I would never have known about it. That’s what neighbors are for, I guess.
I had no idea that hundreds of naked people would be riding along the street that is perpendicular to mine: tits and bits mere steps from my front door.
Naturally, we pulled out the chairs to watch the procession.
I had a moment of concern as I had Gideon, 16, with me. But I’m not prudish, and he has access to PLENTY through his phone.
Here they come!
I needn’t have been worried at all. It was not, IN ANY WAY, a sexualized, deviant event.
In fact, the ride might have put all of us off sex for a very long time. 😉😂
There they go.
Good for all the riders for promoting body positivity and the reduction of our carbon footprint.
And thanks, neighbor, for making sure I know about crucial local events. This one was (as you well know) right up my alley.
I see my friends posting about prom and honor societies and college visits and whatnot. Though part of me wishes you wanted the traditional high school milestones, most of me loves that you are doing things your own way.
For example, you eschewed the actual prom to have your own prom in a friend’s back yard. (Props to that mom: She did a great job!)
This is a fancy party! (Photo credit: Petra McKinnon)
And no one seemed to care about dates. It was one big friend group.
Girls seem to be an afterthought, which is fine by me. I’m not ready to be a grandma! I do wonder if I’m somehow a gang mom. What are those signs they are throwing? (Photo credit: Petra McKinnon)
I’m surprised there were real suits. You two had threatened to go to Actual Prom in your Spider-Man costumes.
Not that there is anything wrong with that, I guess. It’s really par for the course for you and your pals. After all, this is how you go to school:
And how you go to Target:
I don’t know how you can go shopping. You spent all your money on a Batsuit.
My son, The Batman
It’s movie quality. It should be for the amount of money the two of you spent. (I still can’t believe you chipped in, Gideon.)
But you know what? You AREN’T spending money on drugs.
Your habits are nerdy and wholesome. I’m a fan.
And Dominic, you’ve been a Bat fan for your whole life, so I’m not surprised.
Uh oh. You spotted the Joker!
I love you both very much. And I love that you are individuals.
As they were playing on a Wednesday, I made a little trip to Market Tavern before I met my friend Hannah at the show.
I walked in to someone warbling a song I didn’t recognize. Then I realized it was supposed to be “Let It Go” from “Frozen.” That’s a bad AND good sign. It’s a good sign of bad karaoke.
Perfect.
I got a drink and chose a seat at the back of the bar where I could sit alone and not draw attention. Smart move.
It was in front of the men’s room. Not a smart move.
My first gentleman caller was a man with a fully tattooed face. Think knockoff version of The Enigma.
He asked me if was going to sing.
At least, I think that’s what he asked me.
He could have asked me if he could dismember me in the Gents, and I wouldn’t have known.
He was 102 and drunk with a very thick Stokie accent that was hard for these American ears to understand.
My view from the hostess stand for the men’s room.
My next new friend was a man with four teeth and four iron cross tattoos. Delightful! He also sported a Confederate flag wristband.
He wanted to know if I had a boyfriend.
I toyed with the idea of saying, “Yes. He’s a Jewish man of color from Poland.” I think I could have made him explode “Raiders of the Lost Ark” style.
An older woman at the next table came over.
Her: Are you alright on your own there?
Me: Oh, yes. I’m fine, thank you.
Her: You’re American!
Me: Yes. What am I doing in the middle of Hanley, right?
Her: Well, yes.
She went to the loo, and I checked my phone for word from Hannah. I suddenly felt hands touching my shoulders. I yelped and turned around.
Creepy George: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.
Me: Well, you did. Please do not touch me.
Didn’t mean to startle me? Someone who doesn’t know you and has her back to you? What did he expect? “Hi handsome! Please come back to my temporary accommodation for stranger boning.”
When I went to the bathroom, I took my drink. Women know why.
Meanwhile, the show went on. It was definitely a crying-in-your-beer kind of vibe.
Thanks for going on a road trip with me to bring Eddie some stuff that ended up with me in St. Louis.
It was a great bonding experience for you and your new brother.
It took nearly 16 hours of driving (should have been 12), but we made it manageable with stops in Chattanooga (no time for towing, sadly) and Atlanta (so you could harass all your school friends).
Barb the Minivan (rental) served us well. She was spacious enough to allow for a litter box for Leo’s bathroom breaks.
It turns out that he’s good on car trips.
Just so everyone knows, I don’t usually put clothes on pets. But Leo is naked, and it was cold when we left St. Louis.
So thank you for making the trip with Leo and me. Next time, I promise we will stop in at a ridiculous museum that will amuse us both.
Thanks for being my first non-family visitor to test out the guest room! I’m glad it was during the ramp-up to Mardi Gras, but sorry there was still snow and ice all over. (Especially sorry for the Missouri drivers and the shards of ice flying off their cars.)
Having you in town was a great excuse to visit the Gateway Arch — the iconic monument I hadn’t explored since moving here.
Tiny Terror that you are, we had to explore my neighborhood bar too.
And also my neighbor’s ice-cream shop.
And Taste of Soulard — my neighborhood’s neighbor.
I enjoyed meeting your cousin Claire!
That’s where we saw interesting people like this guy.
I wonder if he knows that portable Bluetooth speakers exist.
And a goat who is the GOAT.
And racing weiners.
I promise a more comfortable sleeper sofa the next time you visit. And that I will have become a regular, “Cheers” style at the local bar.
Love and kisses!
Your fren, Beth
P.S. Thanks for the hostess gift. I wouldn’t call me “sweet” by any stretch of the imagination, but I appreciate it.
