Don’t waste your money. Sex and the City 2 sucked. Although Princie and I had fun (I liked the clothes; he liked the chicks).
When we got out of the theatre, I had a text from Boo that she’d gotten pulled out of line at Security for a further check due to my Progresso Italian Breadcrumbs and a can of Hormel chili. She’d freaked that when they opened the suitcase right on top of her size 38DDDD bras lay four cartons of fags. Fortunately, it was Security not Customs and they were looking for drugs or explosives. Nothing got confiscated (I can’t swear about Boo’s unmentionables) and my stuff got on the plane okay.
My dashing about and socializing continued full tilt after Boo went home. One of the coolest things was having lunch with Lisa and Karen, old friends and former work colleagues at Rosenbluth Travel at Michael’s Deli. We reminisced about the good old days, people we worked with, and some wild fams we went on, including Karen’s and my infamous jaunt to St. Maarten in the Caribbean. Wow! There’s five days I can’t remember.
Anyway, we’re hoping that the ladies will cross the pond for a visit to Weybridge in the Fall. The really good thing about friends who were travel agents too is that they don’t want to visit Windsor Castle or the Tower of London. Again. It’s so ‘been there, done that a thousand times already’.
But the mostest exciting of all was the long anticipated meet up with the luverly Henry Levenstein of the Marlboro, New Jersey Levensteins.
Henry, by way of explanation, is the Go To Guy I went to when I directed the Purim Review… the penner of such classics chart toppers as ‘Yud! Mem! Chuf! Hai!’, ‘Hebrews are Strange’, ‘Nine is the Loneliest Number’, and, of course, ‘Purim’.
Not only are Hebrews strange, life is. I hooked up with Henry via email, desperate for inspiration and some clever material for NWSS’ Purim show. We just… clicked. We corresponded sporadically and I emailed that I was coming home for a visit. A face-to-face was definitely in order. And thus it was arranged.
Princie: “Let me get this straight. You’re taking the SEPTA R3 to Trenton, New Jersey to have lunch with a guy you met on the internet?”
Me: “Well… yeah. But he’s Jewish, so it’s okay.”
We’d settled on Trenton because George Washington went there via the Delaware River to kick British tush. So not! Trenton just worked geographically, with train schedules and so forth. And positively nobody goes to, like, Newark to have lunch unless somebody else is holding a gun to their head. Which, come to think of it, is perfectly reasonable in Newark.
So I hopped on the R3 to meet the guy who, when I asked what he looked like, wrote “Your standard Jewboy look”. I was in love already.
Henry was … luverly. He picked me up at the train station and whisked me off for a gorgeous lunch at a charming Italian restaurant. (I know, I got to swear off the Italian. We shared a cannoli for dessert.)
Henry said I was ‘a fascinating woman’; he’d perused the blog for the scoop and I shared some additional stuff. It’s ironic, sort of. My journey through the wilderness doesn’t seem so enthralling to me, probably because I’m living it, with the highs and lows, disappointments, and occasional victories. I guess it reads better in a blog.
I really liked Henry and had a great time. On the train back to Springfield I did ponder the strange twists my life has taken. Not taken, exactly, since I made practically everything happen myself by sheer determination and intrepidness. You read it here first: I am uber cool.