It's currently 3:35 on Friday morning, which means Meg & Chris' Super Productive Writing Retreat is officially underway. Underway and not off to a terribly good start. I had oddly specific fantasies going into this experience about how dignified it would be. I pictured the two of us sitting around a fireplace in tweed jackets, smoking pipes, drinking brandy, and being, you know, all literary-like. Instead we've spent most of the night at airports in two completely different states wondering why we couldn't find each other and giggling like schoolgirls in my parents' kitchen, whispering ass-to-mouth jokes and singing the theme song to Maude. In retrospect, I'm not entirely sure why I thought it would go any other way...
I'm in complete awe that Tulane Chris doesn't want to punch me in the mouth right now. He's been traveling since 10am and we only figured out that I was waiting for him in Baltimore and he was at Dulles at around midnight. I don't really know what to say about that except—my bad! I've been beer bonging cough medicine like an insecure girl trying to come out of her shell at Beach Week for about a month now and I think it's finally cought up to me. <--- Mostly because that's how I just spelled caught. Cought. And speaking of spelling errors, I think it's hilarious that I misspelled "sow" in the sentence, "sow my wild oats," yesterday considering how many times I, in my extremely burnt-out state, had to google "oats" to crack the case that there isn't an E in it anywhere.
Yes. We are truly are a wonderful, wonderful resource.
Speaking of oates <--- oh my fucking God. Speaking of oats, after Chris and I realized that we were in different airports, I hopped in my car and fully intended to floor it all the way to Dulles, but instead ended up in bumper-to-bumper traffic a few miles outside of the airport because they shut down a giant stretch of 95. I was sitting in traffic feeling like a complete failure when the Hall and Oates masterpiece "I Can't Go For That" came on the radio. I then proceeded to do a full (seated) body roll and say out loud (to no one in particular): "HALL AND OATES—AINT NOTHIN' WRONG WITH THAT!" It was only when I started doing little Shooter McGavin hands at breast-level while making a "SAY WHAAAAAAAT?!" face at myself in the rear-view mirror that I looked over and realized that the old man in the pickup truck next to me was staring back with a look on his face that so clearly said: "That's sad." So I stopped, but I can not express how hard it was not to start again. I fucking love Hall & Oates and I really don't care who knows it. I remember my first week at AU, I got in like, an uncomfortably long conversation with Ashleigh and her then boyfriend Ben about my zeal for Hall & Oates. And I don't think they were doing much of the talking. Or any, really. That's actually all I ever envision when people talk about the first week of college: me in a too-tight Von Dutch t-shirt with brassy blonde highlights, talking at people about Hall & Oates. Shit, I just checked the official Hall & Oates website and they're touring in the Spring, but only in Japan and Hawaii. That's bullshit. But do you know what's not? This H&O window decal:
I wonder how much it would cost to get Hall & Oates to play an event? That event specifically being I hang out in my apartment with ten of my closest friends and a giant bottle of Mt. Gay vanilla rum... I legitimately just thought to myself, "If my parents were loaded and I was nine years younger, I could go on Sweet Sixteen and force my dad to get Hall & Oates to ride in in a Delorean and play my party." This was supposed to be a mildly entertaining story about running a toll on the highway but somehow morphed into my inner Hall & Oates monologue at a sort of alarming rate. Hm. Well, I ran a toll. I got flustered. Don't tell my mom.
So yes, point being, Chris and I are finally in the same place, specifically at my parents' house. We didn't drink any brandy tonight but we did microwave a few English Muffins and coin the term "crass-to-mouth". It's a start. I obviously missed tonight's premiere of the third season of Jersey Shore, but I'll get a recap up for Monday and try not to make it a habit. I wish I could recap Hall & Oates videos on youtube. (Stop.) (OK.) I leave you now with the first T.G.I. Hagman of 2011, and we'll see you right back here bright and early Monday morning! Buh-bye.
As of 5:28am on January 7, 2011, Larry Hagman is...alive! But he'll only come out at night. The lean and hungry type. Nothing is new, I've seen The Hagman here before. Watching and waiting, Ooo he's sitting with you but his eyes are on the door. Ohh-oh here he comes. Watch out girl, he'll chew you up. Ohh-oh here he comes, he's a Meg-Eater! Well, good. Now I feel fucking filthy. Happy weekend.