Ron Weasley was stricken with a case of the piggy flu recently, greatly slowing progress in the battle against Voldemort.

For Serious

Sorry… I would be all politically correct and stuff and call the flu by its correct name so as not to face the wrath of the pork industry, but let’s face it, that’s just not funny.

Not that it’s funny that Rupert Grint was sick. Cause it so isn’t. He’s got one of the finest shocks of red hair I’ve ever seen and you know how I love my redheads.

Here’s hoping him a speedy recovery so that Ron can receive the much-longed-for Hermione love he has coming his way.

So, I’ve been wanting to check in with all of you people, but I feel like I haven’t had a single original thought since we’ve been home. Tragic, isn’t it? I also wasn’t quite sure how I could possibly follow up after Redhead. I also meant to respond to all of the comments on my Redhead post. Fear not, I have done so now. I apologize for my rather characteristic tardiness.

Anyway, I’m still kicking… though a little slower and less enthusiastically. I experienced a pretty major disappointment immediately upon returning from our trip, which wasn’t unexpected but is still pretty tough to endure. No matter how many times one fails, it seems we never really get used to it. Apparently, I was destined to be a case study in the phenomenon. So, I’m a little downtrodden, which always makes it rather difficult for me to write… not that any of your were holding out for new fan fic anytime soon I suspect. I’ve become so weak on that front, I’m considering bringing in a ghostwriter to finish up the stories already in progress.

Today has been a rather craptastic day. It started out alright. I thought I was going to get a lot done. I did some writing for money (fucking lame) first thing this morning and I actually made time to exercise. Then I almost took a tumble through the glass shower door and it all went downhill from there. I think, for the rest of the day, my mind was preoccupied with thoughts of giant shards of glass sticking out of all of my sensitive parts. There can’t be too many things worse than getting seriously injured while in the shower. I am so not a nudist.

Just a few minutes ago, the hopeless debacle that was me today took another dangerous turn when I had to reach for something that had fallen from the rack inside the dishwasher and got my arm stuck. Sometimes do you ever just think, “Man I am going to die a bizarre and embarrassing death”? Yeah, I know. Cheery, right?

On the plus side, I did eat the universe’s most succulent nectarine today. We picked it up as we were leaving San Francisco at the fruit stand on the wharf. (BTW… stopping in San Francisco, not one of our greatest ideas. We spent so much time getting back out of the city that our six hour drive took nine hours.) The organic fruit was all outrageously priced. I’m pretty sure these nectarines were like $6 each or something. But today I ate my first… Holy hell, I took one bite and ended up writhing in ecstasy on the floor, moaning my own name.

Speaking of spontaneous orgasm… has anyone had Odwalla Mango Tango? And if so, why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!? That stuff is like liquid pleasure.

And now onto liquid anti-pleasure…

Wine drinkers, could you please lend me your expertise for just a moment? I have tasted numerous wines and, well, I just don’t get it. Wine, to me, is like what happens when some sadistic fuck plays a disastrous practical joke on an otherwise good fruit drink. Shawna and I were discussing this inconsistency just today. These are our findings - grapes taste good, grape juice tastes good, even raisins taste good, so it would go to reason that wine would taste good. But wine tastes like someone drowned their ninety-year-old grandmother in the barrel on stomping day and left her body in the mix to ferment like a withered ole grape. What possesses you to drink this stuff? And don’t tell me that it’s an acquired taste.

And for those of you who missed Ellen’s latest variety show on Saturday, it was good fun. Please, don’t let Rosie’s nightmarish display scare you away from variety shows forever. While the whole thing was rather awesome, I have to say my favorite part was at the end when Portia made a brief cameo. That was a whole lotta hot in three seconds.

Nearly out of Utah now. But before we could escape, the Salt Lake City-based radio station we are listening to has blasted us with Ace of Base. This wouldn’t be an event in and of itself. But we also heard Ace of Base this morning when we were still in Salt Lake. This morning it was “All That She Wants”. Now, it’s “The Sign”. Well, thank goodness they’ve covered all their bases.

Wow, some jokes get a drum roll and a cymbal crash. My jokes get the Sad Trombone.

Hasn’t written about it yet, so I guess she didn’t get to meet Redhead. Well, Saturday night, we went to the dance showcase, and it was pretty awesome for the most part, but Redhead didn’t show. I went back to our hotel room, trying to steel my nerves. Buck up, I thought, you’ve already eyeballed her, now all you have to do is speak.

Now, I know that you all know me only through the wires. Some of you I like to think of as my friends, but really we don’t know much about each other. Knowing me from a distance like this, as Random Riley if you will, you probably think me opinionated and rather vocal. You are half right. Opinionated, hell, I could deny that, but it would be like Jenna Jameson denying that she likes sex, and it’s a charade I don’t really have the time or energy to put on. But vocal? Only in writing and only at a safe distance. I am more the type of person who stays in the darkened corner and takes great pains not to be noticed in a crowd. That may be difficult to swallow, but it’s the entree I’m serving up, so there you go.

