The Amazing Race S04E14

One

I call Sars on my cell phone from outside the Q Lounge while I am standing in line. "I'm waiting in line. There's a line. There's a line outside the club, on the sidewalk. Do you remember when this thing was, like, forty people?" "I know," she says patiently. "You should pull a Puff Daddy and go inside." "No, no," I say. "I don't want to be all bitchy and J.Lo. I can wait." There is a pause. I look up. "It's sort of raining on me. Wait, is it raining? It's sunny. But there's water." "It's probably dripping off the air conditioners up above you," she says, still patiently. "Oh. Oh, yeah. It is. Anyway, I have nothing. I was just calling to say hi, because I'm standing in line." "We'll be there later." "Okay."

This is how I behave when I'm nervous.

Two

My initial quest for a beer is rather more eventful than it seems like it should be. After checking in with the very comforting clump of people I know who are just inside the door handling goody bags and gifting and things of that nature, I bolt for the back of the bar to put my stuff down, but my mouth is kind of dry and I'm eyeballing the bar. In the back, I run into Zron and JudyZ. We talk a little, and then I point to the bar and tell them, "I'm going over there. I want a beer bad enough to hurt somebody." "Well," he says, waving his full glass in the air, "you can't have this one." "Oh, FUNNY," I say over my shoulder as I head for the bar.

There, I run into designed, who is a little nearer to the front of the throng that is already forming by the bar than I am, and who asks me what I want. "Corona," I say. "Thank you." The beer-getting is surprisingly smooth after this. Among Poptart's many mad party skillz, it turns out, is a lovely ability to remember to supply me with drinks. People get so good at this, actually, that at a couple of different junctures, somebody brings me a drink before my one is even gone. Among other things, I get to explain this to Ken and Gerard later. "So how are you?" Gerard asks. "Oh, I'm good," I tell them. "A little overwhelmed. This is my drink," I say, holding up my bottle. I point behind me on the little countertop. "That's my drink." This phenomenon also leads, unfortunately, to some very incriminating pictures in which I have two beers in the same hand. My mother is thrilled.

Three

As it turns out, those who rode The Amazing Train up from DC had an even more eventful trip than usual. lawtalkin' guy tells me this story, explaining that some very mean old lady was on the train with them and told them that they were all a bunch of "inconsiderate asses" for being too noisy while there was a baby present. Unfortunately, she also later took a cell phone call in which she said something along the lines of, "BITCH! I told you to never call me at this number!" I originally doubt the veracity (or at least the completeness) of his story, but when it is confirmed by several others later, I begin to believe that they actually managed to get in trouble on the train. Reports of bad behavior during the transportation phase are a development for which I am not prepared. Part of the DC contingent also gives me something called "The Original Washington, D.C. Taffy." "Well, because you don't want to get any of that counterfeit Washington, D.C. taffy," they say to me. "You know how they're always bringing it in on the black market from Canada," I agree.

The up side is that lawtalkin' guy spends the rest of the evening saying, "You inconsiderate asses!" to anyone who will listen.

Four

I stand with djeber and later Jedzz to watch much of the show. "You know I'm only standing over here by you for one reason," dj says. "I'm hoping to say something witty enough to make it into the recap again." Hee. "I think you just did," I tell him. Just after this, I look all the way over by the bar and spot Kevin and Brennan, who are working the crowd over in that part of the room; it's is a good hundred people away from me, but most of them are sitting on ottomans, so I have a pretty clear view. When Kevin sees me, he turns around and waves. I wave. He blows me a kiss. I blow one back. And then, predictably, the trouble starts. "You love me," he mouths, complete with little hand motions and heart-tracing. Please. How immature. Obviously, I reciprocate. "You love me," I silently insist. And then there is a lot of "you're crazy" and "you're sick in the head" and such. It is only at this point that Brennan, who has been observing, decides to join the conversation by waving the Hating-Hat at me. Oh, yes. That's right. It came to the party -- a hostile act if ever there was one. He has also worn the leather pants, despite the fact that it was, like, ninety-five degrees outside during the day. (Later, they will develop a conspicuous pocket-ish tear that he will show off somewhat compulsively, if the forum reports are to be believed.) I roll my eyes and go back to watching the show. But then, somebody points out to me that Frank and Margarita have just come in. I look over near the door and spot them. "I'm going over there," I say to the folks to me. "It's no reflection on you. But I'm going over there."

