I've been training the last few days. Wearing black pants and a tiny apron, doing the exact opposite of everything I've done for seven months. My first two days were dead as a pancake and I was worried I wasn't learning enough for all the standing around, but tonight, I worked a little bit of a pop. At one point, under Beth's watchful eye, I was working five tables at once. It was scary, but still more fun than anything I've done in the place as a busser, or runner, or stoolbitch. I can tell I'm going to like it. It's all routine, and tonight the routine was ground into my head with repetition. Over and over and over. The more comfortable I got with the routine, the more comfortable I got where it matters. The people. I was selling Apple Strudels by describing them as "Extra Super Tasty." It was a relatively fuck-up free night, I left relieved and excited. Excited for the extra money this gig means, the schedule flexibility, the people. Of course neither Bob nor Lou have been around for any of my shifts on the floor yet, so I'm sure that when they dissect every tiny thing I do tomorrow I'll come back bitching about hating it all. Be sure to check back for that.

Last night I saw SpecialK again, she was at the bar to watch the baseball game. No, not at the bar with some guy who was watching the baseball game, SHE was eyes peeled, edge-of-her-seat, Go Boston. Which made her that much more sexy. I think I'll see her tomorrow night at some Oktoberfest/Birthday party. I hope I'll see her tommorrow night at an Oktoberfest/Birthday party. I hope I just see her. The Oktoberfest/Birthday party is optional.

So. If you haven't seen any episodes of the phenomenal new show LOST, Wednesdays on ABC, you should either a) buy someone's VHS recorded copies of them on Ebay, b) jump in next week and forget what you missed, or c) use a small trampoline to propel yourself headfirst into the spinning blades of a helicopter. It was created by J.J Abrams, genius/extraordinaire behind ALIAS, and after just four episodes, I'd be willing to say I love the show even more than the amazing Garner vehicle. And anyone who knows me knows I've not missed one second of any episode of Alias.

So. Watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST. watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST watch LOST

Also vote for Kerry. :)

ps. I've got three girls in my head. And none in my bed...

I'm always waiting in airports for that girl. This time it was alone, alone with my thoughts, my tea, her ConnectiCat souvenir, at Bradley International Airport in Hartford. I sat far away from the expanse of greeting floor and watched people hug and kiss and cry. Sat back so I would see her before she, me.

Everyone arriving walked out in front of this huge window made white by the outside light. They were all backlit and blurry because of it and I was far away and worried I'd miss her. I knew I would recognize her shape, her gait, that stuff is stamped in me; but I knew also she'd cut all her hair off. That would be new. What else would be new?

Ultimately not much. Aside from the hair which was chopped up and sexy she was still my Nat. I wonder if that first embrace felt so good because it was her, or just that I was holding someone, that someone was clinging to me. I'll venture a guess though that it was in the familiarity. That she was that same perfect height, that beyond whatever new perfume it was, her skin still smelled like my first love; that I don't hesitate to explore her back or hair with my hands in a hug. And that she knows I hold my hugs a little longer, time for a few deep breaths and a grip on the moment.

Of course she still smokes enough for it to be a burden. Is still the same lazy glutton who will eat an entire bag of chips after asking someone to get them for her. But we love the good and bad in the people we love.

The drive back was beautiful, full of music I loved that she'd never heard, and changing leaves neither of us had ever seen. That first night I took her to The Brewhouse, we drank wine and listened to jazz and strangely enough ended up at Tweetum's smoking a blunt with Special K.

The next day we walked and rode around Manhattan, eating and shopping a bit, but mostly just walking. Drinking a bit, then walking some more, and eating McDonald's on the last train home. All we did was walk, but it was still amazing. Maybe the City. Maybe the Company. Probably both.

On Sunday we walked New Canaan, had the worst service and the best shrimp at Red Lobster, saw Garden State, slept, and in the morning I drove her back to Bradley International. She slept the whole way, I dropped her off at the curb, and she was gone. Back to Atlanta.

I passed an Atlanta Bread Company on the way home and bought the tuna sandwich I'd been craving since February. Then I came home and watched my Atlanta Braves get knocked from the playoffs for the twelfth time in thirteen years.

Then made the whole- Atlanta -connection.

8 months. Then just three quick days with her. And now the count begins again. She shows up in dreams that feel longer than this last weekend.

It was great to see her again though. In the wake of so much seclusion it was sensory overload, but still wonderful.

I'm long over my adolescent need to see her everyday, though now I just wish we lived in the same city. Same state even. So lunch or a movie off the cuff once a week wasn't such an impossible fantasy.

I wish all my friends lived near me. Natalie is one of my greatest friends.