Timing is everything.
Over the weekend, there was a chili cook off at 300 Suns brewery, and Mr S-P decided he needed to update his previous prize-winning chili, known around these parts as "Sweet Georgia Brown Note," to enter in the competition. He made it a little less sweet, a little more hot, and significantly more smoky by using smoked tri-tip in place of ground beef, and freshly roasted chilis from the little mom and pop grocery around the corner. He didn't win, but he did happen upon a conversation with a man who turned out to be looking for a realtor. He immediately texted me the guy's number, and I wrote him fairly quickly after that. The guy was glad to have someone who responded so quickly instead of blowing him off, and we met this evening for drinks, to talk about his plans and goals.
I thought this meeting would be over in an hour. I came home three and a half hours after I left for the bar, with a sore throat and a good long term prospect. He's not going to be a fast sale, but he will probably be a fun one. I was already at the bar when he arrived, halfway though my first beverage. It became apparent in the first thirty seconds that he was a regular at this place, and the bartenders kept a close watch on us. One in particular gave us the stink eye, until an hour or so into the conversation when his girlfriend showed up. When she shook my hand and sat on the other side of me, the bartender realized that there was no funny business happening. Out of my earshot, the guy told her that I was his new agent, and she asked whether she could get my number too. Timing really is everything.
I let myself have two stiff drinks during this meeting, because I'd had another one of those nerve tests today, and I believe I earned them. This time the neurologist shocked my arms with his fancy taser and poked me along specific nerves with an electrified needle. So far, he said things are looking pretty good, last week's MRI included, but he will go line by line through my results to figure out why I have vertigo and unending paresthesia, to find a course of treatment. I don't know which is worse, him seeing something bad in the results, or finding nothing at all in the tests, making me feel like I have to fight to be believed that I'm having problems. The good news is that he believes me so far. I should be grateful there is no real bad news, other than a lack of answers.
I didn't take any pictures of my own today. I got several sent to me yesterday and today. When we were coming up with musically related names for the kittens last month, I originally suggested "Flash" for the white kitten, after the Queen theme song to the 1980 movie Flash Gordon. We settled on Richard Hell instead, after the punk rock pioneer, but now that he is going to be my new little bunny, he is going to be Harvey, like the Jimmy Stewart movie. Daughter #1 keeps calling him "Pooka," the magical creature that Harvey was. But sometimes in my head, I still think of him as Flash. I received several amazing pictures and videos of him and his sister who was supposed to come to me, now named River Song. The one she sent tonight of the cuddle puddle of kittens reinforces tonight's theme: timing is everything.
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