Happy Enoversary

(July 12, 2004)

So get this; it's the two-year anniversary of the Project Eno show where that dumb Polack took off his shirt and totally distracted me for like...well, from then until the present moment. That night, July 12 2002, was technically the second time I met Joe, only I didn't completely remember the first time too clearly. I did remember the third. The fourth was definitely interesting.

We went out to dinner on this, the Project Eno two year mark. It's as good an anniversary as any.

Right now Joe's on the phone with his parents and I just farted. What, he's in the other room, they can't hear my tooting from there. But I'd go in there and fart into the phone if I thought it'd improve my chances with them.

Prob'ly not though, huh? Nothing fart-related ever worked with Hub's parents, who'll be sighing a huge sigh of relief when they meet Hub's new girl. Kelly doesn't swear like a sailor, assemble her outfits out of thrift store treasures, costume jewelry and men's shirts, and I'd guess batik head wraps with many braids haphazardly spilling out of it are right out, as are fart stories. But come on, who doesn't like a good fart story? Especially in that family. Last time I saw Hub's nieces and nephew, it was at their combined birthday party in June a year ago, and I had all the kids gathered in one of the bedrooms telling fart stories. Not intentionally-- little Maddie had escorted me in there to show me her toys and books, and we fell into quite the literary discussion on the pro's and cons of Richard Scarry (I hate his stuff, too much art on a single page, Maddie agrees that it's just too busy) when the other kids came tumbling in in groups. I guess the adults downstairs must have gradually noticed that not a single kid was visible at a kid's party, because just as I got to, "And you know what your grandpa does? He just, like, lets one go and doesn't even acknowledge! You're laughing. But seriously, dude, you're in a car. And then FFFFFFFFFFFFT. How do you ignore---" when up from the bottom of the stairway came their mom's voice. "Uh...guys? Doesn't...anybody want to open some presents...?"

Now Joe's talking to his mom about movies. He must have told them we went to see Shrek 2yesterday. Or perhaps he said that HE went to see Shrek 2 yesterday. If he said "I" and not "We" then he wouldn't have to say my name and invite a lot of questions. Of course, like they do with Jen, they'd likely just ask, "Did you go alone?" and he wouldn't be able to lie. Right?

"What are they gonna do if I move in with your brother?" I asked Jen the other day. She laughed and said she didn't know. I dunno either!

I marvel at these two-- Joe and Jen-- because they keep their parents just enough months behind in the truth to make for an oddball situation. Last summer when he and I visited the family home in New Jersey, staying a night in advance of the rest of the band when I booked them a show in Philly, Joe's mom asked him, "Does Lexi want to be more than just your manager?" He answered, "I think she likes me."

At that point, it was months past the "I think she likes me" stage. Months. I kept my expression bright and appreciative when Mrs. Kowalski directed me to put my stuff in Jen's room while Joe put his bag in his room across the hall. How...pure. And...odd.

So here we are a year later and, I happen to know, the parents are asking if Joe is "seeing anybody."

Seeing anybody. We have in fact been talking about me moving in here.

So let's examine. Just how far can this info-lapse be taken? Let's see. Taking historic estimates into consideration and adding in some weeks for inflation, they'll be asking "So, do you guys think this is going to work out" about eight months after we get a joint bank account. "Have you thought about making it legal" will come approximately fourteen months after we elope, and we'll introduce a pre-schooler named Joey III to two puzzled grandparents who never got to buy binkies or those little teething keyrings because they are, by now, incrementally years behind the times. Or it could go the other way; the Kowalskis' paper anniversary present to us (what is "paper," one year?) will be sent to Joe and whomever he's secretly dating by then who isn't me because we'll have secretly broken up.

Maybe a good fart story WOULD help. Can't hurt.