Stories I Tell

Well, I didn't write on Friday because I was a number of sheets to the wind. Saturday I was basically decompressing from Friday and giving myself a break from communications, no phone, no email. Sometimes I just need to not really talk to people and hide, you know how it is. I did meet ML, DL & SF for lunch (I was in desperate need of hot wings) but then it was back into seclusion.

Cat came in from the City today and we just walked around town, shopping and catching up. We ended up meeting Kai, Mr. Doug and their friend/co-worker Andrew for dinner at Bentara. Yummy food + great company = a night of laughter and good times. This one was especially good because the four of us hadn't been together in a long time, and I don't know when we'll all be together again. They are all going to L.A. to work on a show and Douglas is staying out there for the long haul. I hope someone warned Andrew about what it was going to be like to be around the four of us and I hope didn't feel too left out. We can be a tough crowd and by tough I mean out of control, wildy inappropriate and ridiculously funny, if only to ourselves. In short, there's a certain line of decorum and good behavior that Cat, Kai, Doug and I like to race each other to, in order to see who can get cross the fastest and with the sharpest tongue. There's never a sense of "Ooh, I can't say that!" (We got over that by the end of the first three months.) It's more of a "the gloves are off, so watch what you say, because I'm not afraid to run with it." And although it had been awhile, it was clear that the race was on as soon as we sat down for the meal.

Cat and I have been friends, soul sisters really, since we met in college. When she got to grad school and met the boys, we all became close. Talking about that time in our lives, we all agreed that those were some "times." Not good times, not bad times, just...times. The kinds of times you can relive with the other people involved using nothing more than a knowing glance that says "Times." I wasn't actually in school, but I was around the campus enough (Cat and I lived together)that people started to think (a) I was in the program, but they just couldn't figure out which department (2) Cat and I were a couple and/or (iii) Douglas was sleeping with both of us. Interestingly enough, none of the above were true.

By the end of the night we were all telling stories and reminiscing about "times." OK, I was telling stories. A lot of them. It's what I do, sometimes because I'm nervous, sometimes because I like to entertain. Douglas gave me the "You have to write all of these things down. The world needs to hear these things" speech again. He's a good cheerleader that one. Sometimes I think I talk too much. Other times, I think "I'm a storyteller.That's what I do, right?" I come from a family of storytellers. My Dad was great at it. He would get so wrapped up in telling a funny story that sometimes you didn't know how it ended because he had cracked himself up so bad you couldn't understand what he was saying. You would think that would make people mad, not getting to really hear the end of the story, but it was so great to see him crack up that you didn't care how the story ended. My brother is that way too. Sometimes it's hard for me to know if the the stories I tell out loud will transfer to the page. But I guess there's only one way to find out.