Very soon Dive calls again to tell me not to break a leg rushing, Jeff just ran out to get food -- but by that point, we're almost at the Garden. So across the street, up the stairs, through the vestibulish area, and we find ourselves crowded together with many lovely nutters.
We're chatting a bit while I try not to turn into a bag of neuroses, and somewhere in these few minutes, I pull out my ticket. "Row 1, Seat 1." All day long -- over and over -- I had kept a lock on three things: my phone, the Flag, and my ticket. I could lose my mind, I could lose my husband, but I couldn't lose these three things: my phone, the Flag, and my ticket. Every time we got up, every time we went somewhere new, every time I opened my purse, I checked my phone, the Flag, and my ticket.
I know I had my ticket right there in line with the gang: I had handed it to Mo while I situated the flag in my purse; he had handed it back. But somewhere in this moment, the awesome Animal spotted Jeff at the Will Call window. I grab my bag and book to the other side of the lobby. I hand the Flag to Jeff (hi, Jeff), who starts measuring it against the length of his arm and trying to approximate its length in both inches and Barbies.
I've been dealing with this ridiculous cloth for a year, we're down to the wire with still no solution, and the man is telling me how to measure in inches-per-square-Barbie?!? Clearly one of us has gone insane.
(Please don't smite me, Jeff.)
Jeff introduces me to the friends and family that he's with. I think he might actually be trying to introduce me and the Flag as something less than crazy. (Bless you, St. Jeff.) I introduce him to some grommet holes, and we establish that the gong thing is out, but that someone has modified a mic stand with a cross piece for the Flag to hang from. Great. Got it. Later. You rock. Congrats. Have a great show.
And suddenly I don't know what to do. After three days on edge, I'm not sure I'm actually capable of relaxing. But it seems that maybe -- just maybe -- we may have actually gotten something right.
In a mild case of shock, I return to the posse. And then I reach for my ticket . . .
[Quick post in the hope that Schmaff hasn't left work yet.]
Last edited by DirtyMartini
on 13 Aug 2008 14:36, edited 2 times in total.
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