SHORT:
Hit an executive functioning LOW this week! :) :) :) I left myself THREE separate notes to remember to bring the lemon bars Jess made (FROM SCRATCH) to a dinner (an hour away from our house). Then showed up, realized I’d forgotten them, and immediately spiraled.
Mid-appetizer, I started texting our neighbors (one French, one a male gyno-in-training) to see if they could use the spare key in our lockbox, grab the bars from the fridge, and leave them downstairs for a TaskRabbit I’d dispatch to hand-deliver them to Bushwick during the entrée.
The French woman was out of town. The gyno-in-training didn’t reply until the next morning… and then sent his girlfriend up at 9am to get them… who texted “No key in the lockbox.” SO THE PLAN WOULDN’T HAVE WORKED ANYWAY.
Reminder: I tried to get on ADHD meds, but my psychiatrist said to “buy a special clock off Amazon” instead.
HOW BOUT I SPECIAL CLOCK U OVA THE HEAD, CHRISTINA!
^ not a real threat
MEDIUM:
48 hours after LemonBarGate, Jess and I took a last-minute trip to stay with my great-uncle and great-aunt (two retired musicians who live deep in the woods of Cape Cod, wear only Carhartt, and use old hand-drums as nightstands).
Somehow, flying was cheaper than taking the train, so we went to LaGuardia, where Jess immediately entered Bamm-Bamm mode (the term I now use to describe their complete lack of fine motor skills and their aggressive approach to all physical tasks: eating, drinking, driving, closing lids, opening lids, clearing their throat, opening cabinets, etc).
Last week, Jess was drying a nice Pyrex container at work and it went flying out of their hands and smashed into a million pieces (blood everywhere).
It’s named, of course, after the Flintstones character.
^ This is exactly what Jess looked like at the airport1
Anyway, Jess went full Bamm-Bamm and dropped their Starbucks knockoff boba all over the terminal floor, then stood there seriously weighing whether to reinsert the straw and finish the remaining tea. They ultimately decided against it, only because the straw had “touched the airport carpet”.
After the Bamm-Bamm Boba Bash, we boarded the plane which appeared to be from the Coolidge administration… or the Wright brothers’ second draft). We were seated four rows apart, so when the captain came over the loudspeaker and announced we’d be departing early, Jess texted me: “Early? Hell yes! Delta I’ll suck ur dick!”
We did not take off early. We sat on the tarmac for 40 minutes. So Jess closed their mouth. Spiritually. Physically, it stayed open while they slept on the plane2 and continued opening and closing the entire car ride from the airport as they ranted: “Why would you say we’re leaving early if you KNOW we’re gonna sit there for 40 goddamn minutes?3”
LONG:
That night, we stayed at my cousin Maya Papaya’s house (not her legal name, we just call her that because she’s a ginger, it rhymes, and she lets it happen) before catching an overpriced 8am ferry to Provincetown.
On the ferry, we watched an old woman house a fully-loaded hot dog before 8:45am. I downed some Dramamine to avoid fully-loading the boat myself and spent the rest of the ride gripped by a different nausea: the constant, creeping fear that I’d run into my therapist (he’d ended the last session by casually mentioning that he’d also be in Provincetown that weekend).
When we docked, Jess suggested we walk out onto a long, rocky jetty for ninety minutes, in direct sunlight. I was still Dram-drowsy, and about halfway through I had a full-body heat-stroke/limbs-jello/sunburn/mental collapse. Jess abandoned the rocks and waded through brackish low-tide water “for some peace” while I tried to pull it together.
The walk ended at a pilgrim landing memorial, where I sprinted to the nearest patch of shade and dramatically put my head between my legs while the straight couples who’d also walked the jetty looked on. And ya, they were all straight. I stand by the belief that we are the only two gay people in human history to walk that jetty. Provincetown is not for jetty-walking. It’s for iced coffee, soft pants, and going Bamm-Bamm in an entirely different way.
Eventually, my freakout ended and we visited the lesbian book store with huge posters of Anne Frank and RBG on the wall and then ate dinner next to two gay vegans that Jess kept trying to telepathically communicate with to let know that they are also vegan before seeing the drag queen Dina Martina perform (who mostly just yelled “I CAN’T WAIT TO DIE!” on loop… a perfect show and a perfect reflection of how I felt during LemonBarGate, on the jetty, the next day when I was beet red, and every time I turned a corner on Commercial Street half-expecting to lock eyes with my therapist in Crocs).
Other trip highlights included:
-Jess getting money from a PTown ATM that had the words “Gay Money” printed on it and then sheepishly using it at the Wellfleet farmer’s market a day later and whispering “Sry it’s from PTown” while handing it to the teen at the register.
-No phone or computer for basically the entire trip (even now, I’m transferring this to my laptop at 1am after a train ride).
-Face-In-Too-Many-Holes4.
-Consuming roughly 15 ice cream cones in 72 hours. During which Bamm-Bamm returned, and the ice cream dripped, plopped, and flew in ways you wouldn’t believe.
-Dramamine Meltdown Part II: moments after getting off the ferry back to Boston. Barely made it the 25 minute walk to Boston Commons…5
-Not running into my therapist
Well, hope this was fun to read.
Thing I’ve been thinking about of the week: When you despair at others' apparent success, you are not reacting to their joy. You are grieving the parts of yourself capitalism forced you to abandon in the name of survival?
SNACK OF THE WEEK = THE LEMON BARS I FORGOT TO BRING TO DINNER
C U Next Tuesday.
Thank you for subscribing to this newsletter. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s not [like when people slip on ice]. If you wanna, you can also check out the archives.
Sincerely,
Reid Pope
Bonus Zone:
^ Me with Anne at the lesbian bookstore
This is someone who yells at me for breathing near their pillow… (but who’s countin’!!!)
Wasn’t there to witness, but I know it
Midway through the 20-minute flight, Delta also proudly announced that they’re working to make all planes have fast, free WiFi… but this one doesn’t. So… sorry.
As dedicated Reiders know, Jess has Face-In-Hole Disease, which compels them to insert their face into every wooden cutout they encounter. I snapped a few solo pics of them in a lobster hole as people walked by, unsure whether to clap or call security.
And the meltdown continued on the walk to dinner. I barely made it to the vegan Thai place and took most of the food to go. We brought it on the train back to Boston and stored it in the overhead compartment… imagining what we’d do if the train hit a bump and faux Chick’n rained down on the loud Spanish tourists we were seated with. We decided our best line of defense would be to look shocked and yell, “Whose Chick’n is that???”
i am so glad i clicked on the "additional clip of the week" LMAO
Lemonbargate!!!!!