(Unfortunately the only photo evidence I have of this encounter died with the harddrive it was on years ago, as it was pre-smartphone technology.)
It is 9:30 in the morning and I’m on an Alaska Air flight from San Diego to Seattle with my aunt. Shortly after we take off, I notice that one of the flight attendants is bringing First Class goods back into the regular cabin. (My aunt and I are sitting in the third row back.) After the third total giggle fit, I look up and notice her smiling and flirting with a group of gentlemen—one of which looks insanely familiar. The flight attendant asks if they need drinks, and I hear the familiar-looking guy say, “Do you have any Courvoisier, sweetheart?” (I SWEAR TO YOU I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP). And that’s when I realize it. Holycrap. Is that? I think it is. THAT! Is! Morris! Day!
I turn to my aunt to whisper this exciting news, but of course, she doesn’t know who the hell I’m talking about it. Trying to keep it cool, so under my breath I’m like, “Morris Day! And the Time! You know, The Time? Jungle Love? The Oak Tree?? THE BIRD??? The motherfucking TIME. How do you not know this?” Continue reading
In my memory, I look WAY cooler. But this is what 13-year-old me had goin’ on.
I was 13, and I was wearing his Huey Lewis the News tee, cropped jeans, white Keds, and a red bandana tied around my neck. We drove around in his car for a while, Berlin’s Pleasure Victim cranked on the stereo. (Despite the obvious sexuality of the “Sex…I’m A” lyrics, nothing about this night was about sex. It was about romance.)
He stopped the car, we got out to look at the stars — and in one, magical movement, he swept me off my feet, sat me on top of the hood, and leaned in to kiss me. It seemed like it lasted forever. It was a perfect movie moment with someone special, and one of the last (and only) times I’d be with a boy who didn’t immediately push me for more.
Just a kiss. A really beautiful, unforgettable kiss.
If I knew where he was now, I’d thank him for that.
Thank you, Terry. For one of the only nice teenage memories I have. Thank you.
Attn. nerds: this is the river in LoTR where Arwen saves Frodo from the Ringwraiths!!! (with Jen & me trying to look cool in front of it)
Eight years ago on March 24, I was in New Zealand with my friends Jen & Rob on what I like to call “my divorce settlement trip.” Divorce settlement meaning that I took the money I got from selling the my ex’s Mustang and motor home (which he left on my dad’s property, and I’m fully convinced he only gave them to me–via the divorce agreement–because he didn’t want to face my dad in order to get them back) and used it to buy plane tickets. J&R generously financed my hotel rooms, which I will never be able to thank them for ENOUGH, because it was one of the raddest things I’ve ever done.
Anyway! We started in Queenstown, with a side-trip to Dunedin, and then we moved to Auckland for the last few days. Queenstown is INSANELY BEAUTIFUL. Surrounded by clear, gorgeous bright blue water, with a ring of mountains so close you can pretty much touch them, and a cute brick-laid main street with lots of eating, drinking, and shopping options. Dunedin was a 6-hour drive away, and had more of a big city feel (as big a city as you can pack onto an island, anyway). And Auckland reminded me so much of Seattle, it was eerie. But I digress.
Here I present to you my favorite moments from that trip–the things that I think about a lot. And miss. And want to relive. Continue reading