Leaving Nash Vegas

As it's been several days since my last post, I think I've been having blog DTs. Is this what happens when writers who have discipline enough to write every day go on vacation? I wouldn't really know what that's like.

Among things of note seen on the drive from Nashville to Alexandria:
1) A flagpole stuck up in the middle of some woods. No houses around, no lightposts, nothing. Yup, rebel flag.
2) A giant billboard of Jesus, waist up, advertising the Miracle Theatre. Shortly thereafter came a billboard for a Coach outlet. See? Miracles can happen!
3) A sign for a Corn Maze. As opposed to a Maize Labyrinth.
4) Roads called things like "Dismal Hollow" and "Gallows." Bright shiny place, this Virginia.
5) Some fog on the mountains as thick as bechamel sauce.
6) Plenty of Hurricane Ernesto, thank you very much. Witness my, um, buffeted hair. Shockingly gorgeous, no doubt!


Among serendipitious occurences all along this trip (and don't tell me synchronicity is bullshit!):
1) A few minutes before I got into the car, I smelled my grandmother's perfume-- at least 3 good breaths worth. My grandmother died when I was 12. This tends to happen when she thinks I'm headed in the right direction. Thanks, Grammy-- always nice to know you're around.
2) Every time we get into the car, my mother says a prayer to St. Michael, patron saint of travellers. Within a couple hours of setting out, we saw a big yellow semi-truck cab with one of those pictures of St. Michael like you see on cancles in Catholic churches--St. Michael's Motor Transport, or something. And then, several hours later, deep into the Virginia woods, we saw St. Michael on the back of yet another truck-- and this was as we were weathering the worst part of the storm. Between my grandmother and a real live angel, we must've been very safe, indeed.
3) Because my mother and I are just a couple of old witches, we figured we'd better cleanse my new apartment. This process involves burning some sage and letting it smoke all over the place. Upon a coughing completion of our ceremony, someone from the office knocked on my door to ask if we smelled anything (as smoke billowed from our hair and gossamer indigo robes). It seems I have my fair share of protectors here. Needless to say, Mom and I denied all. Smoke? what smoke? Amidst fits of giggles.
4) Last week, prior to our Goonies viewing, I told Jennifer that I felt a note of concern regarding my moving into the DC area as it was so close to Annapolis, Land of Josh Falk, the boy who,um, let's say, left a little cavity in my psyche when I was in college. Let's also say I may have mythologized him a smidge in the intervening 7 years. Well, lo and behold, I live here NOT EVEN 3 days, go to Ikea and hear my name. Josh friggin' Falk. He still looks...like... him. Not any particular surprise, I don't suppose. Thank god I'm not fat. Oh, thank god his wedding is imminent. I should really should never use my powers to foretell the future. It unnerves me.


And now, for a few heartfelt blogohugs and good-byes. This is perhaps not the most intimate of fora--please forgive my unbridled tackiness:

Mom & Fred-- You guys think you're about done raising me yet? Here's to hoping I don't boomarang again-- ever! Thanks for the roof and dinner, now and again. And the money. And the patience. And the kitchen paraphernalia. And and and and and and and and. And everything else kids never get around to thanking their parents for.

Devon from DK-- Knowing you'll probably never find me here, I still feel an impetus to say "Ciao." What's up with you? It sucks I lost your email, etc. Wedding? DK gossip? If you do find my page-o-rabbits, please, please drop a line.

Jack-- Don't worry, you're more than just another weird MI letch to me. You're really no letch at all. I'm breathlessly awaiting your gallery of Montana photos-- and hopefully, one of these days, a trip back to Nashville will coincide with the MI on-season. You keep saying you think you've seen the last of me, but I think not. And I should tell you, I see hummingbirds everywhere. I have no doubt you are sending them to me. More protectors, perhaps?

Any other MI folks who are reading and I don't know it-- I hope, for all of your sakes, that mine isn't the last liferaft off the Island of Misfit Toys. And thanks for all the secret-admirer notes. And the mortifying front-of-the-room tributes to my tits and ass. And all the charming comments from the Smokers' Ghetto that got back around to my ears. Honestly, thanks, I think.

All Hail, Cotillionistas!

Damon & Jason-- So, I gather the Grand Goodlettesville Ball, i.e., the Cotillion sans Marjorie was a raging success. How such a thing is possible, I'm not sure. Don't you miss me at all? If you can talk Bob & Jen into trucking out to the netherregions of suburban Nashville, maybe I can talk you into heading east? We have G&Ts and cayenne maple syrup lemonade here, too, ya know. And even a few homos, believe it or not (word has it, they like the Blue parts).

Jennifer-- So, go ahead. Pick up and move out here and find an MFA program already. The world needs your book and the Kate Spade store across the street from my office needs your business. C'mon already! I'll start scoping for hot neighbor boys --in their 20s-- for you in advance.

And Bob-- my little Kittenpants. I'm a far cry from an optimistic sports agent--or any other Cameron-Crowe-conceived character, for that matter-- but... You.... Bewilder.... Me. During one poetry reading or another, the poet (man, I've got it narrowed down to three. Peter Sacks? Li-Young Lee? Dean Young? Um, differing aesthetics, anyone?) said something about how bewilderment is the optimum poetically generative state of being. I'm going to pretend like I'm enjoying my befuddlement now. In all seriousness, thanks, honey-- you stirred something up that was nothing but settled muck at the bottom. Oh, and don't forget to read Coming Through Slaughter (you too, Jen). And you're not allowed to lose touch-- my nephew is your namesake, after all!

Holly-- Remember the long-ago threat I made? You know. The one regarding the GIANT pink bow, made specifically to contour the shape of your ass? The one about my hazy nuptual future? I'm in hopes that some unsuspecting sap or other enters the fray here in DC, making my impending union, and your pink ass-bow something of a reality. Tremors, my dear? Giddy quakes of anticipation on your part, I'm sure! Oh, come see me, dammit!

Michelle-- Love of my life thus far. Don't worry. Your mark on me goes deeper than the one you left on my spine. You and me is all wrapped up, lifelong. Now, you ain't to forget it, ya here? And besides that, I've got your box of rocks! And your meat dehydrator... and your stuffed wombats... oh, wait, those are mine. I love you, baby. I wish for you the life I never coulda given you.

Jon--You've been a better friend to me in the last two years than I even knew I needed. I couldn't have done this if I hadn't done ALL that. You driven me to movies and you've driven me to Normal and you've driven me crazy but I wouldn't have survived without you to bounce off of now and again. And think of what's coming next for you... Oh, to be the next woman in your life... how lucky! I love you, I miss you, I've already found a million things here that I want to show you. Wait 'til you see. And happy happy happy happy happy happy happy happy happy birthday. Only a year left in your 20s.... (oh, crap, I only have 3 months left in mine.).

Oh, and my Noah, my Peanutio P.!-- Oh, my love, how I pine for you! It's so quiet here. No one barks when people knock at my door. No one tumbles, breakneck, down the stairs or subsequently slams into walls. No one drapes his floppy jowls over my forehead to wake me up in the morning. No one watches me pee. It's only three weeks, baby, and Fred will drive you out. And don't let him forget the case of wine Mom meant to send with me!

Oh, enough caterwauling, enough sappy sniveling! Knock it off already... I'll be back for some holiday or another!

So long, folks. VIVA NASH VEGAS!!!! EAT MORE RHINESTONES!!!