As the birthday season rolls merrily along, @Petitedov offered to take me to see a movie on Tuesday night.
Since Wednesday was a holiday, I figured it was okay to go out on a school night. We made plans over the twitters and @elana13 decided she would come with. I left work at six and as I took the express train uptown, I laughed to myself because @petitedov is always late and @elana13 always bails at the last minute. I thought about what I was *really* going to end up doing on Tuesday night on the Upper East side.
There was a time, in my late twenties, when I lived up there — practically and literally — I’m still not in a place where I can remember any of it fondly. I trudged along familiar streets, distracting myself from ghosts with modern day pop songs. I texted Pdov when I got to the theater.
My phone vibrated with her reply:
“I thought we said 7? I can be there in fifteen minutes – text sent from @Petitedov’s text #”
(No, really, all her texts are stamped with that signature.)
“Yeah, the trip from downtown was faster than I thought it would be. I’ll find someplace to hang out.”
I hit send and then remembered something:
“- text sent from @realdawnsummers’ text #”
hahahahahahhaah. I’m awesome.
I wandered around, shaking off nostalgia and memory triggers at every corner. I decided to stay put and “hang out” with my twitter friends. Everyone was talking about Maude for some reason, but I don’t know anything about Maude except that she was the first television character to have an abortion, so I started a Different Strokes conversation.
“Remember when Arnold’s goldfish died”?
I got another text from Pdov:
“The bus driver was xenophobic and wouldn’t let me on the bus – text sent from @petitedov’s text #”
I continued reading twitter. There’s a woman trying to find someone to adopt her four year old dog, which she describes as “the love of her life,” and goes on to explain that she and her daughter are moving to a new apartment that doesn’t allow pets. “I’m so heartbroken about this, I’ve been crying all day.” She then attached a picture of her hugging a dog on a couch. I presume this is the aforementioned life love. I rolled my eyes. If she loved the dog so much, why would she move into an apartment that doesn’t allow dogs. I’m sure she looked at places that didn’t allow children and passed those over rather than put her child up for adoption. (Although, the other day, I saw this on twitter.)
I’m thinking about whether I want to post my Judgy McJudgerton thoughts on twitter when another text from petitedov comes through:
“I was running across the street and I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. – text sent from @petitedov’s text #”
Dawn Summers did not laugh.
I’d been standing on the corner, wearing a shin length black dress with white polka dots and three quarter sleeves, for a little more than twenty minutes. I was like a wholesome hooker. I figured since the Mets game was just starting, I could just go hang out at her apartment and watch a few innings of baseball. So, I replied that I’d walk up to her place.
I got on a bus instead, because, what am I? An animal?
By the time I was near her front door, she texted back that she would get her husband to drive her to the theater. It was a text sent from @petitedov’s text #.
“Did you leave yet? I’m downstairs already. – text sent from @realdawnsummers’ text #”
Seriously, I’m hilarious.
“Okay, come up. Apt. 4Z. -text sent from @petitedov’s text #”
There was a white woman surrounded by shopping bags standing in front of the doorbell pad. She was rooting through her purse, ostensibly, for her keys.
I stood back, not wanting to interrupt her search, but after two minutes of standing on the step waiting for her to move, I decided to go for it:
“Um… excuse me,” I said reaching around her to press the bell for apartment 4Z. Startled, she shifted a bit to the right and I pressed the bell.
She had finally gotten her keys out and scooped up her myriad bags in her arms and opened the door. I held the door ajar as she wriggled inside, but she gave me a glance as I stepped inside after her. We repeated the dance as she opened the interior door.
She entered the elevator, I stepped in beside her. She was now visibly anxious. She set all her bags down and pushed the number four in the elevator and stepped back so I could push the button for my floor.
I waved, “no, I’m going to four too.” I saw panic flash across her face. She quickly picked up all her bags in her arms, so that when the elevator reached four, she would be ready to make a run for it.
I suppressed the urge to laugh. She totally thinks I’m going to rob and kill her.