Anyway, it is difficult… I mean really difficult… for me to strike up a conversation with someone new. Due to this extreme character flaw, I figured my chance of letting you all, and myself, down to me setting my shoulders and going in for the personal encounter were about 85/15. That’s right, kids, the odds did not look good.

So, Sunday, we arrive and pull into our same parking spot of the day before. This parking spot was near the little cabin where we had seen Redhead flitting to and fro the the previous day. So, as soon as we pull into our space, who should we see walking all by her lonesome? That’s right, Redhead. And it would have been the perfect opportunity… except that she was on the phone.

Sort of like the day before when we were walking back to the car and saw her out there and it would have been the perfect opportunity, but she had a sidekick. And it wasn’t just any sidekick. It was an Olsen sister. As in those twin Olsens. But not one of the twin Olsens. A whole different Olsen sister. Who knew?

We now interrupt this post for an interesting, late-breaking happening. Shawna just went to get me more coffee. I said “Thank you”, but I apparently had a frog the size of my fist in my throat and I sounded exactly like Harvey Fierstein. If I could perfect that, gain a hundred pounds and grow some stubble, I’d have the hottest show on the Vegas Strip.

Now, back to Redhead…

So, anyway, she was on the phone and I was like “Okay, well maybe after the reading.” So, we walked on up to get our tickets and such and wait to go in. When I came back from collecting our tickets from the box office… I use that term incredibly loosely. You know when people refer to things as hole in the wall places? Well, this box office literally was a hole in the wall. I mean an actual hole in an actual wall. That was it. So, I came back out with our tickets, stepped into the sunlight, and Shawna was all like “Whoa, you need lotion on your face.” And I’m like “Really?” And she’s like “You look like you’re peeling.” And I’m like “Ew.” So, she’s like “Do you want to look like that when you talk to Redhead?” And I’m like “No.” And she’s like “There’s lotion in the car.” And I’m like “Okay, so walk me to the car.” So, we start toward the car, round the side of the cabin/quasi-theater, and who should be standing at the back of our car talking on her phone? You guessed it.

And here’s what happened next. I’m going to lay it out for you in slow-motion, much like the writers of Guiding Light are doing with the Otalia storyline now. I spot Redhead standing at the back of our car, turning ballet-like on her spot to resume pacing (she paced a lot when she was on the phone). As if a transparent wall just sprung up through the Earth before me, I come to a sudden dead-stop and actually utter the words, “I can’t go over there.” Of course, us being in slow-motion and all, it sounded like “Iiiiii caaooonnntt ggggooooo ovvvvaaaarrr thaaaarrrrr.” Shawna, not at all affected by the slow-mo sequence taking place all around her, rolls her eyes at normal speed and hits the unlock button on the key fob, effectively making our car chirp, which, in turn, causes Redhead to move away from our car. This gives me about ten feet of freedom in which to sprint to the front seat and crawl into the safety and silence to lotion my grossly dry skin. Though, the entire time I was doing it, I could see Redhead pacing behind the car, which made it difficult to properly groom. Task completed, and Redhead still on the phone, I retired back to the front of the building where she could make no more surprise appearances.

Though she did. We were waiting inside and Shawna is all like “There she is. She’s filling up her water bottle”. By this point, Shawna had decided that teasing me regarding Redhead’s whereabouts was a favorite pastime that she shouldn’t deny herself. I glared and we went inside the theater,where I stood Zen-like in the doorway waiting to be enlightened as to which side of the stage we should sit on. I went with my instinct and picked a side… which was correct. That was our first stroke of luck this trip.

Our luck continued last night when we got out in downtown Salt Lake to explore the Mormon way of life in Temple Square. Let me just say, the Mormons are living it the fuck up. Their conference center looks like it was plucked out of the finest monuments in DC and plopped down in the middle of Utah, their tabernacle looks like it is straight out of The Neverending Story, and the high walls around the place were Citadel-like indeed. I took this to mean “Nobody fucks with us Mormons”. I did crawl through their flowers to take a photo though. They are probably watching the event on their security tapes from last night as we speak, feeling thoroughly fucked with.

When we arrived at our hotel last night, I actually spied a core group of Mormi right away. I recognized them in their short-sleeve button-ups and drab colored pants, because that’s the exact same outfit that the two guys were wearing when I got Mormoned that time back in Ohio. Do they have a uniform or something? I mean, aside from temple garments and looks of disapproval?

