Today was the deadline to take the what is sexual harassment training course. It was this online tutorial about how sexual harassment is unwelcome content of a sexual nature that would offend a reasonable person and is used as a basis for blah, blah, blah.
Side note: I'm listening to "I'm Not Wearing Underwear Today" from Avenue Q.
Anyway, being the pure nerd that I am, I studied the material intently. I pondered over whether Paul, a guy from a foreign country, could still greet people with a kiss on the cheek. Poor Paul is walking down sexual harassment lane.
At the end was a quiz that would go in my permanent file. I performed flawlessly. Wow, now there's something to put on my resume: Can spot quid pro quo and hostile environment sexual harassment with ease. Yeah, I'm sure that will help me get a job. Pick me, I know when to sue you!
- theCallowQueen
- In the down-hill tumble of life, I'm okay with the scratches and bruises; it's the broken bones that I'm trying to avoid.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
sushi
I feel like sushi tonight, like sushi tonight. (Sung to the tune of "I feel like chicken tonight" but without the funny chicken arm movements.)
Friday, August 26, 2005
where is everyone?
I've been at work for a half hour, and I'm still alone. Where are all my co-workers? Lazy bums.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
my third wedding of the summer
The wedding is over and I've been indulging myself this last week. I've lessened my gym routine, I've eaten dessert, and I was generally lazy. So here's a quick rundown on the wedding.
Friday
Left work early. I love summer hours. Scooter, my roomie, and I went to pick up one of the tuxes, which had been miss fitted, then we went to get our nails done. My roomie got her first pedicure ever. I also got a pedicure, and Scooter got fake nails. The guy didn't pay attention to her and gave her French tips with brilliant white. Scooter isn't one for French manicures, nor did she want that white against her slightly creamy wedding dress. My roomie was going to repaint them for her, but we never quite found the time.
We drive out to the backside of Clinton Lake. We were only an hour late to the rehearsal dinner. We feasted on smoked pork and had a quick, disorganized run through of the ceremony. The thunder started. The minute my roomie and I got to my car, the rain began. The storm was so heavy, I couldn't see more than a few inches in front of my car and not at all to either side of me. Out in the country, the lightning made the weird strobe light effect. Not fun when driving. We inched our way back to Lawrence, where we decided to stop at my roomie's sister's apartment until the rain died down. (This is the next eldest of the sisters who we lived with three years ago.) While we waited, she did my nails and we chatted.
The rain cleared. We left after 11 p.m. A few minutes down K-10 the rain started falling. A few minutes after that it poured, again. I was glad my roomie was driving the next day. At home, we still needed to pack and get everything ready for the next day. I went to be around 1 a.m.
Saturday
Got up at 7 a.m. to go to breakfast with the women at First Watch in Lawrence. After a yummy breakfast, we took one of the bridesmaids to her brother’s to pick up her belongings. Then we drove back to Kansas City to get our hair done. (Yes, back to Kansas City.)
With hair finished at 2 p.m., we drove back to Lawrence to the Holiday Inn to get dressed. Here’s where my nerves began. The bride and I had had a bit of an argument over the yellow top I was supposed to wear. (It was a bit too tight for my comfort—and for my dignity.) She’d already turned down on of my options. I’d found another but up until this point had been too chicken to tell her. Well my waiting paid off. By the end, she was so busy thinking about other things that she no longer cared or had the effort to argue with me. (I know this sounds bad. But I’m not a stubborn, horrible maid of honor. The other top simply didn’t fit. Ask my roomie.)
All dressed we headed out to the campsite for photos. One of the photos we took standing in the bed of a truck with Clinton Lake behind us. The sun was out, making us sweat, but it could have been worse. The rain had cooled things down to the mid80s. As I was sopping up some perspiration with a paper towel, I felt bad for the groomsmen in their tuxes.
The wedding went well. Scooter’s father performed a very generous act. When the pastor asked who gave the bride away, he said, “I do, and her mother does.” (The bride’s parents have been separated since Scooter was quite young. And they don’t much care for each other. When her older sister got married. Her father didn’t feel it was appropriate to answer, “Her mother and I do,” because they were not together. Her mother, of course, was deeply offended. If you know Scooter’s family, than you understand how this would seem to be a divide that couldn’t be crossed. So, hats off to Scooter’s dad for bridging the gap a bit.)
The pastor must have been from the groom’s side of the family. He went on with this long sermon about how important marriage is. And he read a passage Paul had written to the new churches about divorce and how to remarry is still adultery. I stifled a squirm and a grimace. Both of Scooter’s parents are remarried. Anyway, the rest was beautiful.
