OK, not QUITE the edge. We were fairly well-behaved this time around. I'll just dive right in ... snapshots from a Swishy-Manic weekend of fun:
I'm on my way to Manic Mom
's when my phone rings.
Manic: Where ARE you?
Me: I hooked up with Mr. URAGR8KISSER. I don't think I'll be seeing you until tomorrow.
Manic: You are SUCH a LIAR!
Me: I saved his number. Good thing I packed the thong like you told me to! So, yeah, I don't think I'll be coming home tonight. I hope you don't mind.
One of our little inside jokes: URAGR8KISSER is a guy we befriended during our last adventure. Manic remembers his real name; I swear I don't. Mike? I think that's what she said it was. We'll go with Mike. Anyway, Mike sent me a series of text messages the next day, the first of which proclaimed: "U R A GR8 KISSER." (Doesn't everyone kiss their new friends?) So sometimes, when Manic sends me emails, she puts "URAGR8KISSER!!!!!" at the end to make me laugh.
(Disclaimer for the rest of the post: Swishy wouldn't want anyone to think she's a ho, so we kept the new friend-making to a minimum this weekend. Thongs and bongs and Trojans notwithstanding.)
I pull up in Manic's driveway and she comes outside to meet me.
"Hubby just asked me how I know you're not a serial killer. I was like, I shared a hotel room with her for two nights. Don't you think if she wanted to kill me, she would have already?"
That totally cracks me up, because the first time Hubby met me (very briefly in April) he later asked Manic if I was a lesbian. (Wishful thinking, or a product of Swishy's very low-maintenance travel look and knowledge of sports? Discuss.)
I walk into the house. "The lesbian serial killer is here!"
Hubby laughs and gives me a hug, then proceeds to sit me in the chair in Manic's office and ask me a series of getting-to-know-you-better questions.
Manic (yelling from the kitchen): "I feel like my DAD is interviewing my DATE! Let her come in here and eat!"
I think I pass the test, because Hubby tells me I can come up and watch a movie in bed with him and Manic if I want. Although this might still be part of the test. Hmm.
Either way, Hubby (who, honestly, is one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet) goes to bed and Manic and I stay up gossiping about blog people, as if we know them in real life. (But not you! Promise!)
Saturday morning, we walk into the main building where they're having the festival and who's one of the first people we see? Emily Giffin
, that's who, standing off to the side signing stock before her panel discussion at 11:30. We adore Emily's books, just love them, so of course we go right up to her and start chatting her ear off. (She TOTALLY knows Manic, because Manic knows all the coolest people, and said she remembered me from her book signing a couple of months ago. At first she was just being nice, but then when I turned she was like, "Yes! I recognize your profile!" I think even more than that, though, was when she heard me laugh. I have one of those really ... how's a nice way to say it ... uninhibited laughs. I laugh ALL the time, and when I get going ... yeah. So I think it was the laugh.)
So anyway, we talked to Emily a ton and went to her two things--one was a panel discussion, and one was a lecture and Q&A by herself, and she is our new wannabe BFF. She's the nicest girl on the face of the planet, she really is. And her books are great, so you should totally read them.
Manic and I take a lunch break and go to this pizza place, where, Manic tells me, "the slices are as big as your head!!!" We walk in and look at the menu on the wall.
Me, to the guy behind the counter: "What's the best you got to offer me?"
He grins. "We got a lot of things."
Me: "OK, but the best."
He continues to grin.
Me: "OK, how about a slice of pepperoni?"
We pay and start to walk toward a table when Counter Guy stops me: "Helllooooo."
Me (starting to crack up, because, after all, we've already been talking to him for the past five minutes): "Um. Hi."
Counter guy: "You have beautiful eyes."
Me: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ... thanks.
We sit down and wait for our pizza.
Manic: My chair is vibrating.
Me: My chair is, like, sticky.
Manic: Why do you think?!? It's because of the vibrating chairs!!!
(Yuuuuuuck. She makes me sit in her chair and, sure enough, it's vibrating. We're not sure what to make of this.)
