I think they look for reasons to make you pay more money.
Uh huh. I have a theory. I'm not really sick at all.
They've just figured out how anal retentive I am and therefore KNOW they will get paid immediately, so they find reasons to keep me around and bill me more. Uh huh.
Anyway . . .
So late Friday afternoon, I find myself packing bags and the vehicle.
The best way to forget about everything is to go somewhere where you know NO ONE.
Yeah, only, there are very few places I've found where I know NO ONE.
Before Robin arrives Friday for us to leave, I call my broker in Fayetteville because he's been hounding me to meet him to discuss finances and (odd, I know, but he's my ex-fiancee's best friend) his recent divorce.
I call as a courtesy, because I know he'll kill me if he finds out I was in his neck of the woods and didn't dial.
Unfortunately, I had forgotten (which is really crazy, since I had just spent a few hours in a hospital bed watching baseball) that it was Spring and Jeff (ex) and Mike (broker) are ALWAYS on the go in the spring because they're SEC umpires as well as little league and high school baseball and blah blah blah.
So, I dial, expecting to get Mike to have a nice, civilized, adult, no worries conversation with.
Nu uh. I should have known better.
Jeff: What do YOU want?
Me: Umm . . Mike?
Jeff: Does it sound like Mike, sweets?
Me: Holy buddha, what the hell are you doing answering Mike's phone?
Jeff: He's driving.
Me: Where are you two lovebirds off to?
Jeff: Oh ha ha ha, Britts you always were a laugh riot. Save the joke telling for the comedians.
Me: Bite me.
Jeff: Been there, done that . . .
Me: Yeah, and you're still mourning the loss, aren't ya, champ?
Jeff: Did you have a reason for calling?
Me: Yeah, I was gonna see what Mike was up to tonight, needed to talk to him some more about Synagro and I'm gonna be in Fayetteville.
Jeff: (obviously putting on a show for Mike) I know you were calling him to see if he could talk me into giving you some this weekend, but I've told you, I can't do that anymore. I'm a changed man.
Me: OMG! JEFF! STOP IT RIGHT NOW! This isn't EVEN funny!
Jeff: It's cool. Mike knows you're a hooker. How else could you afford all those stocks? Isn't that right Mike?
Me: I'm going to kill you. It's going to be long and slow and painful and I don't mean in the ways you used to enjoy. I mean bloodletting and finger breaking and toe nail removal.
Jeff: Can't kill me. We're almost to Peoria, Illinois. We're out of your telepathic, telekinetic range. Me: Give the phone to Mike.
Jeff: She wants to see if you'll pay her instead. (as he hands the phone to Mike)
Mike: laughing I know better than to listen to him, babe, he's full of shit.
Me: Yet, you still remain his friend.
Mike: So, I've got bad taste. What's up? You in Fayetteburgh (inside joke)?
Me: Yep, gonna be.
Mike: How do you always manage to be in town when I'm out of it?
Me: Lucky, I guess.
Mike: Can I call you Monday about Synagro? And maybe set up a trip to the Rock to see you, since I'm never in the Burgh when you are?
Me: Only if you promise to smack Jeff in the face with a baseball bat at one of the clinics this weekend.
Mike: Done deal.
Me: Sweet, ring me Monday.
Why does he do that crap to me?
In front of other people?
Why do I even talk to my ex, or let his friends manage my finances?
But do I stop getting myself in trouble with the phone?
We're on the road and somehow my ex Hesston comes into the convo (remember him, the one that you guys thought had to be gay, but I was pretty sure was just overly metro-sexual? Mr. Thinking of Wearing my Prada Shirt with my Kenneth Cole Jeans and the Cole Hahn brown shoes?).
So, for only God knows what reason, I dial his number.
He's thrilled I'm heading in his direction but . . .
the conversation is still a bit stilted (ummm, duh) and when we hang up, even Robin's screaming "Wow, that was uncomfortable even for me, and I wasn't involved in it."
But 10 minutes later, the phone rings with a text mail.
I'm assuming it's Bryan checking in again.
Since he's in Miami on business and has been checking in periodically to see when I was released, what the doctor's said, how I am doing and so on and so forth.
The things you do when you know a friend has been through trauma.
Check on them. Support them. Let them know you care.
Only, it's not Bryan.
Hesston: "Have you decided if you're going to Fayetteville, Fort Smith or Tulsa?"