Loud Pushy Frank still gives pretty much the best bone-crusher hugs of all time. Some things, fortunately, do not change. Margarita is still gorgeous in a cute summery dress, so it seems only appropriate to give Frank a little bit of a hard time about his dressed-down look, featuring a white t-shirt and a Cubs hat, of all things. "Hey," I say to him, "where's your pimp shirt?" I put my hand on his navel, approximately. "You're usually all unbuttoned down to here. What's your deal?" He grins. "I don't know, it's summer," he says. Feh. Yeah, because you can only display your entire torso in December, I suppose. He asks me who I'm rooting for. "I think I don't care," I say. We talk a little about teams, and I mention that I kind of like Jon and Kelly, even though they're mean. "It's hard for me to say I don't like them just because they, you know, say mean things about people," I say, laughing a little. "When you make your living doing it," he laughs back. "Well, right."

Five

I see Flo and Zach as they're on their way in. I talk to her first. We exchange pretend-nice "Hey"s, and I ask her what she's up to. Working at Glamour, she tells me, and then I remember that I had heard that. To her credit, she maintains a considerably more smiley, upbeat vibe than I think she had at the end of her own season. Zach is just behind her. "Hey, thanks for coming," I tell him. "Oh. Hey, this is the only place left where anybody cares about us," he laughs. I love him a little for this comment.

Six

AirSteve is standing by the nametag table talking to pseudostudent when I walk up. I start to introduce myself. "I know who you are, you troublemaker." He gives me a hug. Aww. Then he says, "Wait, wait -- I got something for you." He then repeats the horrifying head-waggle of the overnight car ride. Hee. Scarred me for life again. He also shows me his "list." These are the people he is determined to meet. I worry for them.

I met AirDave also.

Seven

When I come out of the bathroom at one point, I run into a little crowd of people standing around talking. There's a good-looking short-ish guy telling a story, and after a second of observation, it occurs to me. I turn to the person on the other side of me. "That's Little Who, right? I'm not crazy." He nods. "You're not crazy." I turn back and listen to Jeff give a very sympathetic explanation of how he and David had to do the rock-splitting Roadblock in the middle of the night, before they got the bad news that the race was over. Happily, he has shaved off the nasty little soul patch, and the hair is much improved, and he's really very cute in person. But it's literally true that I don't entirely feel confident that it's him, even looking at him close-up. Which seems kind of wrong and sad. And, you know, apt.

David I meet for about seven seconds, very late in the evening. He is tall. Also cute. Seems to be having a good time with Monica and Sheree, who I don't meet at all. He calls me "sweetheart," and someone takes our picture. That's about it. I wish I had more to say. But then...they were Team Who, after all.

Eight

There are a lot of things in life that I have trouble with. Finding my way to Phil is not one of them. I strategically maneuver into the general vicinity, and then I get over there to say hi. He's having a discussion about wardrobe. Heh. "Yeah, I did hear there was a sweater I was supposed to burn," he says. Several of us standing nearby explain that the greatest source of controversy was the red and white candy-stripe sweater. This makes him nod slowly. I'm not sure he liked that sweater either. I then tell him that the other one was the bulky white one that I said made his head look like a boiled egg in a cup. This gets an actual laugh. Yay, sweater jokes! He asks me about TWoP and about the staff, and he says, "You must do this full-time." I shake my head. "No, no. Not the people who write the recaps. In my regular life, I have a regular job." He looks shocked. "You must be up in the middle of the night." Hmmm -- compliment, or accusation of insanity? It's a fine line, indeed.

After we've been yapping for a while, he says, "I want to talk to you. Come over here." Now, imagine, if you will, "I want to talk to you" in the Phil accent. Are you getting my point? Ah, yes, it was lovely. So we go over and sit on a bench in the corner and yap. Very pleasant. Show, site, blah dee blah. Quality time with Phil is excellent. At this point, I become aware of someone coming up on my right, preparing to sit down to me. Who is this interloper, I wonder, who cannot tell that I am trying to have a conversation? I start to turn, fully prepared to unleash my nastiest WHAT-DO-YOU-WANT? glare, and then I see that it's Sars. Heh. "Sorry to interrupt," she says, plunking down beside me. "Privilege of the job." Thirty seconds later, the door having been flung open, there are about twelve people within six feet of me and Phil. So much for quality time. ["Oh, boo hoo. Heh." -- Sars]

Later on, as I am conducting a debriefing with Zron and JudyZ, he mentions the Phil talk. "I want you to know, there were a lot of very curious women over here. They were all, 'They're over there talking! Their knees are touching!'" I make it clear that of course I had no idea about the knee thing. And then I am struck by lightning. Oh, no. But I should be.

