I told Mr. Forte I was going to Austin for a writing workshop.  I’m praying there really is no god ‘cuz he’s gonna fling lightning straight down on my head for lyin’ if my atheist heathen beliefs have me standin’ in the wrong corner on that question.  We three did talk about writing (a lot, actually), so maybe that was only half a lie.  Which might be sorta like being half a virgin, but let’s not get off on that track, shall we?

                  When I told Kim (Unbreakable) and Drema (mypsyche) that, Kim said, “That’s what I told my husband the first time.”  So maybe there is a virgin-ish thing that happens when you meet people that you only know from the Internet.  Do you suppose they all say they’re going to a writing workshop?  I doubt it.  Probably a spiritual retreat.  Or a spa weekend.

                  Did you notice that drawl-y thing in the first pargraph?  I told Ms. Drema (mypsyche) right after meeting her next to the Barbara Jordan statue in the airport that she shouldn’t be surprised if I started pretending to have a Southern accent since I’ve always just loved those round, syrupy vowel sounds.  She just smiled at me with those big dark blue eyes (which hint at green sometimes) and said something agreeable.  Unflappable and intelligent and very feminine and elegant is our mypsyche, a beautiful woman with enough gorgeous long auburn hair for several females.  Though she’s been in Austin a long time, she doesn’t sound like a Texan at all.  Not that I expected that, though I did expect her to be taller than she is.  Somehow I imagined that she was tall, like five nine or so, taller than I am, anyway, at five seven.  She isn’t as tall as I am, which had me saying “Hmm” to myself when I first saw her, which means “Well, whatta ya know.”

                  We were yakking like women who’d known each other for years while she drove us to Guero’s to meet Kim for lunch, who was setting the land-speed record in her hot-shot Durango from Houston.  I peppered her with a hundred questions that she patiently answered.  That’s another thing she is, patient. Unlike Kim.  Or me, too, but Kim owned up to it first, so she gets that sticker on her forehead.  Drema is really patient, like she didn’t cringe or correct me even the fourth time I mispronounced her name. 

                  See, I’d never heard her name said out loud before.  I just met her on the Internet, for Pete’s sake, and in my head I saw D-r-e-m-a and said it like crema, that yummy Mexican sour cream stuff.  It wasn’t until Kim said Dream-ah about six times that I caught on.  The first time she said it, I thought “Hnnh.  Maybe that’s just her accent.”  But even people from West Texas (“Slow Death-a, as she pronounces “Odessa”) can’t mangle one little ‘e’ that badly.

                  Back to the story, Drema and I were waiting at Guero’s – which Drema said was Bill Clinton’s favorite Mexican restaurant in Austin, and my hair looks just like Bill Clinton’s, so there’s yet another coincidence right there – and checking out the menu.  We’d just been sitting there a few minutes when this woman in jeans and the cutest black shirt just blew through the door and every head in the place turned to look.  I should have known before Drema said “Kim!” that it was Kim.  Just like the woman who writes as Unbreakable, exactly like you think she is, that’s her.  Extremely smart.  Bold and unafraid, a room waker-upper.  But much taller than I expected.  (Not to mention prettier.  See for yourself in those pictures we all three took.  I’ve told her twice now that avatar she’s using has got to go.)  Somehow I thought she was short, like five three or something, and she’s easily as tall as I am.  Unless she was wearing heels and I was talking too much to notice.  Not like that would ever happen.

                  Meeting people in real life that you met on the Internet can be a dicey proposition, they say.  We’ve all heard the horror stories, mostly from people who have signed up with online dating sites.  Or from that TV show where they catch perverts.  But if everyone had as fabulous a time as I did with two friends like mypsyche and Unbreakable, those naysayers and ax-murderer-worriers would change their tunes.  We talked and laughed and shopped and ate and talked.  And talked and talked.  And I can't wait 'til we get together again, maybe this time in San Diego 'cuz they want to see the zoo.  The zoo surely wants to see them, I just know it.

         My only suggestion would be that there oughta be a rule that people have pictures taken standing next to something of a known height (like a tape measure, duh) ‘cuz that whole taller/shorter thing can really throw you for a loop.

mypsyche and femme forte 

unbreakable and femme forte 

 the three amigas

Since I'm sure you want to know, I had a taco plate for lunch, and it was to-die-for-good.  Heads-up to other restaurants:  this is what al pastor and fish tacos should be, no more, no less.  Note the mayo. 

 mypsyche's version:

Let's not say we met on the Internet

 unbreakable's version:

Girls Who Meet Over the Internet Just Wanna Have Fun