After Bad Boys

Last Edit February 13, 1999

It's not that I mind flying 3,000 miles - as long as there is something at the other end.
But when you get disappointed - especially by a tall blond god and his crew - it's not good. And I still have to fly another 3,000 miles.
It leaves you rattled.
We were ushered out of the View's studio so fast it felt like a slippery-slide. The "we're done with this group. Next!"
It didn't help that the crew at the reception area was one brick short of a load.
Elvis has left the building.
Nothing to keep us in town.
And we are now exhausted having kept up the excitement hysteria from 7AM until 1PM.
We cab it to Penn Station. I manage to keep Janice from stepping in front of a bus. OR other moving items. She hails cabs well. I am impressed.
We can't find MacDonald's so we sit in another drop-in place - anything with a seat and something cold to drink.
Janice has dropsy - she spills soda in the train station.
So do I. All over my dress.
I have also punctured an envelope of Medifast somehow and it's now all over my bag. Book. Pens.
I am a mess. I grab a scarf from the bag and attempt to rescue my new Polaroid camera. One other item comes with the scarf - a pair of black panties. I grab them up and use them too.
Janice has not missed a beat during this. Just glanced around to see if they were noticed.
Nope. This is New York. Like Loa Angeles. Nothing short of gunfire would create a stir.
We mop ourselves up and head out for the trains. I am hopeless in this mess having no idea where I am going.
We have already called RT to see if we could get call Eric and find these guys.
No joy.
We decide it's a lost cause for the time being and head for the train. We try not to miss the train.
I haven't ridden a train is 30 years. I haven't been to NY is 30 years. I am very proud I've made it this far.
Once on board, Janice, a native, leads me through the cars. I stagger down the aisles.
I am told that the trains are extra long and if you get in the front three cars you have to fight to get off because they hang out the front of the station.
I think that's what she said.
She has a cell phone. She warns her mother I am coming.
I haven't yet succumbed to carrying one. Working on it.
Today it would be just one more thing to carry.
We get off and I have no clue as to where I am. The architecture says East coast. Brick suburbia. A sharp difference to stucco suburbia. The foliage is different. I think probably the subconscious awareness that the trees are older than 5 years. The growth around the houses has that undergrowth look that says it's been there awhile.
Miraculously a taxi appears. A miracle because the train station is closed and we both need a restroom. Swaying cars and coke will do that. So will the cold air.
I have had an inspiration.
When we get to her house, we decide to photograph the rose against the red heart with maybe a piece of curtain whatever. Old-fashioned valentine. Add it to the website since we didn't get any words.
Better than nothing.
Once we are refreshed, I set up the rose which has survived fairly well.
Janice, who does historical reenactments, has a costume with lace.
It will do.
I take a bunch of shots.
Her mother decides I need food. She also decides that the rose needs water.
Janice decides to feed me more eggs. We had eaten eggs for breakfast at Big Momma's. I really am trying to be good. I do fall off the diet once in awhile but I really do try.
My mind has been fighting me since I realized most of my clothes don't fit. Sort of rebellious eat your way back into them.
It would happen except food also makes me ill. Because metal abdomens don't stretch well.
So Janice makes eggs. And I refuse spices. The plane will be hard enough.
We are feeling the let down.
So she cooks.
And then she makes one for her mother.
And then she is to make two for herself.
I eat my cardboard eggs. No salt. No bloat.
I look over and Janice is carrying 9 Lives. At this point I figure she is really, really tired. Or maybe the eggs didn't suit her.
Turns out she has five cats. Because she hasn't acquired a sixth.
And then there are the squirrels.
Mine are homeless with the death of the 45 year old redwood - the one trying to remove the wall of my garage as it leaned over the neighbor - the wall of the garage with the gas line and the furnace.
Hers are drunk.
This one rocks on its tail back and forth and suddenly falls over backward.
About how I feel at the moment.
And, of course, before eating, Janice is compelled to vacuum my suitcase - the one with Medifast everywhere. I did manage to drink a packet.

As I sit, the kitchen chair, really a plastic patio chair, has warmed up from my presence and its legs are now slowly spreading outward. I thought I was dizzy - I had this sinking feeling as I was headed to the floor.
We switch chairs. They only do that if you've sat in them awhile. Body heat.
Janice shows me her portrait in one of her costumes. Regency. She mentions finding a dress on-line that she fell in love with. Turns out her mother used to be a designer on 7th avenue in her much younger days. My aunts were hairstylists there about the same time.
These women probably knew each other!
We (the mother and I) have to remind Janice to eat. She keeps getting distracted.
She finally runs off on a feeding pass for the cats.
We remind her to eat when she returns.
She eats another cardboard egg.
We are preparing to view the "View" we just witnessed. We need to see this.
It is god-awful.
They did not get us on tape.
They did not get the poster. - Why did I bring it? Why did my son make it?
It really is cute. Four feet long (carried in in sections) with its red lips and hearts.
The camera got the back of my head - because he gave me the rose.
That's all.
Horrid show. We don't like how Fabio was treated. The opinions expressed by us are not repeatable.
But it does leave us tired.
They did take publicity photos of Fabio on the stage, when he was presenting the strawberries dipped in chocolate. I wonder if anyone else caught that look he gave the platter. He does not eat dessert.
I want these photos.
I know now how I will get them.
Dangerous to give me this kind of information.
The phones shall ring.
We comment on the hug and kiss he gave out to some women. Notice how we are emulating the cats.
My kiss was better.
I still win.
There is time before I need to go to the plane and if I sit, I will fall asleep. I am groggy.
Janice and I decide that my trip shall not be in vain.
We decide to go shopping.
At a fabric mill.
5,000 fabrics.
I am still drooling.
I am suffering from living where that is little choice. Took 5 months to get satin back crepe ordered.
We find a lavender pink shimmery stuff and a shear close enough match overskirt and walk right into a pattern that is a Regency style romantic dress.
Perfect.
Ordained.
My trip is salvaged.
My Visa is savaged.
And something for trimming.
And thread.
Credit cards up!
I buy.
We decide it will fit in my bag.
We will fold up the poster.
I realize that I have just committed myself to Toronto!
Romantic Times Convention!
Oh God!
What have I done!
Do I need a passport?