Sunday, April 27, 2014

LIFE IS HARD



Thesis Presentation Preparation Day - Time to Make the Donuts!  Actually, Time to Plan the Presentation, which can clog up the mental system as readily as fried, shortening-filled, dough ringlets can clog up the physical one.

The day starts out well enough.  The car has enough gas to make the trip from my house to Newburyport, I've already packed my paperwork, and the sun is shining.  I even manage to leave the house on time.  Everything seems to be going well, too.  I'm going the speed limit when I pass the cop with the radar gun, and I manage to squeeze my car between the truck that's going too slowly (I'm now ahead of it) and the truck that's going along just fine (I'm still behind it, only closer).

Life is good until Hair-and-Make-Up Chick. 

Hair-and-Make-Up Chick runs a red light and gets in front of my car in Bradford by the fire station.  She screams out of a side street, tires squealing, hell-bent on getting in front of me.  Just Me.  Nobody else behind nor in front.  Just Me.  And as soon as she is ahead of Just Me, her car goes into slowpoke mode, and she angles the rearview mirror toward herself.

I see her finger-brushing her hair.  Brush brush brush - head swing hair toss - brush brush brush - inspect self in mirror, and then she repeats the whole thing.  After the fourth head swing hair toss thing, she starts inspecting and reapplying her make-up.  I do not honk my horn until she has driven onto the shoulder and nearly off the road for the fifth time.

I also notice that she has a sticker on her Acura that says "NBPT."  Pissah.  I'm going to be stuck behind Hair-and-Make-Up Chick all the way to Newburyport.  She's probably going to the same place I am, and I'll have to beat the crap out of her and toss her off the nearest pier.

Not to worry because another Acura with another bimbo pulls in between our cars and almost causes an accident.  She promptly leans over, way over, as if she is inspecting her center floor mat while driving, her head completely disappearing way below dashboard level.  Her Acura starts careening toward the river, and, for a moment, I think this may be a fitting end or her.  Instead I honk, and her head pops back up.  If there were a man in the car with her, I'd suspect that maybe she should've stayed in bed rather than gotten into the car.  I honestly don't know WTF she is doing.  Maybe she's looking for the hair brush that finger-brushing Hair-and-Make-Up Chick seems to have lost …. Brush brush brush…

Eventually Head-Up-Her-Own-Ass Woman turns, and I am left following Hair-and-Make-Up Chick again.  My phone starts chirping, letting me know I have a text.  I decide to pull over and read the text, giving me a wider berth from Hair-and-Make-Up Chick, perhaps even saving her life.  The text is from one of the two women I am going to meet.  She's running late and will be to the meeting place in about an hour.  Not a problem, I'm still trying to out-run Hair-and-Make-Up Chick to get to "NBPT" myself.

It is mid-morning on Friday, and I arrive at the coffee shop for our meeting right about on time, but there are no parking spaces open.  This could be because the ice has melted and all of the spots normally taken by coffee drinkers are now occupied by their rightful owners -- marina people.  I see my first boat of the season moving through the thawed waterway, making its way out toward open water.  It's the Coast Guard.  Behind it come a few more boats.  The illusion of summer moves across the calm river like an unfulfilled promise.  It was winter here a few short weeks ago, and the lack of ice only presents the possibility that someday maybe it just might possibly get warm enough to go without a down parka over everything.

I see my writer-friend Michaela pull in and park in a space next to the handicapped space.  I quickly edge in next to her on the opposite side, hoping this is indeed a legal parking spot.  We go into the shop together, and she does what she frequently does - takes out her wallet and pays for my tea and banana bread.  (Love her!)  She orders an iced coffee and a scone.  A few minutes later, we are getting down to business and working on our presentation for next week.

Jessica (not my partner-in-crime pal Jessi, but equally pretty and nice) arrives earlier than she anticipated, and we commiserate for a few minutes about the state of our collective theses writing projects.  By the time we get back on track, we have decided that this entire odyssey, this production of pretentious papers, seems less like an exercise in academic integrity and more like an exercise in futility of Lucy and Ethel proportions.  Somehow the candy-packing scene from "I Love Lucy" worms its way into our presentation, and, ridiculously enough, it makes perfect sense.

