Last Sunday I nearly missed my opportunity to meet David Sedaris. The night prior, Aaron and I went out with friends. Rum was involved. I don’t normally drink hard alcohol.
It was Trisha’s birthday. She requested that we dress in a 1970’s theme. We all half-assed that part. Elizabeth looked like a flower child, Aaron resembled Greg Brady and I looked like a poorly dressed kindergarten teacher. We looked like a group of rejects with a penchant for polyester. Our friend Jon wore a dress shirt unbuttoned to his naval. It was alarming. Toward the end of the night I took to petting his chest hair and telling others to do the same. I thought I was being hilarious not creepy. The house band dubbed John Mr. Sexy (a nickname that has since stuck). At one point the band serenaded me with an Irish Ballad—proof of my utter inebriation.
Normally I’m the designated driver but Aaron and I swapped for the night. Thanks to the rum the next day I could'nt stand up without upchucking. It was awful. Worse, were the flashbacks of absurd conversations I had with people the night before. I am far too old for that kind of behavior. The hang over and puking would not have been so bad if it weren’t for the fact that I had tickets to see and met David Sedaris at the Balboa Theatre. I was in such bad shape that I considered giving my ticket, to see my favorite author, away.
I feel I should clarify one thing: I have not drank to the point of vomiting since I was in my early twenties. Moving on…
At 5pm on Sunday, Aaron coxed me out of my hung-over slumber.
“You’ll feel better after a shower. Trust me.” He said
After a lot of grumbling I took a bath. I felt much better. I dressed and ate a cheese stick with out up chucking. At 7pm I left for the Balboa Theatre. When the usher walked me to my seat I was shocked to find I was one row behind the stage. I could actually see the pores on Mr. Sedaris’ face. It was awesome.
After the show I waited in line for two hours to meet him. I was so nervous when it was my turn that I rambled on and on like an idiot. He was very gracious and offered me some of his pretzels and laughed at the way I called the girl sitting next to me a chick. He inscribed my copy of Dress Your Family in Corduroy with an inappropriate Spanish phrase. I love him.
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