Dead Man's Honda

While recently chatting with a former professor on gmail chat he typed something that thoroughly made me question whether or not I’m actually on some sort of illegal substance unawares:

“One of my students is doing his Ph.D. on an Ed program for the moon....and....”

Say WHAT?! My fingers lingered for a minute over my keyboard—all I wanted to do was see if it was ok if I used him as a reference for something—and suddenly my life turned into a whole new kind of weird. Weird that surpassed…you know…Brittany Spears.

“That can’t be real,” I madly typed back, wondering if my very sweet old professor had grown a tumor since I’d last seen him. Maybe he was typing this from a psych ward.

“What can’t be real? The Lunar Ed program or that I’m working with Dr. D?” he typed back.

Gee, I wonder…..

“THE LUNAR ED PROGRAM!” I typed back in all caps. He must have the tumor.

What would I take him when I visited him at the hospital?

“We present the program pretty soon for NASA,” he added, “They’ve committed to colonies on the Moon and Mars.”

Of course they have, I think to myself, And they’re sending you up as a test pilot, aren’t they Mr-Still-Dipping-Into-The-Sixties?

As I was typing this a friend popped her chat into my screen and asked:

“What are you doing?” So I told her.

“You live in the twighlight zone,” she wrote back.

In that moment I thought for a second: yes, yes, maybe I do. Maybe that’s why my world is so flipping bizarre and everyone else just says, (while patting me on the head) “only you, Leis, only you.”

Maybe I’m the one with the brain issue who is sitting up in bed typing to a professor and imagining his responses. I touch the sofa. No, that’s definitely a sofa. Then Lindsey walks into the room and sits next to me.

“What are you doing?”

“They’re going to do an Education program on the MOON!” I shout knowing full well this will only lead to a smirk and “what unidentified crap have you eaten TODAY?” from rational Lindsey. But considering she works with people who swear their father lives on Demon Dimension # 5, telling her strange things isn’t exactly a risk in our relationship.

An hour and a half later my online conversation with the Prof has shifted to WWII topics and he’s telling me about his visit to Normandy. I’m crying. I’m crying because he describes it so tenderly but all I can think is:

You’re totally freaking crazy, and the point is, I am. But the other point is—so is he and that’s why I enjoy him.

And also why I enjoy the little group I attend on Thursday nights where Linds and I are the youngest by about…well….nearly forty years. Where, last night, the little beautiful Japanese woman who can barely speak English jumped up and down when she came through the door.

“I ring the bell—did you hear it?! I ring it!” she was so excited about this. The doorbell is new and we used to not be sure if it worked.

“Yes,” Lindsey says “that’s why I opened the door.” The woman claps her hands together and laughs. “Oh!” she says while she sits next to Jack, the octogenarian who is just as likely to recite six pages of Scripture at random as he is to tell you a joke or a story about a Hippopotamus. It here that I realize:

Unknown illegal substance, psych ward, a tumor or my real life—I like this. I like it just the way it is.

The week started on a low note. Monday I discovered that Neon Bangs Woman had died her hair…gasp….copper brown. “No one has noticed it but you,” she said when I asked what tragedy had befallen her that she would let her hair become so blasé.

I may be going out on a limb here ma'am, buuuutt....I’ll lay you money others have noticed.

Then I discovered that the dead man’s apartment I was hoping to move into has been taken by a couple who don’t seem to be aware of the fact that our landlord hasn’t replaced the carpet upon which the dead man laid for three days before the police broke into the apartment and retrieved the body. I have a feeling no amount of Glade plug-ins is going to fix that, but no doubt our lazy landlord will try.

And yesterday I had a mishap with the coffee maker at work that made the kitchen look like I’d gone Jackson-Pollock in there with a coffee-scented, grainy black paintball gun.

But then the week turned around.

First I was given excellent advice and care from a friend who had been MIA but who, though lately absent, used to be a refuge and pillar of strength for me. Then I was pleased with several messages from hilarious friends who brighten up my days with their antics and adventures—some of which could make the history books. After work I met up with another friend I haven’t seen in quite some time but who…let me explain:

This friend, K and her husband J, are not only brilliant and practical—they’re also refreshingly fun. My first adventures with them involved trying to track down a bear with a flashlight. Since J and K and I did not find it that night, another night K and I sat out in the darkness with a gigantic tub of peanut butter waiting for the notorious animal to appear. And no, we weren’t twelve years old. We were actually fully grown at that point.

“Do you think this will work?” K asked from our hiding place in the shadows.

“Maybe we should spread out the peanut butter,” I answered, thinking this was taking a very long time. She agreed and though we did cover an entire lawn with peanut butter, we only succeeded in scaring the crap out of passersby who subtly heard us and feared for their lives.

When I arrived at home after that pleasant experience my future bro-in-law Sam was in the kitchen—reading a letter one of his students had written him.

“And then I jumped ten feet into the air….and after I defeated the gang of ninjas I…”

“WHAT?!” I could only say, clapping my hand over my mouth.

I wish I had the letter, but since I don’t, I will only say this: It was entirely about a video game called Oblivion and the boy’s strategies in the game that day. It was as if real life had fallen completely out of the cracks of his consciousness---and only the game remained. That a fifth-grader would write a two-page letter about this to Sam had me practically on the floor with glee.

And then came the final moment of pleasantness as I sat down on the couch to hear about my sister Desiree’s day at work. What came out of her mouth KILLED me so I will only direct you to her site so she can explain the rest:

http://desireenb.blogspot.com/