nervousness

incoming: PHE 2006

2006-01-12T23:23:13+00:00

We are nearly prepared. Yes, PHE 2006 is just about to land on us, and land on us with this sickening, alcoholic *thump*.The RSVP list currently stands somewhere around 40. There will be thirteen people staying in our house alone. I have a fridge full of food, and I'm not done yet.

I have a sweater to finish knitting for Saturday—if I'm diligent, I will finish tonight.

I am alternately excited and utterly terrified. Friends are flying in for this, for crying out loud. People are driving multiple hours each way. All this, for the promise of … something.

I'm not sure what it is we look for in parties like these. A chance to connect, to at last BE the in-crowd. How comforting it is to be a nerd in a party full of nerds; a party full of people who aren't ashamed to admit that yeah, quite a few of us went to grad school, and yeah, some of us have doctorates and kids, but we also know killer dirty jokes and toasts and blackmail on everyone else who will be there—and oh yeah, don't get us started on the games until everyone's had their two-drink-minimum.

So, excitement. All these friends, so many of them so much like family, all together in one house for one whirlwind weekend. All these friends, in the end trusting that I've got my domesticat game on, and that there will be the killer food and drink that—yes, I know, they aren't expecting, but they certainly are damn well hoping for.

Molasses spice cookies. Oatmeal cookies. Gingerpeople. Saturday morning pancakes and chocolate chip cookies. For the first time, a fully-stocked bar. Music. Christmas lights. Homemade salsa.

If we're lucky, I'll append "devil's food cake" to that list tonight.

The first arrivals pull in at midnight tonight. Tomorrow afternoon, I harvest another set in Birmingham. The locals will show up after work with food and games in hand, and the Atlanta folks will trickle in as they finish the drive.

By Saturday morning, this place that I have fussed over, tidying and prepping, will be full to the rafters with my kind of people.

Geeks.

Don't be surprised if I vanish until next Wednesday. The last guestfriendgeek doesn't go home until Tuesday.

Here's to a weekend to remember: the Pan-Holiday Extravaganza. Cheers!

The naming and the knowing

2005-08-06T04:29:57+00:00

Between dim sum tomorrow afternoon and my flight home on Thursday, I have no plans. No real plans, anyway, the kind with dates and times and directions. I have a list - a list of places I think I might enjoy seeing, and a guidebook that seems to have solid recommendations so far.

I know I'd like to have a drink with Matthew's brother Daniel, since we haven't seen each other since we were teenagers, and I'm curious to see how much we think we've changed.

I know that I'd like to see Crutcher and Theresa, but I don't know if our schedules will coincide.

I know that I grabbed a page of clear labels and printed out the addresses of every friend I wanted to send a postcard to (except Noah, whose new mailing address I don't have, hint hint) but I don't know where I'll buy the cards. I know that once, I sent many of these same people postcards that were written while my toes were digging into the salty, warm sands of the Gulf of Mexico; a romantic part of me imagines that I will find someplace lovely, within sight of that bay bridge I've always wanted to see, and write those postcards. Afterwards, perhaps taking a picture to post, something to bring home later to say, "These filled my eyes while I thought of you and wrote to you."

The realist is packing my warm, cozy green hoodie (a gift I'll talk about later) because it might be too chilly to write. (Albeit not as chilly as the postcards I wrote from Colorado the night it dropped to -3F outside.)

I feel obligated, really, to make the most of this unexpected trip; to make the most of a stranger's kindness that is sending me across this vast countryside to be with my spouse, whose voice sounds tired on the phone when we get a chance to talk at night.

I have not grocery shopped in nearly three weeks. We are out of vegetables, out of every perishable except milk; tonight I borrowed two pieces of bread from Misty so that I could have a sandwich tomorrow without needing to buy a loaf of bread that would only spoil while I am gone.

I sewed to ease my nervousness, sewed with the stereo playing loudly and Tenzing nestled in my lap. Tonight I looked up post offices and store locations, typing them carefully into a text window for printing and putting in my backpack.

There are names. Names I don't know, like Embarcadero and Millbrae and Van Ness and Mission. I'll put on my best sweater and shoes before I go shopping in Nob Hill, my 'comfortable' shirt before shopping in Castro.

