Her Green Figs

The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell.

20 March 2006


On Saturday morning I drove up to XYZ to attend a shape note sing. I haven't done this since I left central Virginia, quite a few years ago. There were only a handful of people younger than 50 there and we met in a conference room. It was a very different experience from when VC and I used to go to those little mountain churches. I also ended up sitting next to a completely tone deaf old lady who demanded that I share my books. Nevertheless, I'm glad I went and I hope I'll have company next time.

On the way back, I went to the ZYX lunch and it was awful. I really like that place, but this was just bad. The "a-plenty" was undercooked and I got the wrong burger. I didn't know about either of these problems until I'd gotten back into my car and pulled onto the interstate to drive home. Oh, and the tea was much too watery and bitter.

I took a nap.

I woke up in time to give myself some fabulous super-model hair, all full of curls and waves and sexy tendrils and stuff and then went to the only middle eastern restaurant in town for the surprise party given by a friend of mine for a man I'd never met. It would have been a pretty good party, except that 1. I am anti-social, 2. I was all worried about what was going to happen later that night, and 3. I got trapped in monologue by a twerpy descendant of a very old Hugenot family. No kidding? She talked non-stop for 42 minutes about well-drilling regulations and acid reflux. I was rescued by my new best friend who escorted me swiftly across the room and then out of the restaurant in a cloud of amusing conversation. I should buy that man a beer.

In my ongoing mission to claim my long-term crush, HeartThrob, I went down to my favorite bar to hear his band, playing as part of the big St. Patrick's Day festival. They were really great and I was impressed-as-all-get-out with myself for being brave enough to get it up and go to a bar by myself. I finally spotted HeartThrob's UnsuitableGirlfriend sitting at a table with a fellow singer who I CAN'T STAND (it's mutual). UnsuitableGirlfriend is even pudgier than I remembered from the first time I met her, which gives me even greater hope of taking her place. I couldn't stand to sit there by myself, high-fiving drunk college boys as they walked by until the third set, and HeartThrob disappeared after the second set, so I decided to go home. I was VERY disappointed and on my way to becoming hysterical about it when I walked out of the bar and right into my last fling.

He saw that I was upset, kissed me, then took my hand and took me four doors down to his bar. He kicked someone off a stool in the corner then planted me on it and brought cocktails continuously for hours until I was about to fall off the barstool altogether. He drove me home, unlocked my door, and set my alarm clock then went back to work (until dawn). He set the alarm because we work together Sunday mornings, singing for a church. When I finally stopped snooze-buttoning I had a mouth full of fur, an elephant stomping inside my skull, very rumpled clothing, and a nearly visible aura of cigarette smoke, stale beer, and sweat; I also had no time or energy to clean myself up very much. For the first time EVER, I went to church in cowboy boots, jeans, and black satin. That's the beauty of choir robes--all I had to do was brush out my hair and fix up my eye makeup and I would look passable.

The entire choir was painfully hungover. We were standing outside before the service, lining up for the procession when someone told a funny story and I laughed, which made me gag and then puke in the shrubs. I am nothing if not graceful and elegant. We made a train wreck out of the psalm and probably got our assistant director in a heap of trouble for it. I should buy him a beer too.