Alright, so we lucked into seats on the side of the stage where Redhead spent most of the reading. Of course, it wasn’t like the stage was so large that there was a bad seat in the room, but still it was rather nice to be on the best side for Redhead watching. And for an hour and a half, that’s what we did. We watched Redhead. And she was awesome. Which isn’t surprising. But there were some moments when she was really, really awesome. And I once again fall back on my opinion that people shine more brightly in live theater than they ever can on camera.

One of the festival-runners sat right beside us during the performance, which ruined a little of her intended naughtiness, but, because Shawna loves you too, she did take this short clip at the end of the performance as Redhead took her bows.

So, the performance is over and I’m all like nervous and discombobulated. And I’m all like “I am going to do this. I am going to talk to Redhead. And I’m not going to call her Redhead.” (though Shawna really wanted me to). Sadly, Redhead was standing with the entire cast from her reading, which was like ten people. And I’m all like “Oh crud… I should have interrupted her on the phone.” Then, she starts talking about them heading off somewhere, and I’m like “Oh crud… she’s going to run off.” And then she starts walking away and I’m like “Oh hell no.” And I’m all like “Aubrey.” And she looks at me. And a little part of me passes out in the dirt. But, the rest of me presses on. And I’m like “Can I talk to you for a minute?” And she’s like “Of course.” And then we engaged in conversation and she was really, incredibly nice and really, incredibly humble and surprised that we had driven that far to see her. And I was all like “Can I be a total fan and get your autograph and a picture?” And she was like, “Okay Bitch, now you’re going too far.” Heh. Wouldn’t that have been the worst?

Actually, she was like, “Of course”. And she was all special and wonderful. And so this happened.

Now, on a personal note, I am a little disappointed in this photograph. Not because of Redhead. She looks fabulous. First, I would like to point out that I have a glare on my glasses. I do not have a gimp eye. Second, I really wanted to tone down that smile. That toothy thing taking place on my face? That’s at about an eleven. It really should have topped out at about a four. I spent two days practicing my close-mouthed sexy smile in the hotel mirror, because I really wanted to utilize it in this photograph. But I was too fuckin’ happy and my teeth busted out. Oh, Redhead, the power you have over me. Not to mention I have another person growing out the side of my head. Anyway, I know that none of you probably even realized that I am in this photograph, attention diverted as it is, but I still wanted to point out the way in which my unbridled excitement foiled me into a goofy, chipmunk-cheeked photo. Oh, and the huge dark circles under my eyes, which I can give credit to nature for, forced me into wearing my glasses. I would have preferred to wear my contacts, but it would have looked like Redhead and I engaged in fisticuffs prior to this picture and she kicked my ass. And I just couldn’t live with that.

As you can see, the hair is definitely redder in the sunlight. Hooray. I know how some of us love our redheads And despite the other nonsense numbers that you might have seen online, I am 5′3″ and leaning down slightly, so she is roughly the same height as me. That’s right, another shorty.

Shawna determined Redhead cute and adorable and greatly enjoyed that she displayed her potty mouth in front of us right away.

I just sighed and listened to the Everly Brothers’ “Dream” inside my head. That’s right. Old school.

I forgot. Some of you asked for intimate details. Keeping in mind that I only observed from afar, here is what I can discuss.

Redhead’s personal fashion sense.

I choose to believe that she was going for unique and quirky. Shawna chooses to believe it is laundry day.

Oh… and on a slightly disappointing front… her hair is most certainly a lovely red… just not AS red as it has appeared in the past. Of course, the sun wasn’t shining today. I will have to re-report on this once I have seen her in sunlight/stage lights.

So we drive into the Perry-Mansfield camp. And this is like a real camp folks. Dirt roads. Cabins. Nature. The whole bit. We go a little too far and who should we see first thing? Yup.

Redhead.

She was standing at the top of a knoll, a soft breeze gently ruffling her hair, the scent of strawberries delicately wafting on the wind.

Okay, so actually she was walking down a dirt path, the wind was minimal at best and, since she had just emerged from the camp cafeteria, I’m guessing strawberries was not the smell that lingered about her. Anyway, then we drove back down the hill and she was gone again. Only to reappear in the tiny theater in which our first reading took place.

Of course, our first reading was supposed to take place last night… but tiredness, a madcap coffee break, two gungho police officers, and an elk the size of a Mini Cooper kept us from our destination until 1 am. No lie.

Anyway, I had a small moment when I first saw her. Something like a shocked arm clutch and an utterance of “It’s Redhead.” Then again when she walked into the theater. Apparently, the thought that appeared to be going through my brain was thus - “If I don’t move, she won’t notice I’m here. Blend in the wall. Blend in the wall.” I don’t remember actually thinking any of this, but subconsciously… maybe.