I will get on a plane even though I don't really care for flying, and reassure myself that it's just a plane and knit through the ascent. Somewhere between Huntsville, Houston, and that faraway San Francisco I'll eat the sandwich I made tonight, and land ready for dim sum and a spouse I haven't seen in a while.

Edmund hasn't been sure what's been different for the past two weeks. Tenzing has known, but not known what to do about it to make it better (except yowl a lot and sleep tucked next to me).

Me, I know. I get up at 4:15 a.m., catch my 6:30 a.m. flight, and barrel off of that Continental flight at something near a full run, because somewhere near an escalator or baggage claim is someone I've missed so much in the past two weeks that it's been an actual, physical ache.

For now, it's time to close this laptop, tuck my notebook and my reading material into my backpack, and get a shower. You cannot know a city just by planning to visit it. The naming of places comes first. Only by being there will there be knowing.

It's time to find out the differences between the two.

Pardon our cleaning spree

2004-03-18T06:31:54+00:00

Hark! The mothership comes.

After laughing for ages at how Shauny refers to her mother as The Mothership, I feel the need to steal her reference for the next few days. For lo, the Mothership is preparing to wing her way from the Tulliverse to Huntsvegas, and the Huntsvegas natives may never be the same.

Translation: yep, we're so busted. Mom's coming to visit. Time to clean the cupboards and hide the naughties.

There are very specific, yet unwritten, Rules Of Conduct that must be followed in order to guarantee a successful parental visit. For those of you who missed the peer-to-peer lecture, here's a quick checklist to ensure that your visit will conclude with a minimum of cranial explosions or disownments:

Vacuum. If the floor looks like it will sprout if it's just watered a bit, it's time to vacuum. No matter how much the cats hate it.
Attempt to move most computer paraphernalia to the computer room, in order to foster the mistaken belief that your lives do not actually revolve around computer machinery.
Plan major gathering. It implies you are more socially adjusted now than in your teenage years, and that you actually have friends now. (Assuming they show up. Remember: bribery with food is an acceptable part of friendship.)
Stock your pantry with food that other people actually eat. Don't assume that everyone else wants to eat your overly-spicy eggplant/cheese/tomato concoctions. (When in doubt, keep apple cinnamon Cheerios on hand. Given a dire enough situation, everyone will eat Cheerios.)
Clean the guest bathroom. Nothing tells your guest you love them like making them walk across a floor gently floured with kitty litter just to get to the bathtub.
Put clean sheets on the guest bed. Nothing tells your guest you love them quite like forcing them to sleep on a bed whose sheets are covered in cat fur.
Hide the sex toys Hide everything that might indicate that you and your spouse have a reasonably kin^H^H^H^Hnormal sex life.
With the exception of wine, which, while heathenish, is still tolerated, hide the booze. Family doesn't need to know that your after-dinner drink of choice has a proof in the high double digits.

The mothership has not set foot in Alabama for - three years, is it? (Aren't we supposed to have unpaid interns to serve as fact-checkers around here? Didn't we make some oath about journalistic integrity? Oh, wait, no, we didn't.)

Hilarity is likely to ensue as we, the Infernal Twosome who have pledged our lives to a pursuit of geekery, attempt to entertain one thoroughly nongeeky parental unit who is visiting partly because it's been at least three years since she visited and partly because Friday is the second anniversary of her husband's death. It will be interesting to see if The Event is referred to, sideswiped, or avoided altogether.

My money's on a good, solid sideswipe.

Stay tuned: in addition to Tales Of The Mothership, Friday morning will mark the inauguration of Trainer #3: Val. It's quite possible that the amount of entertaining done for the Mothership will be inversely proportional to how hard Val works me on Friday morning. It may be somewhat difficult to be the squiring daughter-about-town when said daughter-about-town more resembles daughter-slumped-upon-couch due to overexertion and soreness of musculature.

Oh, yes, I suspect hilarity is going to ensue. In fact, I suspect I may not be able to avoid the hilarity, as it's starting to develop Mack-truck characteristics and a rather reliable homing system in addition to a rather large amount of momentum.

That's not a homing beacon attached to my butt, is it?

Uh-oh.