So, get a load of this one. I’m on the phone with my sweetie, Julie, and I decide to ask her why she hyphenates her first and middle names sometimes. Does she even have a middle name? Is her name even Julie?? Then I asked her if women in Canada take their husbands’ names when they get married. Apparently, in Canada, that is not the law. And also, for children, they can have either last name, or a hyphenation. They’ve even stipulated that the child cannot take more than two hyphenated last names. What about acronyms though? What about combining two last names like McCarthturing?
Then it really started getting crazy. I explained how it was in the U.S., where people generally take the husband’s name but that things are changing a bit. Then I reminded Julie how one of my middle names is Dangerously. Bullshit, she said. The nerve of that woman!
My full name is Victor Benjamin Dangerously Turner. And she totally does not buy it. What the fuck! She said she saw my birth certificate when she was at my parent’s house, which is a lie because I have my birth certificate with me. Prove it, she said. Prove it, I said.
THEN she went on to say that it’s more likely that my middle name is Cowardly, because my mom allegedly told this story of how I was actually a pretty cowardly boy when I was a little kid. Allegedly. Little does SHE know.
I mean, it really is a tragedy when you have to justify your middle name Dangerously.
So before any more of these facts become perilously distorted, I think it’s time for me to give the correct version of what Julie and I did in Dallas, TX last week when we came to visit my parents.
I arrived before Julie and went out to eat with my parents at Pappadeaux. I got some delicious raspberry margaritas and had a steak dinner. I caught up with my parents and started debating with my dad about Iraq.
Later that weekend, my dad and I went to see the Texas Rangers play the Kansas City Royals at AmeriQuest Stadium, which is a travesty of a name. Its old name, the Ballpark in Arlington, seemed dumb at first but worked out later when people would say they were gonna head to The Ballpark. Oh well, I guess what happened was $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$.
The next day, Julie arrived in the afternoon. I twiddled my thumbs all day waiting for it to be time for me to go. I didn’t really want to do anything else and didn’t want to show up at the airport too early. But eventually it was time and I waited outside the revolving door for her flight to come in.
There were lots of families waiting for people to come but through the whole mass of hugging people I saw Julie, taller than most, dressed sexily in a knee-length skirt and a sheer white hoodie, with her reddish hair clipped to the back. Gorgeous. She made everyone else look ordinary, and I got tunnel-vision as she flashed a smile at me and headed my way. We hugged and kissed and chattered all the way to the car. She really looked fantastic. I had missed her greatly from our last visit back in April.
I watched her take a drag off her cigarette outside in the parking garage while she let her family know she got in okay. There previously had been some sort of mental barrier between Julie and Dallas, the place I’d called home for so long. Now, the two were juxtaposed and it felt like a pivotal shift in the way of the world.
Julie broke down and admitted that it was fucking hot. I’d warned her and she didn’t believe me! =P The humidity and 100+ degree heat was sweltering. Like an oven. She professed her newfound love for air conditioning.
We drove back to my neighborhood and went out to get drinks to catch up before Julie had to meet my parents (with all the hoopla that that event would cause). I fetched myself and her some margaritas and we engaged in lovers’ conversation. Then we drove back home to my house and my parents were waiting at the garage door, so their first meeting with my girlfriend was a crowded one. But everything went great and my dad made margaritas (sense a theme?) while we chatted before heading out to eat. I also gave Julie a tour of the house and sat outside with her and kissed her more.
We went out to Carrabba’s, a chain Italian restaurant which I have associated with good feelings for some odd reason and had been forbidden by agreement to visit until Julie could be with me. I had my customary soup (they gave me the wrong kind though) with Pasta Carrabba. I don’t think there was any uncomfortableness between my parents and Julie, which was great. It’s just the unfamiliarity of strangers to a small degree.
Julie and I went to a nearby hotel for the night.
It was a wonderful first evening in Dallas. “I love you” can seem like an understatement at times.