Lean and I got stung by the B last week and had a great time. I forgot to ask someone to take a picture of us together. This flowery account will have to do. Once we were within a one mile radius of B’s hotel, Lean and I began announcing our arrival in the most mature way any adult can – by sounding the horn, hanging out the window, and shouting riotously. As usual, we made a lot of friends and suitably embarrassed B who was waiting patiently near a brightly-painted Mini bedecked with a giant can of Red Bull. We headed to Santorini, one of my fave restaurants in town. I had a delectable gyro dripping with juicy olives, tart feta, spicy maters, and creamy tzatziki – mmmmm. Lean and I downed fruity cocktails and shouted “Opa!” when someone nearby ordered the flaming goat cheese. Most importantly, we got to see B’s new scar. The story of how he acquired it is so awesome, a sketch writer for the Carol Burnett show couldn’t have concocted a better one. Picture it: Chicago, a few weeks ago. B’d just ordered Chinese and was prancing about his pad when he tripped on an over-priced rug and impaled his hand with a chopstick. He had to get stitches and then his wound got infected – yowch! The scar is SUPER impressive and even still peeling a bit. This illustrates one of the main reasons he and I are friends – we’re both deft and limber like panthers.
After dinner and (deftly) slinking out to avoid an unbearably boorish conversation with an old acquaintance of B’s who naturally chose to dine at Santorini the same night we did, we headed back to the bar at B’s hotel for more bevs and merriment. We watched The Office, slurped syrupy sweet Piña Coladas, and refused autographs.
At some point during the night, we all decided to take a little vacay in June. I am so excited but until we sort out limo transport and security issues, I’m not at liberty to reveal many details. I can say there will definitely be campy t-shirts emblazoned with our nicknames and an absurd-but-official slogan for our trip. We’re accepting logo and tagline submissions but are pretty married to B’s idea: “Brookville, IN or bust!”
P.S. Another one of the many endearing qualities B and I have in common is that we’re both directionally challenged. (Wanna double date?) For practical purposes, that means we’re NEVER in charge of maps or directions. This is fine if there’s someone else around, but always makes trouble when it’s just he and I. In fact when B still lived in Indy, anytime we decided to eat at Santorini, because it’s not located in the one block of downtown we’ve committed to memory, we always drove around for at least an hour trying to find it. Instead of making note of how to get there for future visits, we enjoy performing this elaborate searching ritual each time we return. It gives us a chance to visit some of Indy’s more sketchy ‘hoods and this time we even scored a nickel bag! 😉