The campsite wasn’t as muddy as we’d feared, though the dance floor was streaked with mud. And Scooter’s chair sank into the earth when she sat down to quickly. And I gave my toast. I’d written it during our car trips from Kansas City to Lawrence. It went well. I was funny. I was touching. I was actually a little hard to hear in the back of the room (quite surprising). I was also shacking, though others told me they hadn’t noticed.
My roomie and I stayed until they started to fold up the tables. We help with a bit of cleanup then headed back to her sister’s for the night. Then I showered. It was the most glorious shower I’ve had in months.
Friday
Left work early. I love summer hours. Scooter, my roomie, and I went to pick up one of the tuxes, which had been miss fitted, then we went to get our nails done. My roomie got her first pedicure ever. I also got a pedicure, and Scooter got fake nails. The guy didn't pay attention to her and gave her French tips with brilliant white. Scooter isn't one for French manicures, nor did she want that white against her slightly creamy wedding dress. My roomie was going to repaint them for her, but we never quite found the time.
We drive out to the backside of Clinton Lake. We were only an hour late to the rehearsal dinner. We feasted on smoked pork and had a quick, disorganized run through of the ceremony. The thunder started. The minute my roomie and I got to my car, the rain began. The storm was so heavy, I couldn't see more than a few inches in front of my car and not at all to either side of me. Out in the country, the lightning made the weird strobe light effect. Not fun when driving. We inched our way back to Lawrence, where we decided to stop at my roomie's sister's apartment until the rain died down. (This is the next eldest of the sisters who we lived with three years ago.) While we waited, she did my nails and we chatted.
The rain cleared. We left after 11 p.m. A few minutes down K-10 the rain started falling. A few minutes after that it poured, again. I was glad my roomie was driving the next day. At home, we still needed to pack and get everything ready for the next day. I went to be around 1 a.m.
Saturday
Got up at 7 a.m. to go to breakfast with the women at First Watch in Lawrence. After a yummy breakfast, we took one of the bridesmaids to her brother’s to pick up her belongings. Then we drove back to Kansas City to get our hair done. (Yes, back to Kansas City.)
With hair finished at 2 p.m., we drove back to Lawrence to the Holiday Inn to get dressed. Here’s where my nerves began. The bride and I had had a bit of an argument over the yellow top I was supposed to wear. (It was a bit too tight for my comfort—and for my dignity.) She’d already turned down on of my options. I’d found another but up until this point had been too chicken to tell her. Well my waiting paid off. By the end, she was so busy thinking about other things that she no longer cared or had the effort to argue with me. (I know this sounds bad. But I’m not a stubborn, horrible maid of honor. The other top simply didn’t fit. Ask my roomie.)
All dressed we headed out to the campsite for photos. One of the photos we took standing in the bed of a truck with Clinton Lake behind us. The sun was out, making us sweat, but it could have been worse. The rain had cooled things down to the mid80s. As I was sopping up some perspiration with a paper towel, I felt bad for the groomsmen in their tuxes.
The wedding went well. Scooter’s father performed a very generous act. When the pastor asked who gave the bride away, he said, “I do, and her mother does.” (The bride’s parents have been separated since Scooter was quite young. And they don’t much care for each other. When her older sister got married. Her father didn’t feel it was appropriate to answer, “Her mother and I do,” because they were not together. Her mother, of course, was deeply offended. If you know Scooter’s family, than you understand how this would seem to be a divide that couldn’t be crossed. So, hats off to Scooter’s dad for bridging the gap a bit.)
The pastor must have been from the groom’s side of the family. He went on with this long sermon about how important marriage is. And he read a passage Paul had written to the new churches about divorce and how to remarry is still adultery. I stifled a squirm and a grimace. Both of Scooter’s parents are remarried. Anyway, the rest was beautiful.
The campsite wasn’t as muddy as we’d feared, though the dance floor was streaked with mud. And Scooter’s chair sank into the earth when she sat down to quickly. And I gave my toast. I’d written it during our car trips from Kansas City to Lawrence. It went well. I was funny. I was touching. I was actually a little hard to hear in the back of the room (quite surprising). I was also shacking, though others told me they hadn’t noticed.
My roomie and I stayed until they started to fold up the tables. We help with a bit of cleanup then headed back to her sister’s for the night. Then I showered. It was the most glorious shower I’ve had in months.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
the muzik mafia
I got an e-mail today from Warren Ackerman. Now I don't know who Warren is, so I immediatly suspected spam. It wasn't. Remember my blog entry last week on hick-hop? Well Warren is with the Muzik Mafia. Aparently he found my blog, and many others, while searching the Internet.
So, for your intertainment, here's Warren's e-mail (and, yes, those are my minor edits in red):
YellowDancer21, I know you'll want to lend your support. And Big-Bold-D, I'm sure Warren would love to hear your new term of hick-hop: c'rap.Hey there,
Just found your blog and have a quick question for you.My company helps Warner Nashville do fan base development for the Muzik Mafia, and we run an online community called the Mafia Soldiers (www.mafiasoldiers.com).
It's kind of a cross between a fan community and a social network, and it provides a vehicle for fans to get a touch closer to the artists and visa versa.
When I did a quick search on Mafia Soldiers, there were quite a few blogs that I found. And I began to wonder if there might be a way to entice some of the bloggers into our community with the hope that our content would be valuable to the bloggers. Let me know your thoughts!
Best,
Warren Ackerman
212 684-9100 x 15
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
attack of the praying mantis
You can run.
You can hide.
But you can't escape.
No, not even on the fourth floor of your office building.
You can hide.
But you can't escape.
No, not even on the fourth floor of your office building.
Monday, August 22, 2005
back to normal
Back to Monday.
Back to work.
Back to a life more normal.
So, hello, all, I apologies for any neglect. I hope you've all been well. I'll be more attentive now.
I'll post photos and stories about Scooter's wedding soon. My head needs a bit of a break from it all.
Countingpigs called me this morning. So good to hear from her. (Best of luck on the home search.)
Back to work.
Back to a life more normal.
So, hello, all, I apologies for any neglect. I hope you've all been well. I'll be more attentive now.
I'll post photos and stories about Scooter's wedding soon. My head needs a bit of a break from it all.
Countingpigs called me this morning. So good to hear from her. (Best of luck on the home search.)
Friday, August 19, 2005
two nightmares, one theme
I had a nightmare last night--my second that involved my roomie moving out.
For background my roomie and I got our first apartment together in college. After she graduated, we both moved back to our parents' homes. A few months later I moved in with another high school friend, Scooter. Six months later Scooter moved across the hall with her boyfriend and my roomie returned to me. A few months after that, Scooter and her boyfriend to Minneapolis. And they're the ones getting married this weekend. OK, now that that's out of the way, here we go.
So in the first nightmare, my roomie had to move out because my Scooter showed up wanting to move back in. We let her because all of her stuff was there, packed away in boxes that made up side tables and hidden away under beds. So my roomie goes off and finds this cute single apartment (of which I'm jealous but worry about her being able to make the rent).
Scooter begins unpacking groceries in a bedroom and putting the stuff away in the drawers and closet. I start to explain that my roomie had reorganized everything while she was gone and that we now keep food items in the kitchen. But that thought seems to fall on deaf ears. (Side note: When Scooter and I lived together, She kept most of the food items in the "pantry," which was a closet in the living room.)
Now, I wasn't sad to be living with Scooter again. It wasn't bad living with her the first time around. But I was going to really miss my roomie. After living with someone as long as we have, things are just understood, easy, and right.
For some reason, in this part of my dream, I was transplanted to a hotel/resort/casino where my parents were with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. They were about to leave and go to a movie. It was about midnight. That's when it dawned on me that Scooter was getting married in a week. There was no need for my roomie to move out! But, oh no, she'd probably already signed the lease on the new place. What would I do? Not only would I be without my roomie, but in a week I'd be without a roommate period. I couldn't afford that apartment on my own. And who would I find to live with me?
The dream degrades at this point. I make mad attempts to call my roomie, but my speed dial doesn't work, all the phone numbers disappear from my phone, and, in horror, I realize I'm trying to make the call in my underwear on the front step.
In the second dream, my roomie and I are over at a friend's house with a bunch of people. While we're eating, my roomie casually mentions that she's thinking of where she'd like to live next. I'm all confused. She looks at me with fake pity and says something to the effect of, "You didn't think I'd be your roommate forever, did you?" I asked her when she was thinking of making this change. She told me that this wasn't the time or place to discuss it. But that she'd be staying until the lease was up.
"But it's up in November," I practically whined.
"So, that's more than enough time to make plans," she replied. "Look there's no need for you to get all teary and blubbery over this.
And I was devastated. Then the rainstorm out side woke me. And I felt a terrible need to clean. Maybe she won't leave me if I'm cleaner. She loves a clean apartment, and I'm so messy.