3 minute pause.
"I could come see you guys tomorrow night, if you want."
Robin, practically screaming: "DO NOT ANSWER THAT! Just act like you never got it! What the hell is that?? Meet us??"
Yeah, I don't know either.
The text mail still hasn't been answered.
I did notice he called twice last night.
Thank heavens for silent mode.
What the buddha have I done??
Sometimes I regret that my female friends are not sports oriented.
Robin and I are in Mason's looking at leather sling backs when:
Steven Hill - 7'0" Center for the Razorbacks walks in with his girlfriend.
I'm about to have a fit and Robin has NO IDEA who he is.
Me: OMG! That's Steven Hill!
Me: Steven Hill, Center for the Razorbacks, basketball, SEC, hello??
Robin: Oh, yeah, I noticed he was freakishly tall. I just thought he was a freak.
Me: Jayzus. Robin, you would think just hanging around me you would know who some of these people are.
Robin: Yeah. No.
Needless to say, I didn't even call her attention to the poker player I saw later in the mall.
She doesn't know SEC players, so she certainly doesn't know local (Shreveport and Tunica) poker champions.
But I was beyond excited.
Now if only I had seen Tony Bua.
Umm, if he hadn't been drafted into the NFL and was in Miami and no where near Fayetteville.
But he is still one of my ALL TIME favorite Razorback football players.
Oh oh oh and I picked up free tickets to any NON-conference Razorback baseball game.
Even though I can get free tickets whenever from Jeff or Mike.
This keeps me from having to ask. :)
Again, I drive 240 miles to get away from people, but instead just see people I haven't seen in years.
We're standing on the porch of the restaurant Saturday night, waiting for our table when I notice a guy walk up in a stone grey button up and black slacks.
I'm doing the typical, check-him-out, not because I'm looking, just because I appreciate a good looking male, thing when I notice . . . ummm, I know this cat.
He was 21, I was 16.
Me - lifeguarding at the city pool.
Him - home for the summer and working for the Parks Department.
Us - Occassionally, randomly, making out.
Okay, so occassionally is a little weak.
When Paul H (parks director) wasn't around and I wasn't on stand, we were in permanent lip lock. And this man could kiss, people.
He has on a wedding ring.
Me: Umm, I think I know him.
Robin: Like, how?
Me: Like he's from Hope and I KNOW him.
Robin: I would be perfectly fine if you didn't talk to him.
Me: I'm not going to.
Robin: No, but you're both staring weirdly at each other. Stop looking or he's going to talk to us.
Me: SORRY! But, gosh, it's been like 10 years since I've seen him. I should say something.
Robin: No. Stop looking at him. Don't say anything.
Yeah, stared at him all through the wait and later caught glimpses of him throughout the meal.
Noticed him looking, too. I think we were both pulling a "Could that be?? No, surely not?? In Fayetteville??"
Not to mention, I'm now a brunette.
And have a completely different body . . . well, save the boobs, the boobs are still the same.
He was eating with an older couple (possibly his in-laws?) that I had never seen.
Wife was noticeably absent.
What is it about someone you USED to make out with. . . that you have this need to know what their life is like now? You don't want them . . . no way, do I need another male complication in my life, but I just . . . curiousity. Big time curiousity. I want to know what his life is now.
Wish I had seen the wife.
And so it goes that after those marginal adventures, it's time to come home.
After a night of NO sleep - - for me - - Robin, in her eyemask and earplugs (not to mention the help of sleeping pills) managed just fine.
I, however, plagued with severe back pain, fear of bleeding all over the sheets again, and listening to the frat boys in the room next to us (who catcalled us on our way in that night) party until 4 AM, am unable to sleep at all. Then we get up at 5 AM and venture back to reality because Robin has to work in the church nursery.
No speedtraps are up at 5 AM on a Sunday, so you can do 90 MPH the whole way back to town and cut a 2 hr 45 min drive to less than 2 hrs.
Robin and I are equally caustic in the morning so we amused ourselves with: witty comments regarding other idiots driving (badly) this early on a Sunday, the origin of the "Pig Trail" nickname for Hwy 71, the fact that the girl has lived in the South her whole life but NEVER smelled the horridness of chicken houses until THIS morning's drive and so on.
Thank God for good friends who try and help you forget your real life for a while.