When the elevator reached the fourth floor, she dashed out and turned left. I didn’t know what side Z was on, but I went in the opposite direction, so the crazy lady wouldn’t preemptively stab me with her keys. Of course, Z was on the other side. There I was following her again. She must have heard my footsteps or seen me out of the corner of her eye because she basically started to run down the hallway. She dropped the bags and jammed her keys into each lock as I walked closer and closer. I might have giggled.
Turns out she lives RIGHT ACROSS THE HALL from Petitedov in apartment Y.
I could hear her installing extra locks and pushing furniture up against the door for good measure.
By now, I’m audibly laughing. Later, when I told the story to Elana, she was like “but you’re wearing a dress and flats. Only crimes of passion are committed in dresses!”
I rang apartment zee’s bell and Petitedov’s voice said “Um…Dawn? Hold on. I don’t have any pants on.”
She opened the door all pantsless to my roaring laughter. She thought I was laughing about her pantslessness.
“Don’t laugh at me! I fell and look, my knee is all scraped and it’s swelling!”
I laughed even harder. I then noticed her husband sitting in the corner of the apartment and a memory stirred of how he used to put up Christmas tree lights with no pants on and I used to call him Peter No Pants. And then he’d be all “I HAD ON PANTS!” And I’d be all “well then why do I call you ‘Peter No Pants,’ that wouldn’t make any sense!”
Ah good times, good times.
Now, I’m laughing for a million and a half reasons.
I tell them the story about their across the hall neighbor and how she’s probably calling the police as we speak. They say they never heard me ring the downstairs bell and didn’t buzz me up! (Whoops!)
I then tell all of twitter that Petitedov is wearing no pants and start calling her husband “Peter No Pants” again and I make up the slogan: the family that doesn’t wear pants together stays together!
“I was wearing pants,” he mumbles.
Petitedov gets him to drive us to the movie theater (which is like ten blocks away. He’s all, but I have a good parking spot! She’s all, but pleeeasseee? I hurt my knee and it’s swelling! And he’s all, the spot is RIGHT IN FRONT OF OUR BUILDING!) On our way, we get a text from Elana saying she’ll be at the theater in five minutes.
NO FREAKING WAY! At that point, I noticed that Petitedov’s car had no driver’s side mirror. “DUDE! DUUUUUDDDEE!!!!”
“Yeah, a cab hit it off.”
“Aren’t you worried you’ll kill a bicyclist?!”
“Yeah, that’s why I didn’t want to drive,” No Pants said.
“Oh, but now you’ll think about how much you love me and you’re glad I didn’t walk on a swollen knee,” Petitedov said sweetly.
“Yeah, I’ll think about you, alright!” No Pants said mentally shaking his fist.
I laughed and laughed.
Elana was waiting for us on the corner.
“Wow, she’s the Dawn Summers of showing up today!”
Petitedov looked at me.
“Because Dawn Summers means like ‘Awesome’”
Petitedov laughed in my face.
“You look nice,” Elana said.
“I’ve had this dress since I was 14!” I replied.
“You shouldn’t admit that,” Petitedov said.
“My dad would love you,” Elana said “he’s always like ‘this shirt? I’ve had it 19 years!’”
We went inside and got our tickets.
At this point, I have no idea what we’re going to see, but Petitedov says the theater is on five. We get to the fifth floor and walk into the theater. We find three seats together in the center. I sit down, Elana starts in after me and suddenly she goes “everyone else is wearing glasses.”
Sure enough, I look around and notice all the 3D glasses, look at the screen and it’s all blurry. We had walked into an already started showing of Lincoln the Vampire Hunter.
We scurried out, but as we left, I noticed an old lady sitting there WITHOUT glasses… are there people born with 3D vision? What’s up with that? Anyway, we go to the other theater on the floor and get our seats. They show a bunch of previews and for some reason, I am laughing hysterically at the Steve Carrell “Looking for a Friend…” promos. I whisper to Petitedov, clearly that movie is going to suck. Our movie starts and it’s very clear that this is going to be one of those “quirky films.” I panic.
“Dude, is this a Coen Brothers movie??” Cause I WILL walk the fuck out, right now!
“No. Wes Anderson. Shhh.”
Fine. I took a sip of my smuggled in soda and settled in for a night of whimsy.
-this post was posted from @realdawnsummers’ blog