucky. Thank
you, Sweetabix, for a so-good weekend. Thank you, people who made me feel
lucky. Because you rule.

  9 comments for “love letter

  1. January 28, 2008 at 11:39 am

    I left town yesterday bereft of hamburger and you. But know that the Judgmental Dance Party continues, even when nobody is dancing or judging! It is ON! I miss you already.

  2. January 28, 2008 at 1:29 pm

    Oh, sob! I am so sorry I missed this!

  3. January 28, 2008 at 5:00 pm

    Move to Chicago! Chicago IS the hub! I am all for this! I think everyone should move to Chicago and then I will be a happy girl. So there. You rock. Keep rocking, skinny.

  4. January 28, 2008 at 5:01 pm

    Move to Chicago! Chicago IS the hub! I am all for this! I think everyone should move to Chicago and then I will be a happy girl. So there. You rock. Keep rocking, skinny.

  5. January 28, 2008 at 5:01 pm

    Move to Chicago! Chicago IS the hub! I am all for this! I think everyone should move to Chicago and then I will be a happy girl. So there. You rock. Keep rocking, skinny.

  6. January 28, 2008 at 5:10 pm

    Whoops.

    I meant that comment A LOT, apparently. Sorry ’bout that.

  7. January 28, 2008 at 8:32 pm

    I can be persuaded to make that video disappear.

    Ok. Not really.

  8. January 28, 2008 at 10:55 pm

    Just you wait, Mike. Just you wait.

  9. January 29, 2008 at 10:51 am

    Wonderful to meet you at the Meatacon! Or Manhattancon? It doesn’t matter; it was still wonderful.

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