Mrs. Mouthy and her husband came to visit last weekend, in order to make or break a friendship kindled by two bloggers who just really desperately wanted someone to regularly comment. Over the years, I've come to know her as a friend I haven't met. She talks about the experience in Four Parts. Because she's super classy, she made it sound like we met, we clicked, and it was easy. Okay, flip the book over now.
First, let me begin by saying that meeting people from the internet is nothing new to me (remind me to tell you how I met Eric.) I wasn't scared of meeting Rachel. But I was still crazy anxious, because I'm still not on the right medication. (Also, have you seen Catfish? *shivers*)
I dealt with the anxiety by trying to be funny on Facebook, leaving her messages like "Are you practicing how you're going to 'Hi'? Me neither." But Rachel was on the end of Facebook, going, "Nerd. Nerd. Nerd. Nerd." (I can only assume.) So I stopped.
They got to my house, and one of the first things I asked was whether or not she had to pee. We went to a park, so the kids could play while we talked. Rachel was probably fine with it, because she had just spent an hour in a car, trying to get to my house, after I decided not to give them directions, in case I gave them wrong. I told them way too much about myself. Like, WAY too much. I think Kevin knows my entire menstrual history now.
We decided to get lunch. I drank two milkshakes, my hamburger and onion rings, and both of their grilled cheese and french fries (I eat when I'm feeling like a weirdo), and just watched my kids stand in the middle of an open area of grass, sucking their free suckers, looking at each other like, "What is playing? Where are we? I feel a strange warmth, and it's far too bright. When is mom going to put us back in our Closet Cages? I'm confused." Rachel got them out of their shells, because she's amazing with kids. But then I almost drank a bee, and then. not knowing how to get the bee off my straw, I put the cup on the ground, and HIT the bee, with my CANE. And then just got my cup, and got in the car, like NOTHING WEIRD JUST HAPPENED. So Rachel decided that I'm the one who lives in the Closet Cage, and redirected her sympathy.
They were nice enough to give me another shot at not being an awkward mess. So we made plans to eat dinner together on Friday with my husband, my friend Keiko and her husband, and Rachel and Kevin. Of course, this was not going to go down before I gave them a brief history of Mexican food, and listed the pros and cons of four different restaurants, asking them to decide which sounded best, before giving up about two hours before, and proclaiming that Never Mind, We Are Eating Here, Screw Your Preferences. I think I sent 12 different kinds of messages to get to this point. And I never told them, but I seriously almost changed my mind AGAIN half an hour before we we supposed to meet.
It was a great little place I'd never eaten at before, and I was really pleased with the choice I made for them, because it felt authentic, and the food was good. Really, the only weird stuff that happened at this dinner was when I touched all of Kevin's food before he ate it, and when I admitted that I love The Spice Girls and Chumbawumba, and when I ended the night by telling everyone at the table that we needed to let Kevin pay, because otherwise he would call us poor to our face. So, you know, totally keeping up the Klassy Times.
Rachel made us dinner on Saturday, and my in-laws' house. I knew my mother and father-in-law would be great company, and wanted them to meet our friends, but mostly I just didn't want Rachel anywhere near my kitchen.
Her: "Do you have a pot I can use to boil this pasta?"
Me: "Would this plastic bowl work? Two minutes in the microwave is boiling temp, right?"
No. So, she used my in-laws beautiful kitchen (well-stocked with boiling-type pots), and made a delicious dinner. It was so, so good. She even made us dessert with real chocolate. I thought, "No, this is going well. I think we're going to be just fine."
They are a lovely couple, and I'm glad we got the chance to meet them. So gracious, so kind, so thoughtful, so funny, so easygoing. It is taking all of my effort, everything inside of me, to not end this post with something like The Chris Farley show, where I berate myself and smack my forehead twenty times. So instead, I end with Chris Farley doing it for me: