Mr. Sedaris, You're a Bit of a Charmer, Aren't You?

My cell phone is kind of wonky. See, whenever someone calls me, and I have it on silent, it decides to have a mind of its own and just vibrate for ten straight minutes.  If someone calls me more than once in a row, the vibration lasts until you either answer the phone when they call again, or make a call yourself. I am only telling you these delightful little facts about my phone because otherwise you would think my friend Josh was stalking me and just calling me non-stop for 30 minutes. He wasn't, he called a whole of three times in a row.

We, and by we I mean friends of mine and myself, went to see David Sedaris read live. I love David Sedaris, partly because of his writing style, partly because of public speaking style, partly because of his work on NPR, and partly because he does not judge me for my gross misuse of the word "partly."

So, when Josh starts calling me, over and over, I am reluctant to get up. After all, Mr. Sedaris lives in France, when is the next time he will be in Aurora, Illinois? I mean, have you been to Aurora? It's...uh...quaint.

But then he keeps calling, and my phone is in my back pocket, and I think to myself  "What's the worst thing he could be calling about?"

And then the bad part of my mind takes over, and I am picturing Baby Peas and/or Baby Carrots has been hurt, and he needs to go to the hospital. Perhaps Baby Carrots has found the neighbor's hidden smack collection and needs his stomach pumped and a stint in rehab? (The possibilities only get worse from there, and far more graphic and improbable, so I will spare you them.) My weird train of thought about horrible possibilities goes on and on for roughly half an hour.

So, I resolve to get up, go to the bathroom, and see what he needs. If nothing else, I need my phone to stop vibrating because at this point my left asscheek is falling asleep from all the vibration.

The problem is I loathegetting up in theaters. I always feel like I am rubbing my ass on people excessively. Like, I am trying to scooch out of the row, and if I turn around my ass will rub against the next row of people's heads. But if I try to get out the normal way, my ass will be in everyone in my row's faces. It's an asstastick predicament, let me tell you.

So I get up, rub my ass on the people's heads in front of me, and head to the bathroom to make the call. Nothing was wrong, he was just checking in. I promised to make him perogies, and he wanted to make sure I remembered. (I totally didn't)

All-in-all though, it was a fantastic night! We accidentally drove to DeKalb, Illinois (for those of you not in this state - We drove to Nowhere, USA.)

But it was nice to hear someone speak who over-thinks things as much as I do, and reads too much into how much people notice things. Things like the fact that I accidentally rubbed my ass on roughly 13 people in one night.