Imagine a world…

In which I cannot use my voice. I know, crazy? Shit is NOT cool. (if you are rejoicing, keep it to yourself)

I left Mert a message today (when I still had a squeak). What do you want to do on your days off? Oh I don’t know, talk to your BEST FRIENDS! Laryngitis and well, being sick, getting in the way. I don’t have a raspy voice, I have NO voice.

Mert’s text: “That was the saddest sounding voicemail ever!”

Me: “Think about it. Me without a voice is pretty fricking sad. Talking is my favorite activity.”

Mert: “My thoughts exactly! Lucky there’s texting and email, or you might be miserable ;)”

So I devise a plan. Because I can’t stand it. I came out of the womb talking!
My plan is rooted in my belief that if I pretend it isn’t happening, it is NOT happening.

First, I will exercise. I will go running, running helps everything (in my world).

Second, I will have a salad and wander down the street to a bar in my neighborhood where I will request a hot toddy. The bartender will take pity on me, because I don’t have a voice and he will have to lean in real close to hear my order and make me one amazing hot toddy. It will totally help.

I go for the run. It was one of my best runs (it was suggested this weekend that cycling and running, well, they don’t mix. Cyclists are not runners… I decided (on my run), I am a runner that cycles so no worries – muscle memory trumps all).

I skip the salad. Meh. I don’t need it. (Jennie is cringing right now – rightfully so – I should have had the salad, I shouldn’t have run...)

I hop in the shower and as planned, wander down the hill. I pass by a Fremont establishment in which people are singing karaoke. I think to myself… ORION! They were performing a duet. Who doesn’t want to wrap up a karaoke session at 1:30a with Black Velvet? Lame people.

I always thought of myself as the sort of chick (does the term “chick” date me?) who heads to the bar with a book, by myself. But in reality, it just doesn’t happen. (Let’s be honest, Emily was already in bed.) I was headed to a specific place, a place where I really really like the bartenders. Good guys.

But alas, fail, they were playing bingo. Lame. Sometimes I want my bars dark and quiet. I romanticize them. The bartender did make me a very special hot toddy. He did bring me a very large bottle of water because he knew I needed it. And the guy sitting next to me did make a verbal misstep that I want to remember forever – it is NOT a rotisserie phone my dear friendly bar dude, it is a rotary phone!

Now I am off to bed. I am so excited.