In my last post, I noted some, um, issues with my move — issues beyond those caused by the seller, my neighbor. Your moving company caused additional agita.
Let’s start with the fact that you were supposed to send three guys between 10:30 and 11:30 a.m.
I was there waiting at the storage unit by 10. I left just before noon to go sign the closing papers. My saintly realtor took my place while I was closing.
We had no way of knowing that you meant 10:30-11:30 Hawaii Time.
Your guys showed up just after 3. And there were only two of them. And these two had been on two other jobs previously. So they were tired. Moving SO SLOWLY. Great for you as you charge by the hour.
🙄
Footage of your movers “in action.”
For THREE HOURS, you promised me that two more guys were coming. When they finally showed up, one left immediately. Again, third job of the day. The other stayed, but complained the whole time, talked to his baby mama on the phone, and barely did anything. And he was wearing slides. SLIDES!
Night fell.
I was DYING.
I couldn’t stand it. I started helping.
Yes, you read that right: I was paying your company to move my stuff, but I put myself to work.
My bruises are proof.
You sent two more sloths workers. Around 8 (8!), the storage unit was finally empty.
Let me remind you that one man, one woman and four teenage boys loaded the same size truck in less time than your “professionals.” And for the price of Zaxby’s.
Then it was time to unload at my house. Angry man left. The others stayed. Actually stepped up the pace. They wanted to be done as much as I wanted them to be done.
Everything was in a bit after midnight. MIDNIGHT, MIKE!
But then I overheard the two original guys talking about how they were going to get home. They don’t have cars. Their buses weren’t running. You — their boss who had scheduled them for three jobs in one day — told them to figure it out themselves. An Uber would be very expensive.
Sigh.
I drove your employees home, Mike.
Josh was going to walk back to just outside the Central West End. He apparently walked to work — a three-hour journey.
I don’t know how Jeff was going to get back to Washington Park, ILLINOIS.
I got back home around 3 a.m.
I think you should have given me a massive discount, but you didn’t.
I think the money I spent should go to your employees, but it won’t.
You thrive because you pay them $14 an hour, no benefits.
I told Josh and Jeff that Target pays $15 an hour with benefits.
I hope they take my advice.
More advice to anyone who will listen: Don’t use your company.
“Fake” ones rely on jump scares, which are too much like pranks for me.
However, when your children — whom you haven’t seen in almost two weeks — want you to go with them someplace, you say, “Yes.” Or at least I do.
Our group consisted of three moms and five teenage boys, ages 15-16.
Someone needs to shave.
Here are the things that I found scary upon arrival:
The ticket price. It was $30 each. Yikes!
The porta potties outside didn’t have lights inside them.
The lack of masks indoors. COVID isn’t gone, y’all!
Once inside, there were other things to scare me:
Just as I started to walk in, the dude pulling back the curtain stuck his hand in front of my face. I screamed from shock. Then giggled because HOW DUMB?!?
A huge animatronic demon face bum-rushed me and shoved me into a wall.
The floors were designed to match the “rooms.” Squishy flooring to represent grass in a cemetery, for example. What’s scary about that? The broken-ankle potential. I don’t need that again.
There was a corridor of clowns. HORRIFYING. I loathe clowns.
Each of the two haunted houses ends with a chainsaw-wielding madman. Or three. I loathe chainsaw-wielding madmen. (That comes from a certain movie seen at an impressionable age.)
One of the boys’ friends putting on a badass act. “What? I can’t help it if I’m not scared.” OK, then, Buzzkill.
I did have a good time, though. One of the best things was the boy banter.
Dominic: Gideon, be careful they don’t put you in one of the exhibits. Gideon: What? Dominic: “Oh, here’s another skeleton.” Dylan: More bones, all Fernbank style. Gideon (laughing): My superhero name can be Bones. Dominic: I feel like this right here is a villain origin story.
You said to me yesterday that I am “practically a foreign correspondent now.”
That resonated. I AM gathering information on a place that is new to me.
I’m trying to see and do as much as I can.
For example, I saw a billboard advertising tours of the Missouri State Penitentiary in Jefferson City.
Ghost tours.
Because of course they would offer ghost tours in October.
So I had to go.
Because of course I did.
I asked my mother if she wanted to go.
Me: I am booking a tour of the Missouri State Penitentiary Saturday night. Do you want to go? Her: (long pause) No.
I have no trouble going places alone, so I called to make the booking.
Me: The website says there’s no availability on any weekend tour. Lady on phone: We are sold out. When did you want to come? Me: Saturday. Her: How many? Me: Just me. Her: Just you? Me: Just me. Her: I can squeeze in one person. Me: Great! Her: 7, 8 or 9? Me: A.M.? Her (drily): P.M. It’s a ghost tour. Me: Right.
So I went. It’s an hour and some change north of Rolla. Rural Missouri looks like rural Georgia.
Fifty feet from this sign, there was a dead deer in a ditch. Must not have been good eatin’.What kind of fowl convention is this?
I got to Jefferson City early so I had time to look around.
Gov. Mike Parson’s place. He can walk to the Capitol building if he chooses. It’s a more modest place than Georgia Gov. Brian Kemp’s palace.Lewis, Clark and the gangBrisket, pulled pork, pit beans and jalapeño cheddar grits. Many animals were harmed in the making of this meal. I’m sorry.
At this point, you may be asking this:
But Beth, what about the ghost tour — the whole point of your trip?
Observe and report 