I have to work backward right now.
Randy and I just got home after 8 days in Tennessee. I have some kick ass notes for other blog posts, but I did nothing to capture the last two days of our trip, which we spent in Nashville, TN.
We stayed in the Smoky Mountains with Mountain Girl and The Bass Player (More on that later) until Thursday, and then we all went to Nashville for a few days. We went to see Flight Of The Conchords Thursday night. If you are not familiar with Flight Of The Conchords, you should be because they are goddamn hilarious.
We didn’t all sit together, but had plans to meet up under a big squiggle outside the theater after the show. Before the show ended, I started getting uncomfortable. I can only pretend my shoulder isn’t touching a stranger’s shoulder for so long before I start getting skeevy about it. Also, I was hot and sweaty. Because I wore black tights under a sleeveless dress. Black tights. In Nashville. In July. My decision making skills are not improving with age.
Anyway, Randy and I walked up to the food and drink area where there were a few picnic tables. We watched the show from there. Well, Randy watched the show. I had to pee.
There were a lot of people at the show, but surprisingly few people in the bathroom. I walked in and noticed one stall door slightly open and there were shoes under the door. Pointed in the wrong direction. As if someone were laying on the bathroom floor at a concert venue. I looked around and saw people primping in the mirror. No one seemed concerned about the person in the stall.
I peed and counseled myself. This isn’t your business. You were young once. Sure, you probably never laid on the floor in the bathroom at a concert, but you had your moments.
I walked past the stall with the person laying on the floor. Goddammit. Is everyone going to just leave her here there?
It looked that way.
I opened the stall door and a young woman was sprawled across the toilet, her face pressed against the toilet seat.
Me: Sweetheart. You need some help?
Drunk girl: Is Danielle there?
Me, looking around: Is Danielle here?
Me: Danielle isn’t here, little sister. I’m going to get some wet paper towels so we can wipe the dysentery off your face.
Of course, it was all hand dryers in the bathroom. So I ran out, snagged a stack of paper towels from a vendor, and went back in the bathroom to help Danielle’s friend.
I got her as situated as I could. She assured me that Danielle and her other friends were coming for her and she was fine. I left her there and still feel a little bad about that. Poor kid. She’s probably still hungover.
A lot of time had passed since I left Randy at the picnic table and the show was just finishing up the encore. I could see Randy sitting at the picnic table and Mountain Girl was straddling the bench in front of him and waving her arms about.
Wow. She really loved the show.
Only when I got closer, I realized it wasn’t Mountain Girl. Mountain Girl has blond hair and this Demi Moore look a like did not have blond hair. She saw me walking up and she jumped up.
Drunk girl #2: Oh my god! You’re the wife!
She had a thick Australian accent.
Me: Is..is your name Danielle?
Drunk girl #2: What the fuck? No? Why would my name be Danielle?
Me: Well, there is this really drunk girl in the bathroom and she’s looking for Danielle and the two of you seem to be the same level of inebriated, so I took a shot.
Drunk girl #2: I am Amalia. From Australia. Get it? And I wasn’t trying to steal your husband. I promise. We were just talking, you know? Connecting. He’s fantastic. I love him. Don’t you love him? You love him, right?
Me: Nearly always, Amalia.
Amalia: I talk really fast, I’m sorry. I just do. I talk really fast. Like a doctor writing out a prescription. Oh my god! I had one of those things. You know what I mean? When you suddenly figure something out?
Me: An epiphany?
Amalia: YES! An epiphany. I am exactly like a doctor. Or prescriptions.
Me: I’m leaning toward prescriptions.
Amalia: We’re really connecting, aren’t we? I love meeting people. I can tell. We’d be friends. Give me your number.
Then she shoved her phone in my hands.
The grown up part of me, the part that tries really hard to make good decisions whispered in my ear: Give her a fake number and then walk away.
Did I do that? Of course not. Of course I put my number in her phone because I couldn’t wait to hear what she was going to say next. So, I punched my number in her phone.
Seconds later, my purse started to vibrate. I took my phone out and looked at it.
Me: Are..are you calling me right now?
Me: I am standing right in front of you.
Amalia: I love you.
Her boyfriend showed up by then, so I knew at least one drunk girl would make it home okay. Well, maybe not all the way to Australia, but she would be safe in Nashville. I hoped.
Me: Okay. Well, we are going to go find our friends now. And Amalia?
Me: Drink a lot of water, sweetness. Okay? A lot of water.
Then she hugged me three times and we went to find our friends under the big squiggle.
Around 2:00 A.M., my phone made it’s “you’ve got a text” noise.
I got out of bed and looked at my phone. I had a text from Amalia.
Lollipop. I wasn’t trying to steal your husband. I promise.
I wasn’t worried about that at all. Remember what I said about drinking a lot of water.
I woke up in the morning and decided if I was going to have a nickname, it doesn’t get much better than lollipop. Randy woke up a few minutes later, rolled over and gazed into my eyes.
Randy: Have you ever considered getting an Amalia mask?
Motherfucker is hilarious, isn’t he?
Maybe, I should text Amalia and ask her if she has any masks of her own face. Or would that be too weird?