Dear Internet,
It's been a very, very long time since last we spoke. No one is reading this blog anymore, but in case there are stragglers here's some news:
Nikki's last day at [insert name of big company here] is TODAY. Plus, Moonrat and Nikki are on the rocks since last night's "race riot." (Nikki's words, not mine.) And, I feel a weekend of hard conversations with my sister looming.
I feel awful and my fingers unmotivated to finish writing about my vacation that happened ages ago, it feels like. There will be a river of tears coming from this Bluenana's face very soon. I'll try to remember to stay hydrated.
I came to North Adams, MA to get away from work, but it's inescapable and especially at Porches. At breakfast yesterday morning, I heard snippets of yet another bitchy conversation about editors and agents from a group of almighty New York editors. Moonrat's ex-boss queen lookalike was there bellowing things like, "Frederica Friedman? Oh my gawsh, she's horrible!"
Porches has been my safehaven with HB for 7 years now. When I desperately need to relax and not stress about anything, Porches is our place to go. The chocolate croissants and Vermont cheddar cheese in the breakfast nook and the fluffy down comforters in the rooms make all my troubles disappear. However, I must face reality and accept the truth that our getaway has been breached by the enemy. Is nothing sacred anymore?
Apparently, I haven't been keeping up with my Publisher's Weeklys because I DID NOT get the memo that every editor in New York is now summering in North Adams. However, HB likes to think that we got here first and those editors are summering in our home. Plus, we don't summer, we vacay.
Get out of our house, bitches!
Tonight I discovered that there is a limit to how long one can stay in a hot tub and that length of time is definitely less than one hour.
Now that I'm rosy pink all over and completely lathered in aloe vera, I can look back on the time in the hot tub and reflect on the important questions in life, such as "do boobs float"? The hot Brazilian girl in the barely there bikini had floaters which I suspect were gifts from her father.
Since no one will ever buy me enhanced body parts, I'm hoping that boobs DON'T float. It'll make me feel a lot better.
OK, so two reasons for the hiatus AGAIN: 1. crazy work week in preparation for 2. this week of vacation.
Just wanted to take a moment to explain how skeeved I am at this very moment. I came all the way to the Berkshires with HB to get away from work and stress, only to hear a couple in the room above us having INCREDIBLY LOUD sex and to find out in the breakfast room that they work AT MY COMPANY.
BLECH BLECH BLECH. ICH ICH ICH. Sigh.
My sister's home from Ireland, woo hoo!
Of course, now she's got me doing sisterly things, like attending a Darren Hayes concert with her tomorrow. (For those of you who are NOT diehard D.H. fans, he was the former lead singer of Savage Garden.) Personally, I'm not a HUGE fan myself, but Darren and I go way back.
Back in the summer of 2000, my sister dragged my ass out of bed at the unholy hour of 3 am to see Savage Garden perform on the Today show's summer concert series. The area around the stage usually fills up quickly with out of towners and various tourists, so my sister knew to arrive super early.
We arrive around 4:30 am to see a stage set for Lara Fabian, not Savage Garden. My sister, in complete denial, thinks that they haven't finished setting up the stage yet, so we wait. And wait. And wait. Eventually at around 8:45 am, Lara Fabian gets up on the stage and starts singing, "I Will Love Again," a catchy one-hit wonder tune. At around 9:30am, my sister admits that perhaps we arrived on the wrong day.
The next day, my sister rips me from my peaceful slumber at around 3 am to see the CORRECT Savage Garden show. Again, we arrive at around 4:30 am, but this time we see the correct stage. We snag prime front row center stage standing positions and wait. And wait. Quickly, the area fills up with other diehard Savage Garden fans, toting posters and various "I love you, Savage Garden," "I want you to have my baby, Darren Hayes," and "You can bathe me in the sea, Darren Hayes" signs.
I'm not drawn in by all this mania, but something transforms within me when the concert begins. It was like an out of body experience. I started singing along (apparently, deep down inside, I knew the lyrics by heart) and then I started to move. I believe some may call this dancing, but I'm not quite sure. If I had to describe the movements, it was something like the hand flailing and gyration of a born again Christian, or maybe a cowgirl with a lasso. I don't know exactly, suffice it to say that HB's family was watching the performance in Massachusetts, the camera recorded my maniacal gesticulation, and his entire family was rolling with laughter. This very Today show performance is probably still being transmitted far out in outer space where an alien civilization is watching and mimicking my pathetic asian girl dance moves and wondering what kind of people we are.
My sister--the diehard fan that she is--taped this show for posterity. If she has a heart, she'll keep it buried in her collection forever.
For payback, maybe my sister might snag us two tickets to see Romeo & Juliet in Shakespeare in the Park this week. I've got a major girl crush on Lauren Ambrose. Though, I think this is already public knowledge.
