Two Weeks Since Wilma
And still no electricity. Fortunately, my partner in hurricane crime is back from London, so I am showering and charging my phone and soaking up the A/C up here in Boca.
But screw all that. This weekend, I voluntarily traveled to Missouri FOR THE SECOND TIME IN ONE YEAR, for MOCon, with a bunch of Noisies.
Holy crap, was that ever fun.
I already knew Kelly and Anthony – they were the reason for my first stop in Missouri, the first night of my buddy Maggie’s and my cross-country trip.
Kelly is only, like, my hero, and Anthony, Owner of the MeatPaws, is a witty motherfucker.
Everyone else was new. And they were great.
Harmony can rock some glitter eye pencil, she looks pretty in hats, and you know how they say a person speaks his or her mind? Well, no one REALLY does that, except for Harmony, and even if you think you do? After you meet Harmony, you realize you do not. All that is a good thing, by the way.
When you meet her husband, toph, you’ll sort of half stick out your hand for a handshake, then he’ll hug you instead, you’ll drink whiskey and smoke cigarettes, he’ll take 3618165 photos, and then later on, he’ll drop $20 for a group round of slots.
Heather is a knockout who appreciates the perfect harmony (ha!) of something called “Espresso Stout” as much as I do, and will spoon you mere hours after meeting you. (Hint: She likes to be the big spoon.)
Kim is patient and a trooper, generous with the bling, and her sleep apnea machine is surprisingly lulling.
As a group? We’ll gossip mercilessly, cop feels, go to bed too late, and laugh ‘till our faces hurt.
Next time, you should totally come.