neglectnormalcy

For Christy.

1981. A young army officer is stationed in Panama to do fly-ins over Nicaragua. He'd already survived a near-fatal bee sting in the jungle, and would probably be dead if Fred hadn't carried him on his shoulder to the nearest village. He was safe now back in Panama City, recuperating well, and shrugging off jokes from those muscled soldiers in his bunk. He didn't tell his fiancee back home, Jane, what happened. She'd worry. He pictured her blonde hair and blue eyes often when he was so far away.

James was back in action that Friday night - it was time for the Officer's Club, where all the soldiers threw back and mingled with the local girls. He ocassionally danced, nothing more than harmless flirting. And then he caught sight of Maria. Small and overtly feisty, she liked what she was looking at, too.

He asked her to dance - one of the only phrases he knew in Spanish at the time - and they danced without speaking the rest of the night. Their necks strained looking at each other, as he was 6'2'' and she was 5'3''.

She went home that night with her girlfriends flustered and bewildered. They laughed with her, teasing her for letting that white soldier think he might have a chance with an engaged woman. But Maria had already told him she'd see him the next day.

That weekend James and Maria spent together, in the city, quietly, not having to say anything, and not caring that they really couldn't say anything if they wanted to. On Sunday night James threw his all into the only dish he knew how to make (macaroni and cheese) and Maria ate it politely. Then he got on his knee. And he didn't have to translate anything for her to understand what he meant.

Four months later (after the teaching and the learning, after the arguments with the families, after the arguments with their former fiancees, and after the church meetings) James and Maria were married in March 1982.  A little over a year later they would have a daughter, and after moving to Virginia, they would have a son.  And it wouldn't be a stretch to say that they're happy today, in 2006. Though they still speak two tongues, their language is still perfectly fluent.


Okay, I wrote that in 5 minutes, bitches. :D Tell me what you think about my parents, lovers.

Okay, Erica. Okay. You win. You, too, Christy. I went to the Fall Out Boy show with Erica last Friday night and it converted me. Hi, my name is Jessica, and I'm a Fall Out Boy fan.

[Sidenote: Wouldn't that be a great idea for a video? Especially for a band like FOB, where people think they're sellouts and others are afraid to admit they like them? Somebody walks into a classroom for an evening meeting of FOB Anonymous. "Hi, I'm Jack and I'm a Fall Out Boy fan." ... "Hi, Jack." And then the whole video shows clips of these addicts secretly listening to FOB on their iPods on the street and getting caught by fellow addicts, staring at Pete Wentz on FOE.com, buying a Clandestine shirt...HA. And then at the end of the video everybody realizes it's okay to like FOB, because they still rock your socks off.]

So Erica and I were oblivious to the fact that there were three other bands opening for AAR and FOB. We sat outside and drank some beers. Which eased us right into the All-American Rejects blistering set, which we danced through without a pause. "Move Along" rules. Then FOB came on stage. I gave a skeptical look to Erica (I probably didn't, but I'm just trying to add to the imagery of this moment...) and then the beat started and all we could do was dance. And jump. And dance. I don't think I even looked at the stage for a combined five minutes the entire set. It was just fun. My shins and calves started hurting halfway through I was dancing so much. It's five days later, and I still feel sore. And now I actually get it. I can listen to FOB and I'm like, "Hey, they played that song live...let's dance!"

Friday night we met up with Monty Are I at their hotel room and passed out from exhaustion. I was wearing my gray jeans (the skinny jeans for girls whose thighs touch, as Erica and I call them) all weekend. From Friday until early Sunday AM, they didn't come off my legs. Gross and amazing at the same time.

Saturday we headed to Bamboozle, which was a lot like Warped Tour except lamer and with the weirdest VIP/bands/ticketholders class system ever. Erica finally met Christy. Geez. I was so tired from the previous night, my legs weren't holding up well and I wanted to fall asleep right under the Monty Are I tent all day. Monty Are I's set was decent, but they had some technical difficulties.

I was exhausted by the time we got the afterparty, but the open bar lured Erica and I right in. Then Monty played and ROCKED. It sounded amazing. And they were so tight. It got me so pumped. They got everyone in the place pumped - everyone was pumping their fists to "Livin' on a Prayer." Word.

All I have to say is Steve's managers and label reps + their friends take all. And a special mention to Ben, who is the best lights guy I know. If Monty's music is epic, Ben's lights are epic. And he's SuperNiceGuy. When I first met him a few years ago and couldn't remember his name, that's what I called him. And he's still SuperNice.

Erica and I bid adieu to the silly streets and fuckign u-turns of Paramus, New Jersey on Sunday afternoon and ended our first tour (the Sans Plans/Sans Pants/Dance Dance Tour) the only way we knew how: the Wendy's 99-cent menu. And a frostie.

Then we both got sick on Monday. All worth it, all worth it.

From the USWeekly Blog (high literary quality, I know!):

On today’s Oprah Winfrey Show, Teri Hatcher of Desperate Housewives opens up about her short-lived romance with Ryan Seacrest and the infamous shots of them kissing on the beach. According to Hatcher, the American Idol host dumped her an hour after the photos were taken.

Teri: “It was our third date, but it was our first alone. We went to this shacky place, way way outside of L.A…”

Oprah: “How did the paparazzi get there?”

Teri: I have no idea, but interestingly enough I haven’t seen him since that day.”

Oprah: “Not a word since then? What did he say? What did he say when the pictures came out?”

Teri: “The pictures came out three days later. We knew they had been taken. It must’ve bothered him though — bothered him enough that an hour after they were taken he called and said ‘I don’t think I can do this with you.’”

Oprah: “He did? Why?”

Teri: “I don’t know.”

Oprah: “Was it because you were too high profile?”

Teri: “It was because I ate too much lobster. [laughs] No you’d have to ask him.”

Teri, why do you feel like you must do high-profile interviews and tell the world the many reasons they should feel sorry for you? WHY? I really can't effin' stand her. And if she's so flippin' great, why does she care that Ryan Seacrest didn't want to date her? Everybody knows it's not because she's too high profile. It's because she has a vagina...that's doesn't get much coverage due to the fact that her legs are toothpicks.

Yeah, I went there.