In the car on the way from the airport:
Chiara: Man, check out this pimp hat I got special for the party. [Said pimp hat is an oversized lampshade sort of affair in blue shag. I got one in orange, too]
John: Wow.
Chiara: I know.
John: You gotta do pimp hands with that.
Chiara: Huh? I mean, I know gang hands [throws gang hands for emphasis] but pimp hands?
John: Yeah, you know. Pimp hands. Like you’re in your hooptie, and it’s got the mad hydraulics, and you’re just like, unh! [putting hands in the air, waving in them in a manner that suggests he just doesn’t care] Pimp ha-ands! Pimp ha-ands!
Chiara: [hysterical, braying laughter]
John: I said, pimp ha-ands! Pimp ha-ands! Unh!
&&&&&
I wore a shirt that said “I Heart Nerds,” which I totally stole from the excellent Mandy
(scroll all the way down) when I saw it at Target the other day. This made me popular with all the various nerds, geeks, and dorks in attendance. I was strong-armed into Grill Duty at one point, which is a totally stupid idea as it’s not always advisable to put me into close contact with fire, if you’re planning to actually eat the products of my labors afterwards. Anyway, dude in a Google shirt came up to me, wanting a hamburger.
Dude In The Google Shirt: So, you love nerds, huh.
Chiara: Sure do.
DITGS: Well, I got something that will make you really hot: I used to work at MIT. [smirks]
Chiara: [long, horrified silence]
Anna: Okay, who wants another Gardenburger?
&&&&&
“It’s Raining Men,” for some reason, is on the playlist for the evening over in the dining-room-turned-dance-floor. Patri gets a bucket and runs around attempting to catch the men who, according to the song, ought to be raining from the ceiling at any moment. Various boys attempt to jump into the bucket but end up just sort of body-slamming him. He takes it all in stride.
&&&&&
In the hot tub on Saturday night, hanging out with my lovely fianc鳠Chrysa and Dave:
Chiara: Dave, you are fabulous.
Dave: I know.
Chiara: I need to be more fabulous.
Dave: Girl, all you got to do is email me with any situation that needs to be more fabulous and I will help you out.
Chiara: “Dear Dave: I have a situation that needs to be more fabulous; please advise.”
Dave: Exactly.
Chiara: You truly are fabulous.
Chrysa: Girlfriend’s so fabulous that he’s allergic to fake jewelery.
Chiara: No!
Dave and Chrysa: Yes!
Dave: I get a rash around my neck when I wear fake bling.
Chiara: Too fabulous for fake bling. I cannot believe it. It cannot be true.
Dave: It’s true, girl. And you know that whenever I go to Denny’s I always get the Fabulous French Toast
Chrysa: That’s how fabulous Dave is. Can’t even get regular French toast at Denny’s.
Chiara: [losing it] Fabulous French toast. It should, like, be served in a purse! With a string of pearls on the side!
Dave: And then you can take it home! After you wash out all the syrup, of course. I don’t want no sticky purse up in here.
Chiara: [losing it for real now]
&&&&&
My friends Sam and Danielle had a baby named Kaija seven months ago and they brought her to the party. That is so cool. I already like Sam and Danielle very much and I liked Kaija immediately; she was a very low-key, laid back, friendly sort of baby. I asked if I could hold her.
Sam: Sure!
Chiara: Hey Kaija. Hey girl. I’m going to have to get you a personalized bike license plate. I know how hard it is not to have a personalized bike license plate. I’ll hook you up, though, don’t worry.
Kaija: [happy baby sounds. She raises one hand in the air, and begins to wave it in a manner than suggests she just doesn’t care].
Chiara: Hey! Pimp ha-ands! Pimp ha-ands! Good girl!
Sam: Don’t listen to your Auntie Chiara, Kaija. Pay no attention!
Chiara: [bouncing baby on one hip and doing pimp hands with her free arm] Baby pimp hands! Baby pimp hands! Man, I love this baby.
John: [appearing from nowhere] Pimp ha-ands! Pimp ha-ands! Unh!