I know all this sounds a little bit pitiful. But lets think back to that Buffy episode we just watched. Aren’t we all a little bit pitiful in our nightmares?
For background my roomie and I got our first apartment together in college. After she graduated, we both moved back to our parents' homes. A few months later I moved in with another high school friend, Scooter. Six months later Scooter moved across the hall with her boyfriend and my roomie returned to me. A few months after that, Scooter and her boyfriend to Minneapolis. And they're the ones getting married this weekend. OK, now that that's out of the way, here we go.
So in the first nightmare, my roomie had to move out because my Scooter showed up wanting to move back in. We let her because all of her stuff was there, packed away in boxes that made up side tables and hidden away under beds. So my roomie goes off and finds this cute single apartment (of which I'm jealous but worry about her being able to make the rent).
Scooter begins unpacking groceries in a bedroom and putting the stuff away in the drawers and closet. I start to explain that my roomie had reorganized everything while she was gone and that we now keep food items in the kitchen. But that thought seems to fall on deaf ears. (Side note: When Scooter and I lived together, She kept most of the food items in the "pantry," which was a closet in the living room.)
Now, I wasn't sad to be living with Scooter again. It wasn't bad living with her the first time around. But I was going to really miss my roomie. After living with someone as long as we have, things are just understood, easy, and right.
For some reason, in this part of my dream, I was transplanted to a hotel/resort/casino where my parents were with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. They were about to leave and go to a movie. It was about midnight. That's when it dawned on me that Scooter was getting married in a week. There was no need for my roomie to move out! But, oh no, she'd probably already signed the lease on the new place. What would I do? Not only would I be without my roomie, but in a week I'd be without a roommate period. I couldn't afford that apartment on my own. And who would I find to live with me?
The dream degrades at this point. I make mad attempts to call my roomie, but my speed dial doesn't work, all the phone numbers disappear from my phone, and, in horror, I realize I'm trying to make the call in my underwear on the front step.
In the second dream, my roomie and I are over at a friend's house with a bunch of people. While we're eating, my roomie casually mentions that she's thinking of where she'd like to live next. I'm all confused. She looks at me with fake pity and says something to the effect of, "You didn't think I'd be your roommate forever, did you?" I asked her when she was thinking of making this change. She told me that this wasn't the time or place to discuss it. But that she'd be staying until the lease was up.
"But it's up in November," I practically whined.
"So, that's more than enough time to make plans," she replied. "Look there's no need for you to get all teary and blubbery over this.
And I was devastated. Then the rainstorm out side woke me. And I felt a terrible need to clean. Maybe she won't leave me if I'm cleaner. She loves a clean apartment, and I'm so messy.
I know all this sounds a little bit pitiful. But lets think back to that Buffy episode we just watched. Aren’t we all a little bit pitiful in our nightmares?
Thursday, August 18, 2005
my second wedding of the summer
The reception for R&R's wedding was good. The marina at Lake Lotawana made for a nice, intimate setting. And the G-man loved the open bar.
The bride looked lovely.
The groom looked giddy.
The photos are on Flickr.
This Saturday is my third wedding of the summer. Look for me; I'll be one of the six in yellow taffeta.
The bride looked lovely.
The groom looked giddy.
The photos are on Flickr.
This Saturday is my third wedding of the summer. Look for me; I'll be one of the six in yellow taffeta.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
word of the day: hick-hop
hick-hop, noun. A form of music blending aspects of country music and hip-hop, esp. music featuring rap-style lyrical recitation over a country-style background.
And example from Time: I'm rapping over pedal-steel guitar, lap steel, Dobro, fiddle and other country music instruments. In the Muzik Mafia we call it hick-hop, and we think its time has come. Country is ready to expand its boundaries.
Yeehaw, that hick-hop’s dope! (Yeah, I’m a dork.)
And example from Time: I'm rapping over pedal-steel guitar, lap steel, Dobro, fiddle and other country music instruments. In the Muzik Mafia we call it hick-hop, and we think its time has come. Country is ready to expand its boundaries.
Yeehaw, that hick-hop’s dope! (Yeah, I’m a dork.)
Thursday, August 11, 2005
screaming
The muscles in my arms and legs are screaming at me today. I went to the gym this morning anyway, thinking I could ignore their protests. I tried and didn't completely fail. But I did cut my workout a bit short.
I'm tired. That is all.
I'm tired. That is all.
Monday, August 08, 2005
it's not a tumor?
The oral surgeon just called.
My first thoughts: Why would Dr. Green call me if everything was OK? Wouldn't he just have a secretary or nurse do it? It was just a little white bump. Nothing, he said it was most likely nothing. So why am I talking to him?
Apparently, I was talking to him because he and his staff are just friendly folks. It was just a little white, cancerless bump. (I do a happy dance.)
Did I mention Dr. Green is also young and pleasant to look at? Sigh.
This entry's title, of course, came from the movie Kindergarten Cop.
Detective John Kimble: I Have a headache.
Lowell: It might be a tumor.
Detective John Kimble: It's not a tumor!
On a sad cancer note: Peter Jennings, the longtime anchor of World News Tonight died over the weekend from lung cancer. He is one of the more than 160,000 Americans who will die this year from the disease. Most lung cancers (87 percent) are smoking related. Jennings quit smoking 20 years ago (though he admitted to a relapse after the Sept. 11 attacks). So don't smoke kids, OK?
My first thoughts: Why would Dr. Green call me if everything was OK? Wouldn't he just have a secretary or nurse do it? It was just a little white bump. Nothing, he said it was most likely nothing. So why am I talking to him?
Apparently, I was talking to him because he and his staff are just friendly folks. It was just a little white, cancerless bump. (I do a happy dance.)
Did I mention Dr. Green is also young and pleasant to look at? Sigh.
This entry's title, of course, came from the movie Kindergarten Cop.
Detective John Kimble: I Have a headache.
Lowell: It might be a tumor.
Detective John Kimble: It's not a tumor!
On a sad cancer note: Peter Jennings, the longtime anchor of World News Tonight died over the weekend from lung cancer. He is one of the more than 160,000 Americans who will die this year from the disease. Most lung cancers (87 percent) are smoking related. Jennings quit smoking 20 years ago (though he admitted to a relapse after the Sept. 11 attacks). So don't smoke kids, OK?
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
what do you bench?
The G-man likes asking this question. He likes answering it too. So, G-man, I was thinking about you when I was listening to the news anchors this morning talking about the president's state of health.
Just to give you something to work toward: Pres. Bush can bench 185. His body fat? It's just 15.79 percent. And he's 50 years old. G-man, you're only 30. Are you going to let him out beefcake you?
So no matter what happens, no matter what actions the president takes, we'll at least be able to say he's at the top of his game. And if you ever need to find him, just look in the gym; it's the new Oval Office.
And now for the beefcake:
Beefcake: Hey! You need to get in shape fast?!? Wanna look your best?!? Tired the other guys getting all the chicks?!? Are you tired of being a 90 pound weakling?!?
Cartman: Yeh, I only weight 90 pounds.
Beefcake: Then bulk up quick, with weight gain 4000!!
Cartman: Yes!
Beefcake: With over 4000 grams of saturated fat per serving, it's patented formula is designed to enter the mouth, and go to directly to the stomach where it is distributed to the bloodstream.
Beefcake: Now available in stores everywhere. Get some today, and say with me 'Beefcake!'
Cartman: Beefcake!
Beefcake: Beefcake!
Cartman: Beefcake!
Beefcake: Beefcake!
Cartman: Beefcake!!!
TV Announcer: May cause irreversible damage to the kidneys and liver.
Cartman: Eh, eh. Sweet. Check me out; I'm such a beefcake I can't even get through the door. Eh.
Geraldo: Is there anything you'd like to say to people out there?
Cartman: Follow your dreams; you can reach your goals. I'm living proof. Beefcake. Beefcake!
Just to give you something to work toward: Pres. Bush can bench 185. His body fat? It's just 15.79 percent. And he's 50 years old. G-man, you're only 30. Are you going to let him out beefcake you?
So no matter what happens, no matter what actions the president takes, we'll at least be able to say he's at the top of his game. And if you ever need to find him, just look in the gym; it's the new Oval Office.
And now for the beefcake:
Beefcake: Hey! You need to get in shape fast?!? Wanna look your best?!? Tired the other guys getting all the chicks?!? Are you tired of being a 90 pound weakling?!?
Cartman: Yeh, I only weight 90 pounds.
Beefcake: Then bulk up quick, with weight gain 4000!!
Cartman: Yes!
Beefcake: With over 4000 grams of saturated fat per serving, it's patented formula is designed to enter the mouth, and go to directly to the stomach where it is distributed to the bloodstream.
Beefcake: Now available in stores everywhere. Get some today, and say with me 'Beefcake!'
Cartman: Beefcake!
Beefcake: Beefcake!
