Earlier today, I got an email from someone I don’t know to tell me that they’d read my piece in the Los Angeles Jewish Journal about the Dyke March and been moved by it. I love fan mail.
I started feeling really nervous about everything, and so, to recalibrate, I abandoned work and went to see Midnight in Paris. It was too expensive, and I was exhausted, but I was also craving a dark, theatre where I could put my feet up on the back on the chair in front of me. (Midnight in Paris, by the way, is smooth and charming and makes me want to move to Europe.)
I went to Starbucks in search of non caffeinated things, and it turns out, that while I’ve been buying my coffee at carts, the price of a midsize soy chai is now five dollars. When the dude rang it up, I balked and asked him to cancel it, and then told him I just wanted something with no caffeine. “Screw it,” he said. “You should have what you want,” and charged me for a regular coffee. Then he told the other barista to make my chai.
While waiting for M at the bus, a woman came up to me and asked if I knew when the Boston bus was coming. I told her I didn’t know, I was just looking for the bus that my friend would emerge from. We stood there for a while, she called someone and yelled at them, and then, when her bus came, she put her hand on my arm. She didn’t say anything for a several stunning, disconcerting moments and then: “Well, this has been real, honey.” And then she walked away.