Never Been to Spain
Hello, Innernetz! I guest posted at Kelley’s blog, Magneto Bold Too, a few days ago. I’m cross-posting it here just in case you didn’t get a chance to pop over there and read it.
I went to see Wolverine earlier this week. Did I replay the Hugh Jackman in his birthday suit scene over and over again in my dreams that night? Oh, quit whining. That’s not a spoiler, folks. That’s incentive. Now plop your $12.50 down and go get a gander at some man candy.
Anyway, no, I did not dream of Hugh “Come-to-me-Baby” Jackman. I dreamt that my mother was trying to get me to go to church. But not just any church. It was some country church with hard wooden pews and a preacher who looked like he just stepped off the set of The Scarlett Letter. There was a fruit stand just down the street selling cherry pie and I could see it from my pew. I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean. I don’t even like cherry pie all that much.
Anyway, I woke up craving pie and pissed off that I did not dream of Hugh “You Know You Want Me” Jackman. But the universe was not finished fucking with me yet. I packed up my bag o’ books and headed to Starbucks to study. As some of you know, my Starbuck’s study days are often rather interesting. I am a magnet for the flotsam and jetsam of humanity who want to critique my hair or otherwise flaunt their crazy. This particular day was no different.
The coffee shop was relatively empty. I set my laptop up in my usual spot, a tiny table that’s just large enough for my computer and a book. About an hour later, I was thoroughly engrossed in my work when I heard someone say in a pissed off voice, “I said hello!” I looked up to find a woman standing beside my table with a Tupperware bin filled with a murky biohazard and, in her other hand, a newspaper. “Um, hello?” I said, sure that she had mistaken me for someone else — like someone who was about to share my table when there were at least ten empty ones in the store. At my acknowledgment, she beamed. Her face broke into a smile and her hair, which radiated out from her head like braided spokes on a wagon wheel, practically shivered with delight, each braid giving the others enthusiastic high-fives. My stomach dropped. And then she dropped into the seat across from me, pushing my laptop across the table and placing her Tupperware Dumpster of Death and newspaper in the now-empty spot.
Now, for the uninitiated, if you MUST share a table at a coffee shop, all that is required is a civil acknowledgment of the other person’s existence. You do not need to engage in small talk, exchange phone numbers, or arrange for a house swap while one of you is in France. No, just nod. Smile. And done. Apparently, Wilma Wagon Wheel didn’t get the memo. She plopped down and immediately started blathering, only pausing to inhale enough air to re-inflate.
“Do you think we’re going to get some sun today? I like to go barefoot when it’s sunny. It makes my corns feel good.”
*deep breath*
“What kinda laxtop is that? My brother has a laxtop but his looks better than that one!
*deep breath and a shaking of the braids over the sorry state of my “laxtop”*
“Did you see Medea Goes to Jail, Race to Witch Mountain, Mall Cop? ”
*deep breath*
The easiest thing would have been for me to move to another table, but once again I was cursed by my southern upbringing. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings so I stayed put. And, as she opened the Tupperware Dumpster and began gobbing its contents like a mouse trapped in a cheese wheel, I figured she’d either finish and leave soon or the hazmats she was eating would kill her. I tried to focus on my work only giving her a nod and an “uh-huh” every now and then. I figured she’d get the hint. She didn’t. Instead, she stopped mid-slurp and slammed the container down on the table slopping a few tentacles over the edge and soaking her newspaper with ooze. “What are you looking at?!” she yelled. Oh, crap. What the hell is going on? I looked up from my laptop to see that she was directing her ire toward a man at a table several feet away. “What are you looking at?!” she yelled again. In an indignant stage whisper, she turns to me and gestures, “That man is staring at us.”
And then I sealed my fate. I answered her. “He’s not looking at us,” I said. He’s working.” With an emphasis on the “working.” That simple answer appeased her and now, having gotten my attention, her braids did a happy dance. “I’m going to Hallelujah!” she said. “Have you ever been to Hallelujah?” she asked. Shitfire, I thought. She’s going to whip out her Gideon Bible, or Watchtower, or copy of Dianetics. My dream of my mom trying to get me to go to church became less of a dream and more like a premonition.
