Coffee Connections Prevail
In a Chicago coffee shop, music familiar to my ears was playing. Music I absolutely love and hadn't heard in about two and half years. I walked in the door and started screaming like a girl...or a pig. Whichever is infinitely more annoying. I'm shocked my piercing wail didn't shatter glass and chase all the customers away. There sittin on a stool strumming his beautiful music was an old roommate - Matt - who Sparky and I had lived with in Flagstaff, AZ. Sparky sat smirking at her table. She had called me: "Hey wife! Ya know that coffee shop you sent me to? You wanna get over here now." We don't ask questions. We know each other well enough to trust that the other only gives orders within the realm of best interest. If it was something worth calling me back from the bike ride I just began to embark upon it had to be good!
At least we knew Matt was somewhere in Chicago. He new absolutetly nothing of our whereabouts and has not checked his e-mail since we first learned of this adventure.
The Chicago Contemporary Art Museum shockingly pales in comparison to Cincy's CAC. The building is awful, one exhibit was great and the others blew. But the guy behind the counter was absolutely beautiful. Too bad I've been doing boxer shorts a tank top and no make up for the past month or so. Over an hour later, I'm riding through down town and stop to ask some motorcyle folk where we can go eat looking scrubby. I take my helmet off to chat and my sunglasses go flying. A guy goes running off the sidewalk into the middle of traffic to pick up and return my sunglasses. It's the gorgeous guy from behind the CAM counter. I thank him and ride away, think to turn around, but he's getting in a cab. An hour later I'm riding on the beach path by the lake, and someone says "Did you get your sunglasses?" It's the two motorcycle folk. Didn't I bemuse my random encounters in my last Adventures of...blurb? Yup.
Currnetly I'm nodding off in the Indianapolis airport with an empty frosted bottle of cherry vodka propped on the table I sit at. Bubba is sleeping in the squished booth next to me. My back hurts and my eyes refuse to be more than mere slits. A cutie named Ivan in a suit, drivers hat and pants ‘round his ass picked us up at a campground many miles outside of town in a cushy limosine, where we preceded to imbibe in our liquor around 2am. Another 20 minutes ‘til the ticket counters open.
I'm off to Jersey to help my parents move out of the house they've inhabited for the past 20 years. As much as I hate going back there, and just want to sit, relax, ride and write after the incredibly stressful weekend at the Chicagoland Speedway, I'm sooo glad I'm able to help my parents with something for once. They beyond deserve it.
We got a new boss. I told him the promotion sucks and is stupid. He wondered how I could perform with that mentality. "I'm an actress; when I'm on, I'm on. When the mic is on, I love Levi's and the Fit Pit. When it's off, and just us as TEAM members talking - I'm going to blunt in an effort to make improvements. Should I lie, say it's great and not attempt to make this the best promotion it could be?"
He doesn't like the fact I consider management on the same par as every other aspect of THE TEAM, including the two of us on the road. Welcome aboard, buddy.
As of today, I still have my job.
At least we knew Matt was somewhere in Chicago. He new absolutetly nothing of our whereabouts and has not checked his e-mail since we first learned of this adventure.
The Chicago Contemporary Art Museum shockingly pales in comparison to Cincy's CAC. The building is awful, one exhibit was great and the others blew. But the guy behind the counter was absolutely beautiful. Too bad I've been doing boxer shorts a tank top and no make up for the past month or so. Over an hour later, I'm riding through down town and stop to ask some motorcyle folk where we can go eat looking scrubby. I take my helmet off to chat and my sunglasses go flying. A guy goes running off the sidewalk into the middle of traffic to pick up and return my sunglasses. It's the gorgeous guy from behind the CAM counter. I thank him and ride away, think to turn around, but he's getting in a cab. An hour later I'm riding on the beach path by the lake, and someone says "Did you get your sunglasses?" It's the two motorcycle folk. Didn't I bemuse my random encounters in my last Adventures of...blurb? Yup.
Currnetly I'm nodding off in the Indianapolis airport with an empty frosted bottle of cherry vodka propped on the table I sit at. Bubba is sleeping in the squished booth next to me. My back hurts and my eyes refuse to be more than mere slits. A cutie named Ivan in a suit, drivers hat and pants ‘round his ass picked us up at a campground many miles outside of town in a cushy limosine, where we preceded to imbibe in our liquor around 2am. Another 20 minutes ‘til the ticket counters open.
I'm off to Jersey to help my parents move out of the house they've inhabited for the past 20 years. As much as I hate going back there, and just want to sit, relax, ride and write after the incredibly stressful weekend at the Chicagoland Speedway, I'm sooo glad I'm able to help my parents with something for once. They beyond deserve it.
We got a new boss. I told him the promotion sucks and is stupid. He wondered how I could perform with that mentality. "I'm an actress; when I'm on, I'm on. When the mic is on, I love Levi's and the Fit Pit. When it's off, and just us as TEAM members talking - I'm going to blunt in an effort to make improvements. Should I lie, say it's great and not attempt to make this the best promotion it could be?"
He doesn't like the fact I consider management on the same par as every other aspect of THE TEAM, including the two of us on the road. Welcome aboard, buddy.
As of today, I still have my job.
posted by Lindsay at 12:24 AM
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