Kaija: [happy baby noises]
Sam: [buries face in hands]
&&&&&
I alert Anna, Abi, Dawn, Treasa, and various other girlfriends that I will be needing to cuddle a lot this weekend, and that at any time I may demand a hug or some hair petting or hand holding. My friends are very obliging and allow me to snuggle with them at impromptu moments, causing me to love them even more. Also, I feel pretty smug that I’m totally getting (cuddling) action with all sorts of hot girls whenever I wanted. Girls, I have noticed, are very often better at cuddling than boys are. They tend to be softer and cushier to lean up against, and they understand the correct way to pet hair: light but firm touch, get the little hairs on the back on the neck, don’t pet in the opposite direction of the hair growth. What is it about me that allows me to be surrounded by beautiful women wherever I go? I do not know, but aren’t you so jealous?
This isn’t really cuddling, but you get the idea.
&&&&&
Anna wants to take pictures before I leave for the airport on Sunday, and for a while we amuse ourselves by getting together all the girls in the house who are wearing shelf-bra camis. We make Chris and Patri put some on too and take pictures with the cami part chastely in place, and then with the cami part up to emphasize the shelf-bra aspect of the whole thing.
Unfairly, Chris and Patri look better than any of the girls, especially after Patri fills out his shelf-bra a little with some coconut shells.
We go up to Anna’s extensive costume closet and decide that we won’t put people in costumes as that is too time consuming, but that we will just bring down all the hats. Hats, as it turns out, give you eighty-five percent of the fun of dressing up with about five percent of the effort. Hats are the best.
&&&&&
In the van, picking up Chris and his girlfriend in Palo Alto. I forget exactly what we were talking about.
Girlfriend: So, Chiara, are you married, engaged, dating, anything?
Chiara: [looking down and feeling sort of sad] Um…
Rob: Yes. She’s married to all three Beastie Boys, for one thing. And John Cusack…
Chiara: Not anymore, dude. Too eighties.
Rob: You’re right, I forgot you guys broke up. There’s also Jack Black and Jack White. And recently, Captain Jack Sparrow.
Chiara: I wouldn’t say we’re married. I’d say we just hook up whenever he’s in town. Usually he wears only the boots.
Girlfriend: How about the hat?
Chiara: Oh, yeah, totally the hat.
Chris: Beard?
Chiara: Well, usually I have a strict anti-facial hair policy, but I make an exception for him. You know how it is.
Girlfriend: Do any of these people know you’re married to them? Do you send them anniversary cards or anything?
Chiara: No, baby, our love is too pure for that sort of thing. It just is what it is, you know?
&&&&&
Sitting in the freestanding porch swing; watching the Stupid Human Tricks and the jugglers; telling everyone on Friday night that they needed to get off the bed we were all sitting on because it was only a queen-size and that that meant there was just enough room for the queen, i.e., me; talking with Danielle about being a mom; seeing Ed for the first time in two years (his first comment to me was “You cut your hair!”); Chris telling me, while I was wearing one of the pimp hats: “You know, pimpin’ ain’t easy. Ain’t no nine to five job, and the health insurance isn’t that great”; having to go to the store first thing in the morning because, as usual, I forgot my toothbrush and hitting on the brilliant solution of buying two toothbrushes and just leaving one there for next time; watching some live-action footage of Anna’s movie and also her and Rob’s Stockstock entry and being amazed, as usual, at her boundless creativity and general awesomeness; spinning the Party Wheel and having it land mostly on “ Give Dustin your pants”;
Seema’s decision to add the phrase “…and strippers!” to the title of some talk she’s giving at an academic conference in Vegas this week: the real title of which being something like “Semi-conductor variability on giant man-eating robots in an argon matrix database with drapes to match”; Marcy looking hot in the flapper outfit when we went to the store; dancing with Anna to ”our song” and telling everyone it’s our ten-year anniversary this year and that we’re going to have a cake when she comes up in August, and then that probably we’d have a cake anyway, but this time we’ll just put candles on it; skinny dipping; swing dancing with Ian and failing, as usual, to avoid hitting some other poor dancer in the head; serving mini corn dogs to a group of chess players; wearing pajamas or a sarong for most of the party; being happy and silly and lazy and fun with my most excellent friends at the ABL, that I love so so so so so so much.
All tuckered out