“No, I’ve never been to Hallelujah. I’ve never even heard of it,” I said. She was flabbergasted. Her eyes rounded into a Tex Avery cartoon look of surprise and her braids just about leapt off her head in shock. “YOU’VE NEVER HEARD OF HALLELUJAH?!” she shouted. “Nope, sorry,” I said, shaking my head, “Where is it?” Clearly disgusted by my lack of world geography, she waved her hand in the general direction of the Starbucks entry and said, “You know, over there!” I just shrugged and gave her a weak smile and said, “Sorry, still don’t know where it is,” as I prayed to God and L. Ron Hubbard that she would not ask me to look it up on my laxtop. But I didn’t need to look it up because she described it to me in great detail. How she’d gone to Liberty Travel to book her ticket (I didn’t even know people used travel agencies anymore) and that she just wanted to get her ticket but the travel agent wouldn’t stop talking about transfers, fees, and other mundane things. But she finally got her ticket. Just that morning. But she wasn’t sure where she’d put it. No problem, she’d go back and get another one if she couldn’t find it.
“Are you sure you’ve never been to Hallelujah?” she asked. The look of pity on her face was genuine. First, I had a second-rate laptop and now, she discovers, I have never been to Hallelujah. Hell, I’ve never even heard of Hallelujah! So, she described it to me.
Hallelujah has water, and sand, and palm trees and — wait a minute, this is sounding awfully familiar. “Do you mean Honolulu?” I asked. “Where?” she asked? “Honolulu,” I repeated. “It sounds like that’s what you’re describing.” “Honolulu? I’ve never heard of such a place! Honolulu?” she said as she and her braids start laughing at my stupidity. “Honolulu. Hmph!” Now she thinks I am completely off my rocker. “It’s just that I’ve never heard of Hallelujah and what you are describing sounds a lot like Honolulu.” I must have offended her with my suggestion because she placed the lid on her Tupperware Dumpster with a brusque snap! and gathered up her newspaper, soggy though it was with offal. She and her braids turned their back on me and began to walk away from the table. “What do you know,” she said, “you’ve never even heard of Hallelujah!”
She stomped away. Three feet away. And plopped herself down at the table of the man she’d yelled at just moments before. I sighed with relief, went back to my reading, and pitied the poor man as, five minutes later, I heard her exclaim, “YOU’VE NEVER HEARD OF HALLELUJAH?!”
Posted on Saturday, May 30, 2009 at 11:29 AM.
Tags: It's off to work we go, In The Neighborhood, La Vida Loca
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Comments & Trackbacks
Well, DAYUM… I gotta get me a tixet to Hallelujah! Maybe I can book it on my laxtop. But maybe Hallelujah is one of those places that you really NEED a real, live travel agent to get a ticket for.
You edjumacated peoples and your “Honolulu"… I mean REALLY… Honolulu… is that where the purple unicorns live? (They’re really tasty boiled in BBQ sauce and aged in Tupperware… you should try it...)
Nothing to say here but “whoa.”
Wow. That is. . . well, that is something. I didn’t have any sort of southern upbringing, but I have the same issue with being too polite to people who have no sense of manners.
Maybe Hallelujah is like Brigadoon?
Oh. My. What is it about you that attracts the weirdwads?
That being said, anytime you want to guest post at my place, just let me know!
MsDarkstar — All I know is that Honolulu is the capital of Hawaii and that it has palm trees and sand and that if you say it fast enough it sounds like Hallelujah. It’s the only thing I could think of. I’ll have to get back to you about the purple unicorns.
Mr. POSSLQ — Exactly.
Allie — If Hallelujah is like Brigadoon, I can only hope that she’ll disappear for a few hundred years and leave me to study in peace.
Ms. H — I have always been the target for people who’s screws are a bit loose. I’m not sure what that says about me.
you seem to have a fatal attraction...when it comes to nuts.