Cartman: Beefcake!
Beefcake: Beefcake!
Cartman: Beefcake!!!
TV Announcer: May cause irreversible damage to the kidneys and liver.
Cartman: Eh, eh. Sweet. Check me out; I'm such a beefcake I can't even get through the door. Eh.
Geraldo: Is there anything you'd like to say to people out there?
Cartman: Follow your dreams; you can reach your goals. I'm living proof. Beefcake. Beefcake!
Monday, August 01, 2005
my first wedding of the summer
Chapel at Powell Gardens
Originally uploaded by theCallowQueen.
Chapel at Powell Gardens at Sunset
Originally uploaded by theCallowQueen.
The Happy Bride on the Trolley
Originally uploaded by theCallowQueen.
Husband and Wife
Originally uploaded by theCallowQueen.
Five Primedia Chicks
Originally uploaded by theCallowQueen.
It's a Small World
Originally uploaded by theCallowQueen.
Her wedding was beautiful. I’d never been out to Powell Gardens in Kingstown, Mo. During the longish drive out there I began to panic that I’d taken a wrong turn on the highway. Was I supposed to continue of 50 when it veered off to the right like that? Where was Lone Jack? Had I missed it. Where am I? Crap, where’s my cell phone? Did I forget it at home?
Luckily, my cell phone had simply slid under the passenger’s seat, I was supposed to stay on 20 when it veered to the right, and I made it to the wedding early.
Powell Gardens is beautiful. The chapel sits by a lake and the view is quite lovely at sunset. The chapel is mostly windows that make use of the amazing view. Quite a nice spot for a wedding.
It was a beautiful wedding. My co-worker had put in so much work to make this wedding happen, and her efforts showed.
I’m not a big marriage girl. Yeah, I’d like to find someone to share my life with and all that, but I’m not big on the institution of marriage. I get all annoyed with laws and rules and society saying this is who this person is to you and how your relationship must be. Anyway, that said, I felt that pang in my chest and my eyes teared up a bit as I watched my co-worker walk down the aisle. She was beautiful, shaking a bit on her father’s arm, overcome with emotion, and very happy. I want that—whatever that is.
While the vocalist was doing her thing, I was looking at the bridesmaids and groomsmen. I thought about how many bridesmaids I’d want to have. There are all these social rules. Which of my friends would I include? What if my husband-to-be had six sisters? So on to the boys. The third guy in the line caught my eye for a moment. I continued down the row, then back to that third guy. That curly hair looked familiar. Oh my, it was Johnny, my European backpacking buddy’s little brother.
I had the urge to call her and tell her that I somehow ended up at a wedding where I expected to know no one and saw her brother — in a suit no less. But, sigh, I couldn’t. She was at a family reunion in Virginia or some such eastern state.
At the reception, Johnny came and sat down at my table to talk with me. I was good to see him again. It’d been awhile. He’s since graduated from college and gotten a job doing something brilliant involving computers, of course. He was always a computer genius.
And it was nice to have a familiar face there, especially after all my co-workers called it a night just after the dancing got started.
I had a really good time. I tried to call the G-man to tell him all about it, but he was busy having a so-so time at American Bandstand and couldn’t hear me on his cell phone anymore than I could hear him.
Then 1 a.m. came and so did the last song and the time for the drive home. I wasn’t very worried about finding my way back through the highway maze until I came to the exit for 435 and it was blocked by all of those annoying orange-and-white-striped barrels. Grr. I followed two detour signs and then was left to my own devices. I found myself driving down a windy road darkened by the dense trees on either side of me.
I could call my roommate, but she doesn’t know this part of the city any better than I do. And we don’t have Internet access. I could call my dad, but I’d hate to wake him. Screw it. I’ve been lost before. It can be an adventure, even if it is 1 in the morning.
I figured that I’d probably hit a highway eventually. The road, I later noticed, was Bannister Road, which registered to me as a main road that should lead somewhere, though I couldn’t place it in the map in my head. So I kept going. Bannister Road crossed Blue Ridge Boulevard. And, though I recognized the name as another main road, it meant little to me. As I sat at the light, I realized that the intersection looked vaguely familiar to me. If I was correct, Waldo was just to my right and Johnson County, Kan., was just ahead. My thanks go out to my maternal grandmother who avoids highways at all costs. We’d driven down this road to go to Concordia, Mo., earlier this year.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Then Bannister turned into 95th Street, and I felt a bit silly. I should have known that. I should have known where I was. Oh, well. Now I know. Sill it was fun being lost.
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