Counter Guy brings us our pizza.
Me: This better be good. I'm a big-pizza-slice virgin.
Counter Guy: Well, we can take care of that, too.
Manic Mom rolls her eyes.
So, the moral of the story is that guys at pizza places with vibrating chairs are horny. But the slices are huge! Check out Manic Mom with her piece:
The festival happened to be right across the street from a casino, so you KNOW we had to stop in and play the slots for a little bit. Manic Mom strolls right in. I, on the other hand, am stopped. And carded. And detained until a supervisor could come over and give the thumbs-up on my driver's license.
I went to Vegas when I was under age and didn't get carded once. I am not remotely close to looking like I could be under 21. I suppose I should have been flattered that someone thought I looked young enough to be sneaking into casinos, but I was mostly annoyed, because that meant I had to walk around the rest of the day with this on my hand:
OK, did you know that you don't get quarters for the slots anymore? You can't just drop one quarter in the slot and go on to the next one. Now, once you put your money in, you have to insert a piece of paper, and every time you want to move on to a new machine, you have to cash out and it prints a new piece of paper. I won $1.25 a bunch of times, but it doesn't MEAN anything unless five quarters come spilling out! Totally not the same. I ended up losing about 12 bucks overall (we went back again later, and were BOTH carded that time--I was the only one stuck with a hand stamp, though), but we didn't do as badly as the poor, hunched-over schlub who told us the sad tale of how he lost 100 bucks.
Oh, yeah--I managed to get one shot off in the casino before a burly bald man in a suit appeared at my side and told me, very firmly, to turn off the camera NOW. He didn't make me delete the picture, though! So, here you go: The slot machine I won, and then subsequently lost, $2.50 at:
Later, back at the festival:
Me: Manic, that Mystic River dude
is totally checking you out.
Manic: What are you TALKING about?!
Me: The guy who wrote Mystic River? You know, the one they made into a movie? Ben Affleck directed another movie made from one of his books this summer. He's totally famous. And HE'S CHECKING YOU OUT.
Manic: Shut UP, Swishy.
Me: I'm serious. Just watch him. Wait til he's done signing that girl's book. Wait ... wait ... THERE! Look! HE TOTALLY JUST CHECKED YOU OUT!
Manic: You're a freak.
Me: Whatever. He's a millionaire AND he's pretty cute. I'd look back if I were you.
Manic: WE'RE GOING NOW.
(He really looked over like a half-dozen times. He did! I'm JUST SAYING.)
Saturday night, we met up with Cubmommy
for some dinner and drinks. It was TOTAL FAKE BOOB NIGHT! We went to two places, and every waitress we had was rocking a chest so inflatable it could have saved the entire population of the Titanic. The second girl wasn't even wearing a bra and her boobs were STILL standing straight up at attention. It was insane. I totally get why guys can't help but stare sometimes. I swear I almost reached up and touched them one time, just to see what would happen.
Outside the restaurant, we got accosted by a guy with the most elaborate give-me-money story ever. He flew out from California to see his old girlfriend's 1-year-old daughter, but the old girlfriend never came to pick up him, so he called his dad, who also lives in Chicago, but his dad won't return his calls, so then he started hitchhiking, and then he heard there was a free wine tasting, so he decided to go to that, but he can't find it, and ... hey, we wouldn't happen to have a couple of bucks, would we?
Um ... no.
There's a bunch of stuff I'm leaving out, but it was fun. Trust me. There were no arrests, no hot and juicy hookups, no million-dollar jackpots, but it was fun times nonetheless. We laughed so hard my stomach hurt.
And don't listen to anything self-deprecating Manic ever says. She has the hottest legs ever, she looks cute without makeup and her kids are, like, dream kids. They're even quiet in the morning so you can sleep in! They also have inherited their mom's sense of humor, so you can just IMAGINE. We hung with the kids Sunday and they cracked me up almost as much as Manic did. We had a blast.
For Manic's (100 times funnier) take on the weekend, go here
So who's organizing the next weekend of debauchery? Hmmmmm?