Watch out Hotlanta, here I come! I am packed (clean undies? check! yarn for the plane? check! antacids? check!) and ready to rock. Or, knowing my friends, ready to roll. I suspect that by night's end, someone shall take a spill. We have had a record number of people falling into bushes and such or running into parked cars. Good times! Mind you I took the biggest fall resulting in two surgeries (and I was sober at the time), so I should not be mocking the my bush loving friends.
I plan to knit on the plane, though I do have a back up book "just in case." It might have a over muscled, half naked man pawing a scantily clad woman clutching her bosom on the front, and, if I was flying with my husband, he might not want to sit near me when I read it, but that's all good. I find opening a romance novel with a very lurid cover to be one of the best ways to scare off seat mates. No one wants to talk to the woman who might be reading "women's fiction" in public. Except for the skeezy men, and for them, I pull out the knitting. Either way you are guaranteed a silent flight. This only back fired on me once when the man next to me passed out leaning half on my shoulder and breathing his boozy breath on me. I was on my way to Vegas to get married and it wasn't my husband that was all boozy over my shoulder. Moving on.
Three of us land with in minutes of each other (good plane karma!) and are being chauffeured to the birthday girl's new loft by our fourth. I suggested the three of us sit in the back seat and make Pookie were a suit and glasses and act the part of a real chauffeur but this idea was vetoed. Obviously I am going to have to remind my friends how to hoop it up. We're surprising our birthday girl and then have plans for drinks, food, and um, more drinks. There is a rumor going round that there might be bowling. So may I suggest to all the citizens of Atlanta that you avoid all bowling alleys for the next two days. Just to be safe. Me = 72 all time high score. Me = person who really has bowled in the alley next to mine, not on purpose.
Since it looks like we might have some free time between birthday events, I am trying to convince people to go on a yarn crawl. Thus far my plans have failed rather spectacularly. I've tried logic and the promise of fun. Surprisingly my argument of "Hello, you're gay boys and everyone knows that gay boys love yarn" was not persuasive. Neither was my, "You tried to auction me off like a hooker when we were in N'awlins. You owe me!" argument. Oddly enough, I'm having better luck trying to convince my peeps that we should track down Anderson Copper and love on him.
I should return on Sunday night. I expect I will have a higher blood alcohol level, some funny stories, and some funnier pictures. I hope to have some new yarn and at least one of the monkey socks done.