We decide that coffee and tea will no longer sustain us as it is noontime, so we decide to go to a nearby Mexican restaurant.  It is only a few streets away, but Michaela offers to drive us.  I know, I know, we should walk, but I exercised the day before, and my legs are cramping.  Besides, it's only a dollar or less to park.  I'll pay that to avoid walking like stiff-legged Frankenstein across historic Newburyport where everyone will be thinking, "Oh, look at that those two beautiful women, and how nice that they've taken their homely, crippled friend out for a walk."

It's still a little windy out, so we decide to sit inside.  At the bar.  At a tall table.  Near the wall.  Jessica notices that there is one area on the wall that isn't bricked and looks all smooth and cemented like -- we all say in unison -- "Cask of Amontillado."  Yes, we are English Geeks.  Ten minutes later there are chips, salsa, guacamole, and three drinks on the table:  Jessica and Michaela have raspberry margaritas, and I have a pomegranate margarita.

Life is good. 

We chatter some more, plan some more, eat some more, and drink some more.  Eventually the word thesis becomes nonsensical to me: "Thesis?  What thesis?  What is a thesis?  Who's got a thesis.  Thee.  Sis.  These is.  Theeze iz.  Thsssuhssss…"

Okay, so life may be good, but sometimes tequila is better.

After paying the bill, we spill into the afternoon sun and walk straight over to my favorite store in Newburyport, which turns out to be a regular haunt of Michaela's, as well.  We drag Jessica in with us, look at funky clothes, oooh and aaahhh over the jewelry, and bask in the heady stench of patchouli. 

We decide to get semi-matching earrings for our presentations: each set contains a combination of silver and gold.  I also buy a small ring, Jessica gets more jewelry, and Michaela buys miniature Worry Dolls in pouches for us to hand out to our audience, should we have one for our presentation next week.  We're betting against it, and bet that the audience will be just ourselves and our moderator, but the Worry Dolls, tiny as they are, aren't too expensive.  It's a worthwhile investment.  We also plan to take selfies with our audience … of no one.  It's going to be fun!  And now we all have new earrings.  It's so worth it!

We agree to meet one more time before the presentation, and then we'll just damn the torpedoes and jump into the whole thing with all six of our feet.  Who cares if we crash and burn (which we won't because we are spectacular women and English Geeks Extraordinaire) since we probably won't have an audience, anyway. 

As I drive back toward home, remembering where the cop with the radar gun had been hiding, I start trying to plan my portion of the presentation.  I don't want to suck too badly.  I can't wait to get home and start working on details.  I mean, really, I can't wait to get home and start … I can't wait … I … home … Damnit, why am I sitting at this stupid traffic light behind ten cars when I'm in the middle of west Bumfrick?

There seems to be something wrong with the bridge that separates Groveland from Haverhill.  Our line of traffic is stuck for about twelve minutes just waiting waiting waiting.  I could turn left instead of right over the bridge, but I recall other construction going on and the other bridge has been closed for a while.  If I turn left and away from the traffic, I'll end up too far south.  Nope.  I'm waiting this one out (and making a mental note to find an alternate route for next time).

Traffic finally starts moving, and I am pleased that no hair-finger-brushing, make-up applying, carpet-sniffing Acura drivers are in front of me.  I have spent my entire April break week working on university stuff to get the last two classes finished up so I can graduate in May.  I'm not walking, but I still want the paperwork to go through, paperwork that never would be filed, never would be finished, without the support of my two thesis mates, Jessica and Michaela. 

Here's to us, and here's to our Friday presentation -- complete with Lucy and Ethel working the candy conveyor belt.  Screw the audience if they can't take a joke.  After all, life is like a box of chocolates, right?  Or is it more like what John Wayne says:  "Life is hard.  It's harder if you're stupid."

Either way, we'll get through this, and I suspect there will be margaritas (or something cool and refreshing) waiting for us on the other side.