I Did Not In Fact Run Off With CarolynOnline...

However, while trying to cure her calf-muscle cramp on the sidewalk in front of a chic drinking establishment, we created this kind of partner-yoga-stretch meets the-Wonder Twins-activating-their-powers move that I'm sure had the fair citizens of Atlanta wishing we would, um, move along people. Did you know you could get a seriously painful charlie horse while perched on a bar stool? You can, and now I've warned you.

We did not read any parts of The Book out loud (god forbid) at the The Big Book Party but we did get all rockstarry signing the inside flaps. I think I wrote "YO!" on every one which is totally absurd as I have never in fact said that word out loud, ever. At least I signed my real name and not Kate Gosselin. Which I considered doing.

It was a ridiculously rainy night and Atlanta is a seriously spread out city so I would have been impressed if even one person showed up. But lots and lots of 'em did, including two who were celebrating birthdays (that very day) and another on crutches. All Hail The Atlantans! And my Yankee apologies in advance since now ya'll will have to pretend to read and/or like The Book....

Sigh.

It was a sunny day two and I attended a school chorus performance where in true comedic form, Carolyn's daughter Tempel nearly fainted. (She was fine and it was kinda funny.) We ate lunch at a Real Restaurant like ladies who do that kind of thing. We sat in the sun for a few hours and plotted a new garden in the backyard -- like ladies who do that kind of thing. I spent some good time digging deep into Parker's art collection including a four page "I will not be disrespectful to my parents"x100 punishment that when asked "why'd you have to do that?," I was nearly blinded by the twinkle in her eye. "You know, just 'causa a stuff, " Parker said.

(Note to CarolynOnline's readers: you seriously can't make this shit up and dudes, she doesn't have to.)

We ditched home and hearth (and dinner-making and homework-helping) that night for a solo bar hop dignified night out, in which I enjoyed pimiento cheese at a place that served "marrow in a pot." It turns out that she and I have not in fact discussed every.single.thing in great detail via email -- which was not surprising but equally excellent -- and we plotted Next Steps where all fine people do such things: belly-up to shiny mahogany in front of frothy, frosty mugs.

Scott is a gracious host even though he barely got a word in edgewise and had to play taxi driver and fast food buyer. Also: it turns out I like dogs after all!

I came home to Three Short Drunk People all hugs and kisses and my mom's homemade bolognese sauce simmering on the stove. I launched into homework help and permission slips and my calendar and the emails I had avoided and sooner than I'd hoped, the whole Hotlanta Hoedown seemed a sweet and distant dream. But I was happy, not happier -- just happy: I can't explain it like I want to, but there is a difference.

Guns re-loaded with the taste of my first corn-dog and a tour of a city I completely loved with a friend I never expected to make or keep so close (yo!), I zip up to face the Massachusetts cold and the countdown to Christmas. Which includes my dad's arrival (yup) and school conferences and teacher gifts and bottles of juice and paper plates I need to deliver...somewhere...

I'll be the one in the half-assed pony tail, the one who jets off for the one-city book tour at the craziest time of year, the messy girl in jeans who sends ranty PTO messages, the mom who forgets where she hid the presents, the one with the biggest smile on her wind-chapped face. That one. That's me.