Ricki, Don't Lose That Number

And now we're back with our regularly scheduled programming. Already in progress. So that we're all caught up, we're in the process of hearing my very long, unnecessarily and overly dramatized story about how and why (on Earth) I was on the Ricki Lake Show. We've established that I was young.

What we haven't covered yet, was that my best friend in college was an adventurer, a regular mountain climber of excitement, a smart and brazen combination of youthful spirit and capriciousness. It would be immature and lame to forgo all responsibility for my actions and blame someone else.

It was all her fault. She found out about the call from the Ricki Lake producer, and, since I hadn't even mentioned this dude to her as yet, the dude from the camp. Whom we are calling "J." And she was R-E-L-E-N-T-L-E-S-S.

Her: "Let's go! Let's go gallivanting around New York City!"
Me: "'We?' They called me."
Her: "Well, just tell them that I'm coming too!"
Me: "I should just inform them who is coming onto their show?"
Her: "Yes! Free ticket to New York! We'll skip the show!"
Me: "Hm.. That is a good idea."
Her: "Let's go! We'll just gallivant around the city for a while, then fly home!"
Me: "So what if they cancel our return flights?"
Her: "Who cares? We'll get home! I have a final that day though."
Me: "Well, you have to skip it. And when did you start saying 'gallivanting'?"

So, I call the show back, or, more accurately, they call me back to follow up. Again. And I tell them I have this friend. They tell me to bring her on the show, too. They tell me a bunch of stuff that I need to hear to be even remotely interested in following through with this. Meanwhile, I have NOT spoken to 'J' about any of this. In fact, I haven't talked to him in a few months. I'm not sure I could recognize him right now.

Another extremely important piece of information: I call my Mom, to tell her about all of this. The extreme excitement of it all. She listens. She sighs. She absolutely forbids me from going on a show such as this one. Done, and done! (And now-poof! I have a child as stubborn and rebellious as I was. Karma. Arrgh.)

Long story short (too late!) the Pope is in town. At the exact same time. All hotels are sold out, booked, or we are gravely lied to and naive. Probably both. In any case, we are booked into a hotel in New Jersey. Told the times to appear for the limo to pick us up.

The limo does, in fact show up at the airport. It also shows up at the hotel, and we.. looking around at our various options of Waffle Houses and 7-Elevens in New Jersey, decide to get in. It does, in fact, take us directly to the Ricki Lake show, where, surprisingly, there is a line around the building to get in. (This is the 90s, remember.) We, in possession of all our faculties and stepping out of a limo in New York, feeling like the rock stars we believe ourselves to be, are escorted into a special door to a special elevator to a special private room.

Gallivanting plot is FOILED. Damn you, Ricki.

I haven't told anyone this story in a long time (like, since college) and it's taking all my faculties now to remember how this went. ERGO, part three, the final chapter, will resume tomorrow. Avec les pictures (no screen shots, sorry).