Tonight, when we go back out for our choreography showcase, I do suspect we will see Redhead again. Now, if only I could remember how to speak sometime between now and this evening.

There is a life lesson in what I am about to type. That lesson is not to speak out against the technological atrocities taking place in the world before you’ve decided if you are going to side with evil.

That said, I will now make a valiant effort to seduce you to evil as well. Much as the serpent did in the Garden of Eden, I bear an offering. My proverbial apple comes in the form of Rikus, or Riley-written haikus, so cool they are there own portmanteau. You can find these Rikus by going to my…

um…

*prolonged throat clearing*

Twitter account.

Oh God! Don’t hate me.

It happened like this. I signed up, because there are a few people that I would like to follow. Then, under the severe restriction of 140 characters, I found that I could not not haiku. Thus, HaikuRiley was born. If you have a Twitter account or if you are willing to taste evil to come haiku with me, please let us tweet.

And, for the record, I will still be sufficiently annoyed should Twitter take over CNN again. So I’m not a total hypocrite.

Riley haikus here.

We went to the mall today. We try not to do that, but somebody needed jeans. It wasn’t me. So, we went several different places. Now I want to know why Sears has a bigger selection of Levi’s than the Levi’s Store. I think they should be required by law to swap names.

In other news, I just realized that I am covered, not only in flour, but in sweet berry bits from the pie that I just made. When I discovered this, I immediately picked the big bits off my shirt and ate them. I’m delighted to report that, while I may look disgusting, I taste delicious.

I’m not talking a little “Wow, nice haircut” jealousy. I am talking “Wait, you got to go back in time and meet Jesus?” jealousy.

Ladies and the very few gentlemen who actually read this blog…

I have an important announcement.

I have a date with Redhead next weekend.

Yes, this Redhead -

Now, before you ask “Wha… bu… how… huh?” let me start off by saying that Redhead would probably not call it a date. She would probably call it being in the play “Bottom of the World” amidst the towering mountains and forests of Colorado during the New Works Festival, Shawna getting a Google alert about said event, and us planning a trip to drive thirty hours round-trip to see her perform on stage.

Her account may be slightly more accurate than mine.

It’s Friday through Sunday in Steamboat Springs if anyone is feeling frisky.

Since we were heading off to see Redhead anyway, and the path to Steamboat Springs takes us directly through Vegas, it seemed like a perfect time to see Bette Midler. Yes, I want to see Bette Midler. Just me. I highly suspect that Shawna would like for me to make that point clear. So Shawna got online to buy tickets and we discovered that Bette doesn’t perform on Thursday nights. This was an unexpected twist, which provided us two possible scenarios.

Scenario 1 - We decide it unfortunate that things didn’t quite work out and travel on to Steamboat Springs sans the Divine Miss M experience.

-or-

Scenario 2 - Add an extra day in Vegas and get tickets for Wednesday.

Actually, now that I think about it, there was really only one way this could go.

So, anyway, since we are going to be in Vegas an extra day anyway, it seemed wasteful to sit and do nothing while we’re there. Since gambling is a smoke-infested, raging waste of money, we had to think outside the neon box. So, we thought, “What’s hot in Vegas?” Then it occurred to us. Kelly Monaco. Kelly Monaco is hot in Vegas. So, we bought tickets to Peep Show on Thursday night.

Once our fun with Redhead has ended… which will be tragic, but you know what they say about all good things… we will, of course, need to drive back. It seemed rather monotonous to return the same way whence we came, so we’ve decided to go high instead and come back by way of Lake Tahoe. And no one goes to Tahoe for a day, so we had to make it two. Then, on the last day, we will get up and drive into San Francisco in order to eat at the one phenomenal seafood restaurant where we recently discovered I can safely consume food without throbbing head trauma. After that, we will return to our humdrum lives to once again work our asses off.

If anyone is interested in joining us for any part of this adventure, please RSVP.

Scenario: You drop your good glass bread pan on the floor and it breaks, in the same manner, for instance, in which I just dropped my good glass bread pan on the floor and it shattered into roughly sixteen million pieces that I had to pick up with my bare hands, vacuum and still probably left shards of glass all in the floor that will at some point end up in my feet, where I will have to remove them with tweezers and the wounds will gush blood like mini-Vesuviuses.

When something like this happens, expecting myself to be such a klutz, I generally just drop down and start to work cleaning up after my dumb ass. But inside my head I’m thinking “Fuck! Shit! Dammit! Son of a Bitch! Argh!” and pulling bits of my hair out with my hands to throw onto the floor with my glass pile.

I know that is a terribly pessimistic attitude to have, so, as someone not particularly prone to optimism, I am curious as to what you optimistic sorts do? Do you just think, “Well, at least it wasn’t a mirror” and whistle while you work?