Poor Jarrah has some kind of summer sickness. This morning she woke up with a fever and says her ear hurts. Luckily, our amazing pediatrician has triage hours on the weekends, so I think we'll get her checked out later. She didn't like that idea when I mentioned it. She's been waking up early but falling asleep during the day and then staying up until 10:00. Now she's lying on the couch watching Dora and eating raspberries with brown sugar, but only because we're out of cantaloupe.
We were supposed to go to ComiCon today, which in case you didn't know, is a big deal. It's a comic convention in downtown San Diego that's been going on since last century. A few years ago, it exploded, and now every major movie does a preview at the Con with big stars to promote it. Now that it's a pop culture phenom, the tickets sell out six months in advance, so you really have to plan ahead. Last year, Jarrah really loved seeing all the people in costume (many of them dressed like Star Wars or Star Trek characters) and asked to go as a witch this year. She was also looking forward to sharing the Buffy Musical Sing-a-long with her friend Joy. She's pretty disappointed, but we had a long day planned with a trolley ride (you can't park in downtown during the Con) and eight jam-packed hours of events, and that is just not happening today. This is the one part of parenting I will probably never get used to; you can't just push through like you do when you're an adult. Everything changes. Or everything stops.
It's already been a busy weekend. Friday night I house managed at the theater. I wasn't sure what was involved, but it turned out to be an easy gig. (Though I was a little nervous when Dave the director greeted me at the door with "Do you know how to make coffee?" The actual answer is "No," but I said "Is that part of my job description?") I ended up sitting outside on the porch in the summer twilight with Duke (he's one of the other actors; I've known him a while--sweet guy) with a magic box filled with envelopes, and whenever someone came up the stairs, we gave them one. There was very little actual money changing hands, and many of the patrons were eager to be entertained by our witty banter. A few even recognized us from previous shows. When it was time, Dave shooed me inside (he said I could be more useful "supporting the actors") and I watched the show for the second time, which was almost as fun except I knew what was going to be under Shelley's shirt when she unzipped it. At intermission, I stood behind the snack table and gestured to the coffee pot, "allowing" people to pour their own and choose their own cookies. When the lights went down, I scurried back to my seat. David--who was making a video--was working much harder.
Afterward, we followed the cast and crew to a restaurant where they've been holding court after their triumphant performances, a venue where the general public can worship in the temple of their excellence (I know that's what I was doing.) It was a gorgeous night, so we headed outside, and I slammed down a Cosmopolitan with slightly less panache than Carrie Bradshaw--in fact, I was a bit of an idiot, having taught Nia just before, a bit dehydrated and hungry, which makes alcohol go straight to my head. (David says I'm an efficient drunk--drunk fast, then sober fast.) I did some uninhibited yelling about politics and literature and who knows what else and laughed myself silly. Last year at this time, I didn't know any of the people at the table--it's hard to imagine that now.
I was pretty tired Saturday morning, but excited--I was heading to the OC to spend the day with my friend Bryan. I have known Bryan longer than most anyone. We met in Drama class in high school--in a gesture of touching intimacy, he lied and told me he was a senior (like me) when he was actually a freshman. Later, he said he couldn't help that I am hopelessly gullible. We were both new to the theater thing, and ended up doing our "thespian initiation" together, which sounds more painful than it was. We rehearsed and performed a scene from Taming of the Shrew in which he actually sat on me while I kicked and screamed. To this day, he will sometimes greet me with "A combless cock! Then Kate shall be my hen!"
I guess we really hit it off, because we're still close all these years later, even if we don't talk for a while. I will say that many of my relationships involved nightly calls to Bry to bitch and moan. (Guess that's why those relationships didn't last?) Sometimes he'd say "hello?" and the first thing he heard was my sob. He always recognized it, too. We aren't just sunshine and roses--we're both hot heads, and have had our spats. He hates my driving, for some reason, and refuses to get in a car with me. Even though he has a bunch of tickets and I have a perfect driving record--I'm just saying.
We met at this cafe near our parents' houses that I really love, and that is where we stayed for the rest of the day. His father's birthday party was in the evening (I went--in fact, every member of his family came to my wedding) so at one point we wandered next door to the supermarket (ssshhh, don't tell) to buy a DVD of one of the old movies Bryan loves (he actually has the most valuable collection of Betty Grable memorabilia in America, no joke) and a card and then we wandered right back to our outdoor table. Otherwise, we didn't get up except to procure baked goods until the sun started going down. That's how much we can talk. Seeing Bryan is like a shot of Vitamin B to my heart or something--it reminds me that, for all these years, there's been someone who is always willing to listen to me, no matter what kind of ridiculous thing I have to say. And that's pretty amazing, because I can say some ridiculous things.