Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch Whatsamatta With You, Boy?

Poor Impulse Control is still a doorstop but Paulie Gonzalez has offered to help. We might have to switch host servers, which sounds to me like our Maitre d' has developed a Continental attitude, but I'm no Tech Princess. No, I'm Princess Please Explain That Again It's Only 2006.

Broken blog aside, I've got other problems. Yesterday in the morning, Mr. DBK and I met on the street in front of the train station, which used to be the kind of thing people said in quotes. "Yes," you'd say to your wife, "I met her in front of the train station. Please don't divorce me" is how it went, " - for an affair I had in the parking deck stairwell." But no, Mr. DBK was waiting for me next to the ticket machine he knows frustrates me, and he knows this because I spent the week prior whining about my frustration with the ticket machine. To spare himself early morning ear trauma, Mr. DBK bought our tickets before I arrived. Even so, I glared at the machine, for all the trouble it would give me another day. I am wary!

Our train arrived ten or so minutes later and we walked to the front of a car where we could sit next to or facing each other because comedy is much harder without facial expressions. I realized I'd left my charming umbrella on the platform and couldn't figure out how I could've done it. I outsmarted me! Price: One umbrella. Mr. DBK and I amuse each other very much, and I suspect my cackling annoyed people all along the Northeast Corridor, at least in part because Mr. DBK bought tickets to Newark Penn Station, and we were waiting for the conductor to describe the joys of hitchhiking outside the Holland Tunnel, which is punishable by a wardrobe made entirely of secondhand Spandex. When this did not happen, we took a cab to the Carnegie Deli, during which Mr. DBK held on to the door handle for dear life and I squealed, "Wheeeeeeeeeeee!" I gave the driver a few extra dollars for letting us live.

We were expected at 10. We were early. The waiters regarded us with snarling suspicion when we said, "We're here for a party." Smiling sweetly didn't help. The waiters opened a door I hadn't seen until one grabbed it by the handle and the other pointed through, as if to say, "This way, monkeys." Every square inch of wall space was covered by autographed celebrity headshots. I cringed, but followed Mr. DBK into an unnervingly narrow hall that opened to a dining room without another apparent fire exit. Feeling very flammable, I looked back to our waiter who wanted to sit us at a table for two. It was at this significant juncture that Mr. DBK forgot he was not with his wife, the single most capable woman in the world. Interrupting the waiter, Mr. DBK said, "I'm going to the men's room," and disappeared. And I said, "Oh, no. Our party is at least six." The waiter moved to a four top.

Tata: At least six.
Waiter: This one?
Tata: That is still six. Listen, it's not my party. I'm a guest. There will be more people, all of whom will be twice my size.

The waiter gave up and walked to the back of the room. He put menus on a table with eight chairs packed very close together. I sat down alone and pretended I could read the menu without my glasses. Then Mr. DBK returned from the Little DBKs' Room, a strange man in a Skippy the Bush Kangaroo t-shirt walked right through the middle of the room and pulled up a chair. A few minutes later, Blogenfreude of AgitProp plunked down next to me. We were joined by three other charming people I could barely see and definitely couldn't hear. The only thing missing was Tami, the One True. LaGuardia Airport called and asked us to keep it down. I felt like a genius!

Moral of the story: take opportunities to meet your fellow bloggers. Bring them presents. Admire their pets. This also reminds me I should go visit Casa JazzGeorg soon soon soon!

A few hours later at the family store, I opened a box and stabbed myself in the finger with a pair of dull scissors and I was so mortified I pretended I wasn't bleeding on the December seasonal merchandise. So: all is back to horrifying normal.

Crossposted Running Scared; on PIC Monday, 16 October.