I've been to Montreal, Freeport, Marlborough, Washington D.C, and Boston with Hilary. Every time we go away, there are specific memories we take with us and rehash often.
I had been dreaming, *DREAMING* of seeing the Dirty Dancing play at the Boston Opera House since Christmas when ads began playing on the TV and radio.
Coincidentally, Hilary also wanted to see the play. So, being the industrious girls we are, we starting looking for cheap tickets. We found them for at least one-HUNDRED dollars less then we should have (for the seats we really wanted too!) Searching for tickets was the easy part.
We went Friday evening. We left my house at 4:00 on-the-dot. Once we pulled out the my driveway everything went to hell.
The following things happened to us after we left my house:
When we arrived in Boston Hilary pulled up to the curb at Davis Square around 5:15 pm. She hit the curb and nicked a large piece off the very new (read: expensive) rim of her front tire.
We were so upset and flustered with this that we walked, in a daze, around Davis Square looking for the Italian restaurant recommended to us.
As we approach the restaurant we notice it had gone out of business. We went into a few stores to ask where we could find nice Italian place, and we're pointed in several directions. We find a place called
Sagra and as we're about to enter... it hits me.
"Hilary! We didn't pay the meter!"
We run all the way way back to the car, all the while asking people on the street, "Do they ticket after 5:00?"... "Do we have to pay the meter after 5:00?" Many people don't know, or won't answer us. Hilary then, in a moment of complete brilliance, decides to ask a bike messenger if we have to pay after 5:00. He looks at her as though she's insane and says, "You're really asking a cyclist that?"
As we approach her car we see the bright orange envelope under her wiper. A $20 ticket. She puts several quarters into the meter, realizing after she drops in the sixth or seventh that it will only allow us to pay for 2 hours at a time. Damn, more money wasted.
We walk all the way back (several blocks to the restaurant) and I trip and almost fall because I stupidly forgot to change my high heels and I'm walking on cobblestone. I did say almost fall, because luckily a sweaty jogger was there to catch me.
The restaurant sucks. The menu is extremely over-priced and written in an unreadable cursive. We order a Caesar salad and a plate of ravioli to share. Neither are worth the money.
We make our way back to the car. My feet are throbbing and I think, quite possibly, bleeding.
We drive to Matt's house where, luckily, things slow down and we have a nice little visit. He brings us a few blocks to drop us off at the "T" (subway) so that we don't have to drive in town or pay hundreds to park.
We enter the station and the machine to buy a pass is not working. We basically freak out because we have exactly 20 minutes to get there. Finally, we figure out how to use another machine and we make our way onto the subway.
It's exactly 6 stops from Davis Square to Park, where the Opera House is. With 5 stops to go, the subway pulls into the station and the cars fill up. Hilary and I grabbed a seat and everyone else is crowding the car. I notice, directly across from me... so close I could reach out and touch it, a man is standing right in front of me with... his entire dick hanging out of his zipper. The whole thing. All of his junk. In plain sight. Right there. I have no escape.
I look at Hilary and I whisper, "Oh. My. God! That guy's dick is out, WTF?!!"
She looks over and bursts into laughter (which doesn't help her having to pee really badly.) We laugh for the next few stops until we hit a bump and he falls in my direction. My life flashes before me as his penis comes flying at my face. Near miss, no harm. We can't seem to look away. We are hysterical. I assume people watching us suspect we're on drugs.
Finally our stop. We have about 8 minutes to go... we run to the booth and ask the clerk..."How do we get to The Boston Opera House! Where? Quick!" The gentleman tells us to get back on the bus and go one more stop. We do as we're told and passengers tell us to get off because it's not true. We run out quickly, and the clerk tells us (in a very annoyed tone) that he is correct and to get back on. We do. We are so confused. I'm pretty certain the skin has worn off the bottom of my feet and Hilary is about to pee in her purse. We have 5 minutes.
We get off at the next stop, as told, and we are met with high buildings, some construction and no Opera House in sight. We are off running- asking random people where the Opera House is. Of course the person I ask, doesn't speak. At all. No one directs us, we are running through the town screaming at people, both of us clutching our Coach bags in case we're mugged (okay, that's a little dramatic, but all night we thought someone pick-pocketed us.)
We are finally directed and get there, but we have to RUN a few blocks. The door man at the Opera House says "Hurry to your seats, you won't be let in if the curtain is up." I literally start having an asthma attack from all the stress (and the flying penis.)
We get in our seats, which are amazing. Someone has stolen my anti-bacterial hand cleanser. I tell Hilary and we are scanning our memory to determine who it was, accusing people we came into contact with... oh wait, no, it's in my pocket. Her phone is missing... not wait, it's in her jacket... where's my bus pass, oh yeah. Breathe.
We are both scarred, beyond repair, forever. The trouble oui seem to find, or that finds us, is unbelievable. BUT I wouldn't want to do it with anyone but Hilary. We are complete train-wrecks but we have the best time! And as for the play? Amazing!
