TheBanyanTree: A. Passes A Test

[Monique]

Not that I subject my, uhm, boyfriends to tests.
 
I am, yes, too old to have a boyfriend.
 
Be that as it may, A. has passed the Lisa Marie test for quality
assurance.
 
Lisa Marie, being a delightful person who is also quite insistent on
getting her way, is a friend, a client, and I am a client of hers. She's
responsible for the mess on my head that passes for hair. She does
wonderfully with hair, and even with mine, but I cannot blame her for
what happens when she is not present. She is not, after all, a miracle
worker.
 
Anyway, Lisa Marie decided last month that the two of us needed a
vacation. Me and her. This is difficult logic to argue since it's true.
The first plan was to go up to a spa in British Columbia for a couple of
days, but I had, as usual, some financial restraints pop up. (ie, I'm
broke.) As for Lisa Marie, she could not find her birth certificate and
lives in fear of being kept by the Canadians, unable to return to the
land of her birth. So I'd given up the idea altogether, and besides, I
need to work, don't I?
 
Lisa Marie does not give up easily. That's something I've noticed about
her. She devised another plan. The two of us would take the train to
Portland for a couple of days. I said okay, but I had to limit her, in
her enthusiasm, to one overnight. Not much time, but I do what I can. 
 
We left on Tuesday morning. I instructed clients not to bother me, and
Stew, my handy aide-de-camp, took us to the train station. A. had
offered to, but since Lisa Marie would be going with us I demurred. I'm
working at keeping my personal life separate from my personal life
because I don't trust love. That, and I don't trust Lisa Marie. She's
liable to say anything.
 
Monday night, in the middle of the night most conveniently, I was
dreadfully terribly awfully sick. Uck. By the time I fell back asleep I
knew I'd be lucky to get up and get anywhere the next morning. I woke up
at 7. I'd told Lisa Marie we'd be at her place at 8. That was in one
hour. And I had yet to pack anything.
 
A. had discussed this with me the night before. He was of the opinion
that I should have packed in advance. I told him it was quite all right,
I'd done laundry, and I was sure things would come together when
necessary. I hadn't counted on being sick of course. I never count on
being sick.
 
I managed to get up and showered and somewhat packed and out the door,
and Stew and I left for Lisa Marie's. And arrived shortly after 8. I can
be fast when I want to. I just don't usually want to. 
 
I like the train. I'd never been on an American train before, just
European trains. It was comfortable. I could put my feet up. I could lay
there and read. Or I would have been able to do so, if I hadn't been
with Miss
Hyperactive, who wanted to go this way and that way and wait for the
dining car to open (I was rather hungry by that time myself), and so we
spent very little time at our seats. After dining in the dining car we
found a comfortable upstairs spot to watch the scenery whiz by while
drinking wine and reading our books.
 
A couple at the next table looked a bit disturbed when they were asked
to sit side-by-side. "Look at the size of us!" the man said, "we can't
sit side-by-side." He had a good point. So they sat across from each
other, and I don't think understood the concept of space being at a
premium. Two people do not get a table all to themselves. When dining
companions were brought to the table to share with them they looked
stunned, bewildered, confused. Perhaps they had imagined this to be a
romantic lunch in the dining car, all alone. 
 
That's what's cool about trains. Lots of people with nothing much to do
but wander around and strike up conversations with. Lisa Marie is
marvelously adept at striking up conversations, while I am marvelously
adept at saying nothing at all, so I let her do most of the talking. Our
dining companions were enthralled of course. 
 
But the wine afterwards? Did I mention I'd been sick the night before?
Probably not such a good idea, though I managed to have no ill effects
until the train arrived in Portland. In fact, I managed to retain my
normal appearance of robust good health until we reached the Avalon,
where Lisa Marie had booked us a room. 
 
The Avalon is a small luxury hotel, certainly not within my budget, but
since I had, in addition to a lack of funds, a problem with my bank card
not being usable until my new one arrives, hopefully ANY DAY NOW, I
wasn't paying. Anyway, we made it to the Avalon. And I knew I was going
to have trouble. 
 
And I did. And I crawled out of the bathroom in our room (a lovely room,
by the way), and onto the bed, and bade Lisa Marie to go forth and do
whatever she wished while I lay still, in an attempt to recover from
this latest assault on my elderly physical self. 
 
I'd already finished the book I'd brought along; being a fast reader is
a curse. I watched some tv. I went to sleep. 
 
I woke up in a better frame of mind. And when Lisa Marie called to see
what I was doing and to ask me to phone down to the desk for the town
car to pick her up from downtown, I was feeling somewhat human. Somewhat
is a rather broad term, isn't it? But sometimes it's all that fits.
 
She called again later -- she'd wandered next door to The Rivers, the
restaurant that is situated on . . . well, the river, which may be from
whence it derives its name, and had found Happy Hour proceeding. I like
Happy Hours. Cheap food. A. and I have been exploring different Happy
Hours in our never ending quest for cheap delicious food. Very good
restaurants can have some very nice happy hours. 
 
So I said I'd be right over. By the time I got there she'd ordered
appetizers and drinks. Being thoughtful, she'd ordered me a soda. So we
ate and we drank, and the assortment of appetizers was more than enough
food. We talked about going downtown. 
 
Then we went back up to the room. 
 
And I was sick some more.
 
So instead we watched Adaptation, which I found fascinating for some
reason, and went to bed early. 
 
As usual, I didn't sleep much. Why I find myself awake at 3 am each
night is a mystery, but there it is. 
 
Anyway. So the next day we wandered down the river, up the river, me
trying desperately to keep up with the ever so energetic Lisa Marie. We
stopped at a salon so she could check out the competition. Technically,
it's not her competition, since she's in Seattle and they're in
Portland, and frankly, most clients aren't willing to make that kind of
commute for good hair. A fun conversation was had by all. 
 
