I know the funniest people on Earth.
No, no. I don't think you understand. This isn't because of any one thing that happened or person or wacky scenario. It's my life, and I am so goddamned grateful to be surrounded by smart people who understand how jokes work and actively make them because it brings joy. I'm lucky, is all.
So tonight, a couple of things struck me. 1. That I need to document the conversations a bit more for my own benefit. You know. When I've lost my memory and I can reread everything like it's the first time. 2. That I'm very fortunate. 3. Chicago weather is like a fist that you aren't sure where it's going to go every winter, and you just pray it isn't in your ass again. Then it is. I digress.
Tonight, the music stopped in the bar where our meeting was held. It was just the pause between songs, going from something like Slipknot to something like Beastie Boys because the shuffle was taking hallucinogens. Again. During our discussion on fundraising strategies, the loud protest came from Sully.
"I don't wanna draw boobs for my dad."
And then the music continued. We all nodded at the statement's universal applications.
Later, I was being driven home. I live two blocks from the bar, but it's hard to walk with the aforementioned Chicago winter fist lodged in there. Plus, I got a few more minutes with Sara and Angie this way. Win.
We pull up to my building. It's a snowy blanket of 7-11 Slurpee and clean, white flakes.
"Are you safe?" Sara asks. I instantly reach for the Marathon Man joke, but before I can finish, she asks again.
"Are you safe?"
"Yeah, why?" I reply.
"Well there's a strange man walking toward us in the middle of the street."
"That is because the sidewalks are shit right now."
"Well all right," she pauses. "No. Nope. It's the Stand GET BACK IN THE CAR."
I didn't. I went home. I'm fine. That dude was walking to his car. To drive across the country and find Mother Abigail.
Next time, more of this. Documentation, no matter how underwhelming it is to anyone else, really.