ROGER MOORE WEEKEND!

How can I ever synopse the happenings of Roger Moore Weekend?!?! Alas, I must try! I thought about going chronologically and I thought about breaking it down into subsections. I guess I will do a sort of combo of both. I can honestly say I am the luckiest girl in the world and I will never forget it. This was one of the best vacations if not THE best vacation I’ve had thus far in life. It was amazing, start to finish. I probably can’t describe this all in one post so I will call this the first segment.

Part 1: Wednesday Night

So there I was, feeling PMS-y and just ready to get the hell out of work and get home, and I kept feeling like everything was taking too long. Since our flight was early in the morning, I had already planned ahead for everything around the house to be done so that I could go to bed very soon after getting home from work. I get out to the mailbox and I see this envelope intermingled with my stack of bills. And the handwriting on the envelope is very pretty and very distinctive. The problem is I don’t recognize it and have no clue who the hell it’s from. Then I see it has English postage on it and is postmarked from London. Now I my heart’s pumping faster and I am dying of curiosity. I tuck the mail under my arm and literally run with the trash can in my hands to wheel it back to the house. I get in the door and still I am wondering what in the world it is. I peel it open only to discover, as you probably read in the last blog, it was a nice, personalized autographed photo from one Piers Morgan. *Haaaaa* (sound of angels singing) Of all the celebs I’ve written to, I really had the least glimmer of hope that he would respond, I guess because his TV persona is so caustic. I just thought, "Well, I’ll try it and hope that he won’t wad my letter up and toss it in the trash and think I’m a giant loser." All of my relaxing and trying to get in "sleep mode" was out the window. I was a jittery 12 year old school girl mooning over my Piers photo as I put it up on my cool wall. Finally, I fell asleep and even though some horrible storm blew through, I was comatose.

Part 2: Thursday in the Wee Small Hours

I wake up to find that I have three missed calls and voicemails. I don’t recognize any of the numbers on the caller ID and I’m wondering what in the hell has happened in the night. As it turns out, our original flight through Northwest was cancelled. Yet again, my heart is pounding and I am wondering what to do. It was all straightened out, thankfully, and we ended up on a substitution flight from Delta. The Piers photo was really what kicked off the tone of Roger Moore Weekend: doppelgangers and parallel universes-- things not being what you expected but instead, turning out much better. The Delta flight we were on was set to leave 45 minutes before our Northwest flight would have. We had to haul major ass and roll quickly to make it to the airport but somehow we did. Once we get there, my friend and I discover that we’d both been "randomly" selected by Delta for additional security screening. It was very irritating and bizarre, not to mention jarring. Of course they didn’t find anything because we are not criminals trying to kill people. It was just frustrating and slightly embarrassing to be treated like a drug smuggler or a convict. I would prefer not to ever experience that shit again. We didn’t have much time to spare after that ordeal but we made it to the flight. While on the flight, my friend was telling me that she’d recorded a bio of Steve McQueen for me and that in the program, someone said McQueen had punched an unruly horse. Although we are not animal abuse advocates and we would not normally giggle at such things, the nature of the story was pretty funny to us and we were laughing about it. I told her I plan to invent a cocktail and call it the Steve McQueen Horse Punch. Unbeknownst to us, this loud yuppie sitting behind us later revealed that he was an equine vet. We laughed so hard. What are the odds of that happening? Telling a story about McQueen decking a horse in earshot of an equine vet. And the woman sitting next to the vet was a piece of work herself. She was wearing this Indian style Nehru type of shirt with flowing culotte pants and, brace yourself, a mink coat. Very strange. She tried to hog our entire stowaway bin with her fucking coat and I was not about to tolerate that. You wonder sometimes what people are thinking. Like her one coat was more important than anything else in the world.


Ok, I am getting way sleepy. Will continue describing the journey tomorrow.