We are nothing alike, Lisa Marie and I, and that is most noticeable in
the ways we're able to talk to strangers. I wish I had her
conversational skills. We had the hotel town car take us downtown after
we checked out, though we left our bags behind to be taken later. The
driver was initiated into the conversation of course, and we told him to
return at 2:00 for us. 
 
I shopped around while Lisa Marie went off to do something odd
concerning waxing. In my reluctance to subject myself to pain I avoid
waxing, while she merrily seeks it out. We met up later, and she took me
on a hectic hunt for shoes. For me. My shoes are falling apart and she
is, after all, my shopping consultant.
 
My feet, however, are abnormally narrow and comfortable shoes could not
be found. More to the point, I thought I'd found comfortable shoes a
time or two, until Lisa pointed out the obvious failings of the shoes:
they would cause blisters, they would be bad for me, because of my oddly
shaped feet. Nothing appropriate was found, but that was okay with me
because I at least now had a clue what I'm supposed to be looking for
when I get enough energy together to brave shopping again.
 
The town car returned for us. We returned to The Rivers, which Lisa had
taken great pains to get reservations with earlier. We had lunch. We
talked about mental illness and its impact on my life, and we talked
about Stew's forays into ebay, and how a friend of hers has a multitude
of stuff she needs to sell. We watched the river flow by. We sat
outside, so the river was even easier to see.
 
Then when we realized it was time to go fetch the town car again and
have it take us to the train station. She was worried about getting
their on time, but that wasn't necessary.
 
The train, which I now know not to make reservations on to return from
Portland, was three hours behind, somehow having gotten delayed in
California. This is apparently a common occurrence; heading south is
fine, but do not head north on the Coast Starlight as there will be
delays. 
 
We didn't wait three hours for our train. Instead, we waited two hours
for a different train, the more reliable train, but it was on a
different schedule. 
 
I was sick again. Lisa Marie had wandered off momentarily to see if
there was anywhere outside the station worth waiting at when I realized
I had to get to a restroom quickly. Which I did, lugging my bags and
hers. She found me there, later, in the restroom, or emerging from it.
Something. 
 
We played Scrabble. She won. We struck up a conversation with a theology
student from B.C. who's an American and told us stories of his abuse at
the hands of the Canadians. 
 
He was quite taken with us of course. 
 
We boarded the train, we sat at a table next to our theology student who
has a terrible time writing papers, and I offered to coach him. He had a
Bachelor's degree in Ag Business, a Master's in Computer Programming,
and left Baltimore a few years ago suddenly and irrevocably, just
knowing he had to go. An architect who is working on her master's in
environment and the community was at one of our two tables. Lisa Marie
asked many environmental questions. 
 
The theology student and I and Lisa Marie played Scrabble while the
architect worked on a paper she had to get finished. Lisa Marie is a
stickler for rules, and she would not let me help the theology student.
He hadn't played in a few years. We made fun of our advanced degrees,
those of us who have them, while watching Lisa Marie, who has no degree
at all but does wonders with hair, kick our butts. 
 
She's quite competitive. 
 
Since the train was so late, I'd decided I didn't want Stew driving into
downtown Seattle to pick us up -- at our original arrival time, 8:30, it
would have still been light out. At the new arrival time, 10:00, it
would be dark and in the dark he has more problems. He doesn't see so
well anyway, his eye(s) giving him huge problems, probably due to the
meds, and even so, in the dark he sees more things that aren't there.
And he stresses easily.
 
So I'd called A. earlier that afternoon to pick us up instead. 
 
And at the station we waited for his car to pull up, and I thought,
"shoot! I need to keep them from talking to each other."
 
This, of course, is not possible. Lisa Marie likes to talk. So does A.
Lisa Marie, thoughtfully, instructed him on where to take me in Portland
-- A. went to OSU and is quite familiar with Portland, had told me
places to go but since we hadn't time, she thought he could just take me
himself. 
 
They discussed my shoe problem and my abnormally narrow feet. They both
have wide feet. I would have envied them their luck in feet if I hadn't
been busy thinking of ways to get Lisa Marie to shut up before she
divulged something personal. 
 
We eventually arrived at Lisa Marie's, and when I got to the back of the
car to help her get her bag out of the trunk she pulled me aside and
said, "he's adorable!"
 
Yeah, I know. 
 
I told her that, that I already knew that, being perceptive and all.
"He's a doll, you did well." 
 
Okay, so I did well. A. passed the Lisa test. This is good. The last guy
I went out with did not meet Lisa, but did meet her husband. And the
ex-guy, who is as different from A. as humanly possible, took her
husband to small claims court. Long story. Her husband is paying me back
the money I lent to the ex-guy instead of giving it to the ex-guy since
what he sued for was for damages he claimed were caused by Lisa's
husband but which I helped him pay for -- and which he did not pay me
back for. Now I'm going to sue him for destroying my computer and
causing me to have to buy another one. Let's just say that since I told
the ex-guy not to ever contact me again I have been happier than ever,
despite having to remind him that what I meant was NEVER CONTACT ME
AGAIN BY ANY MEANS. Except to reimburse me for my computer, of course.
 
Anyway. A. took me out to eat, which took some doing to find something
open, but we found Applebees with half-priced appetizers until close. 
 
Me and half-priced appetizers. Can't pass that up, can I?
 
Then we came home and fell asleep wrapped up together. Me and A., not me
and the appetizers. 
 
Oh, and one more thing. I started writing again. Whenever I manage to
get away for a couple of days, I start writing again. I need to get away
more often.
 
 
 
M