Sometimes I actually like it here, part one.

Last night was the opening film for Screen on the Green. Getting there was an effing nightmare, for a variety of reasons.

a) Even though I waited until almost 630p to leave, there was still a lot of traffic. Stuff like it taking four stop-light phases for me to get through. grr
b) Stopped in at grocery store to get fried chicken (standard contribution to the potluck tradition), soda, water, and smokes. Realized that ONCE AGAIN I have left all of my nine skillion lighters at home. And I have no car lighter. Only lighters available were in a five-pack, which I RESOLUTELY refused to purchase. I mean really. Also got dirty looks from the deli ladies when I stole a million napkins off the salad bar. Hey, it's fried chicken. Greasy.
c) Back on road for 4.3 seconds when Kat calls to ask me to stop in a grocery store (!!) and pick up balloons as the place marker on the field. Teeth uncontrollably gnash. I hiss, "Fine!"

okay, wait. I have to stop here and go eat sushi. more apres lunch.

back. sated. not the best sushi though. bummer.

c) continued: Stop in at grocery store #2, go to floral, no one there. Have someone paged. The balloon inflating process seems interminable, I feel as though I am drugged. Finally get out. Did buy a lighter, well two. But it's better than FIVE.
d) Travel several miles on highways at fast speeds with balloons whipping wildly around my backseat. Endanger my life about 6 times. Find myself curiously resigned to the fact that I am likely to get into a bad accident at any moment. And it will be my fault.
e) FINALLY get off highway and promptly get stuck in traffic in midtown. Go through the it-takes-4-cycles-of-stoplights-to-get-through-the-intersection action ala point a). Frustration made even more intense when discover that the hold-up is due to a total EFFING MORON who has been pulled over, and decided to PARK in one of two lanes instead of logically pulling into a side street or parking lot, avenue or boulevard. Pay $5 for parking, which surprisingly doesn't bother me at all because I'm just so relieved to actually be at the park. Well a couple of blocks away really. But still. There.
f) Realize that the frantic whipping around of the balloons in the backseat for nine hundred miles has utterly, completely, and hopelessly irrevocably tangled up the strings. I look at the jumbled mass of shit for about seven seconds, even pick at it for another couple of seconds before definitively concluding there is no effing WAY those strings are ever going to be untangled. And dismiss it from my mind. Walk to the park.
g) Get to park, find everyone relatively easily, even run into an old friend from Turner. He's Italian. His name is Luca. He hasn't changed a bit. Give the balloons to Kat to tie up. Twenty minutes later, Kat says to me, "Where are the balloons?" Sure enough, look around. No where. Look up and do a 360 sky search. It's as if they never existed.

FIN.

I'm spent. Part two will be later. It's a lot more positive, don't worry.
Teasers: Young Frankenstein (Frahnkenschteen!), wine, friends, boy.