Come to think of it when a madman gets on a bus he always sits next to me and starts shouting that I killed his sister in wolverhampton…
That is just all kids of horrible.
See, I had a secondary southern upbringing but I guess I’ve lived in PA too long. Because I would have given her a look of unutterable disgust, and said, “That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen. Do you HAVE to eat it here?” Screw her feelings; unfortunately people like her are impossible to kill with insults. They’re already as messed up as they can get.
I really would like to know what she expects to see in Hallelujah. I mean, does she think bibles will fall from the palm trees? Luau pigs jump out of the ground as a Ressurection Recital? That she will scuba dive for crosses and commandment tablets?
I don’t know. It sounds like she was THISCLOSE to inviting you to go. You missed your chance, Curly!
Isn’t Hallelujah the place where Tammy Faye worked? Anyway, the cherry pie and The Scarlett Letter replacing your Hugh Jackman dream? Your mind was doing a definite Southern version of a Freudian thing on you. And I think you should have taken your new friend to the post office to meet your old friend.
You do attract a mighty interesting cross section of the world to sit by your side, don’t you?
Wait, I’ve mentioned meeting you before. Does this place me in the weirdo category?
YOu sure have some luck meeting people. I am afraid to say anything about my luck for fear I will jinx myself.
Just to be sure I googled Hallelujah and it doesn’t look like I have ever been there either!
Oh man, I saw Wolverine this week, too, and his bod is HOT!!!
rosie — Is he a madman or does he know something about you that the rest of us don’t?
FreedomFirst — If I had said that, she would have probably offered to share. Ew.
thecoconutdiaries — And we could’ve gone to Hallelujah on the backs of angels while they served us holy water and wafers, right? I always fail to see the best opportunities when they are right in front of me. Maybe next time.
Jules — I would serve Hugh Jackman cherry pie. Lots and lots of cherry pie.
GeekHiker — Well, if we ever happen to meet up, you’ll have to check my blog post the next day to find out what I really think.
mccgood — YOU’VE NEVER BEEN TO HALLELUJAH!
Valley Girl — Hothothothothothothot. And hot.
I guest-commented on your guest-post, but I think it went into that person’s spam folder. That blogger doesn’t even know me! Still, it was probably a good call. It was mostly a lot of libel and swear words anyway.
Whoa… it’s stories like this that make me a bit glad that I don’t actually live in NYC anymore.
Beautifully told, though, as always!
Now, maybe you can dream of Hugh on a Hallelujah beach! 
You tell these stories in such a wonderful way that it leaves me feeling both like I was right there but also glad for Ms. Braids’ sake that I was not. Give your hardened New Yorker soul some credit. You are much more patient than me.
Are all people in NY weird or are you just a magnet for the few weird ones? Seriously, girl, you need to be exorcised or something. Maybe they can just tell by looking at you that you won’t be mean to them (until you get home and write a post about them, that is). I have bad appliance mojo, you have bad stranger mojo!
If I’m not mistaken, “Liberty Travel” is merely a euphemism for the combination of drugs, your gender of preference, and astroglide. I know this because I go to Hallelujah all the time.
Starbucks is a fine place to watch a slice of humanity that lives in a bubble, on a planet of sorts, separated from reality only by the finest of bubble skins. Finer than Double Bubble skins, my astute observer of human bizarreness. Got my 17 1/2” flat screen hi def HP laxtop gigging me some Google from hot plates in servers beyond my bubble. I have read the whole fucking library at my college and yours.
I do love the way your synapses fire!
flurrious — Ohhh! Libel and swear words! My favorite! Too bad I missed it.
Jen of a3eatwrite — If I were with Hugh on a beach, I would be the one singing Hallelujah (sorry, Mr. Dingo).
Jules — I’m just a magnet for the weird ones. And I have had people tell me that I have a friendly face. I think I need to practice my scowl.
stoogepie — Do you mean to tell me that Wilma Wagon Wheel was propositioning me the entire time?! Oh, stoogepie, I have much to learn from you.
