SAY THAT AGAIN?

Sometimes when I've had a drink or two I speak in fragmented phrases that could only be appropriately associated with a foreign exchange student. Either that or my Long Island accent comes out in full glory which as you may recall from past blog entries is a scary event in itself.

On a bad night when the two combine, it's as if I just landed in this country and was taken in immediately by a team of Long Island construction workers that taught me everything they know about the English language.

My best friend also suffers from this drunken accent syndrome. She is from Atlanta and when she has had one bourbon too many she sounds like a cast member of Hee-Haw. Back in college---boy did we know how to clear a room as people grabbed their jackets wondering who invited Betty-Sue Anne and Stefania the Latvian girl from Long Island to the party.

The other night as we arrived at an East Village Karaoke bar at 2am (already a bad sign), I managed to let slip one of my speech blunders on to the innocent ears of my friend Becky.

(turning to Becky glossy-eyed)

K: "I have the thirsty."
Becky: "I'm sorry. What was that?"
K: "I say...me have...the thirsty."

Not one of my more horrifying lines but enough to make a semi-concerned and freaked out Becky run out to the nearest deli to purchase a six-pack of Poland Spring waters-handing me the first.

LATE NIGHT REALITY CHECK

E comes to bed late most nights around 3:00/3:30am. I'm totally jealous of his endurance and can only dream of what I might accomplish in those quiet hours. Unfortunately, the most you can find me doing after a long day of work is putting on my pjs and pouring a glass of wine.

When E crawls into bed, I often feign consciousness, turn over and say something cryptic and uncomprehensible like, “The seaweed crackers are in the fridge at noon” or something equally as bizarre. Last night for whatever reason I was actually alert and talking up a storm-to the point where E considered shooting me with a tranquilizer gun.

Somehow we got on the topic of how as a kid I dreamed of owning one of those
theme beds. The bed I wanted specifically was shaped like a stage coach with canvas/plastic side flaps that could be rolled down. I'm not sure why I was obsessed with the stage coach bed and not the race car bed or the castle but I'm guessing it had to do with the fact that I craved something very specific. Flaps. I needed flaps that rolled down and gave me what every kid wants and never gets-privacy.

E questioned my motives for a stage coach bed and thought it worthy for further psychiatric evaluation. I was quick to remind him of his childhood hot spot-the closet. As a kid E created an entire walk-in closet in his room into his own private space. The closet was not just any walk-in closet but had custom bookshelves, a place for his baseball cards, a bean bag and a lamp, etc. The thing was just short of a marble fireplace and a hook for his mini smoking jacket.

(lying in bed in the dark)

E: "I wish I had that closet now."
K: "I wish I had flaps."
E: "I'd even take the bean bag."
K: "Well, if we ever have kids we are having a closet AND a stage coach bed."
E: "Well, then apparently we will be moving to Arkansas because that is the
only place we'll ever afford room for a closet and a stage coach."
K: "Yeah. Much less anything for the kids."