G — You’ve read the whole fuckin’ library and you haven’t been to Hallelujah!
Never been to Hallelujah. If you have an extra ticket, I’d be happy to go with you someday 
You see? You see? This is why I wish I lived in NYC again and I just realized that I believe I leave the same comment every time I read one of your posts. i can’t help it.
Anyway, your posts are all so freaking hilarious. God, i just love your writing and I’m not just saying that b/c you have a nice laxtop than me
Dear lord. Is there a crazy house up the street she escaped from and stole the kitchen slop from???
I think maybe you discovered Odd Boy’s birth mother.
It is rather astounding how you attract the crazies like a magnet. Maybe they know you write about them and it’s their opportunity to attain Internet fame.
If she was talking about Honolulu, I think Hallelujah is a fitting name for it. I’d even consider going to church in Honolujah if it meant drinking umbrella cocktails and staring at hot surfers after the sermon.
Wow, and you just let a perfect stranger sit there next to you with those jacked-up braids and toxic slop? Brave very brave. You might have to disinfect your laxtop. Those kinds of people carry scurvy and the like. She probably contracted it in Hallelujah.
G — I’ve never even heard of Hallelujah!
jessica — New York misses you! Come back! Just think, we could split the crazies between us. I’ll share.
sara.jane — I don’t think she came from any crazy house. She’s just one of our more colorful NYC residents.
Mel Heth — I would definitely go to church if they served cocktails. They get bent all out of shape when you nip the communion wine.
Toe — No scurvy, I’m sure. The only thing toxic on her was her toxic slop. And I really did like her braids. They waved at me.
I wonder if they can see Russia from Hallelujah?
I think you definitely need to remodel and get a badass home office with an expresso machine - your days out at Starbucks scare me, no really!
i haven’t laughed this hard in a while, and with the craziness that is my life lately, i need a little bit of that Hallelujah to make me smile. i gotta tell my roommate that she’s moving to Hallelujah next month.
dingo, i think i’m going to start hanging out at the strabucks and rite aid and wherever else you go so i can get some hallelujah by osmosis. thanks.
April — You betcha!
The Accessorista — I just need to find a different Starbucks. Then again, a home office wouldn’t be bad at all.
blakspring — Just walking down the street is enough. Remember when we saw the woman dancing on the sidewalk and the man traipsing down the street hitting people in the head with balloons?
Wait, what? Was she trying to get you to join a cult? I like her Large Marge eyes, they really bring out her crazy.
I checked out your site from the blogger awards and liked it. I voted for you. I hope you win.
Please check out my site nominated for the best blog design. http://bloggerschoiceawards.com/blogs/show/73022. I hope you will vote for me also. Thanks!
Hillary — She does look like Large Marge, doesn’t she?
Emilie — Thanks!
First off- I hope your title is a reference to Three Dog Night because I love that song.
Secondly, how are even the crazies having better vacations than me?
You are one smart chicka to have figured out Honolulu from Hallelujah. I’d still be scratching my head wondering what the blazes she was talking about.
Movies really cost $12.50? $6 here...$5 if you want to do to the Drive-in. Come see me!!!
Prosey — Prosy, I responded to your comment days ago and am just now discovering that it didn’t show up. Sometimes I think my blog hates me. Anyway, yes, Three Dog Night! And I’m sure you could have just as good a vacay as the crazies if you were taking whatever they are taking.
Marian — Palm trees, sand, water...of course it was Honolulu! Yeah, right. Lucky guess on my part and hell, it may not even be right.
Pick up the Fork — I am! I’m going to come see you and drink longnecks while watching cheap movies.
You are so polite! I would have moved to a different table - specially if I am studying. I probably would have blurted hallelujah when she moved to a different table too! lol Oh, I love Hugh J too! If dreaming about him is cheating then I am a cheater haha
Crazy bitch!! Thank you for this post. That was the hilarious, and I needed that. Always beware of the CRAZY EYES.