Nine

"You really are my favorite," I tell Kevin, dropping an arm around him.

"The truth comes out at last," he says. "At last."

Ten

"If Kevin tells you I told him he was my favorite? He's totally lying," I tell Brennan.

"I would never have believed it for a minute," he says.

Eleven

It is just after the breakup of my conversation with Phil that somebody comes over and leans down and says, "Millie wants to talk to you." I have to be wary of this kind of thing, because I've had this happen a few times where it turned out that clearly, this was code for the fact that the person asking wanted me to go talk to whoever it was, so I never assume that this actually means that things are as they are being presented to me. Nevertheless, I go over and start inquiring about whether various people have seen Millie around. Finally, somebody points me toward the bar. I go over there, where a little blonde with long hair is sitting at the bar with her back to me, chatting. I point to her back and mouth to someone, "Millie?" He nods. I wait until a pause comes, and then I tap her on the shoulder. She turns around and reads my nametag, and we shake hands. The first thing she says? "I know you don't like me."

Oy.

So it's like that for a little bit, and I do my true but usually unhelpful bit about how I didn't like certain things, and then Chuck comes over. She starts to explain to him who I am. "She doesn't like us," she tells him. She turns back to me. "He doesn't read anything online," she tells me. "He doesn't read any of it." "I don't," he agrees. "But it wouldn't bother me as much as it bothers her," he adds. "It doesn't bother me," she says. "I just know you don't like us. And it's okay! Really, it's okay. It's okay." Hmm. I nod, or something. There's a little bit of a pause. Chuck leans down a little bit toward me. "Well, I'm definitely going to have to go read it now," he says, which is a little bit funny. Millie tells me several more times throughout the course of the evening that she isn't mad at me, and that it's okay, really. Which is good, I guess. I would say that neither of us walked away with the impression that we would be likely to be friends, but we didn't spit on each other, either. It was okay. Really, it was okay! Hee.

Twelve

Jon and Al have a guy with them who is shooting video. He comes over at one point and sits me down in a corner. "Just talk naturally," he says. "I'm just going to ask you some things, is that okay?" I agree to this, somewhat hesitantly. He asks me what I thought of Jon and Al. "I thought they were great," I say. "They were a lot of fun to watch, and they obviously had a lot of genuine affection for each other...they seemed really nice." From behind the camera, he says, "Did you think that with some of the other teams, their relationships weren't so genuine?" I stare into the camera. I make my "what kind of a question is that?" face. The tape rolls. "I thought they were really genuine," I repeat. I make another face. He turns off the camera and asks me if I want to go say hi to them. Obviously, I say yes, having missed them up to this point. We have a little trouble tracking them down, but when we do, they are just as you would expect. Gracious and smiling and right in the middle of entertaining the troops. I reportedly missed several episodes of nose-balancing, including Corona bottles. How did I miss the Corona bottles? Anyway, they tell me the story of having supportive forum postings read to them while they were on their way to New York to do The Early Show after they were Philiminated. Aww. ClownJon also hands me an autographed clown nose from a bag he's carrying. I thank him. "Hey, do you have kids?" he asks. I admit that I don't, but I look plaintive, so he gives me a spare one anyway. Yay!

Thirteen

"You heard that Sequesterville was in Lisbon, right?" Debra says to me. "Yep, I did," I say. "Okay," she says. She lays out two blue-and-white tiles on the edge of the pool table. "Which one of these do you like better? We got these in Lisbon." I indicate a lovely tile with an image of houses on it. "Well, here you go," she says, handing it to me. They've signed it on the back. Awwww. She also says she didn't expect me to be so "young." I decide on the happy, cheery, "You're so young!" interpretation, rather than the less happy, less cheery, "You write like an old lady" interpretation.

Fourteen

I don't take in much from meeting Jon and Kelly, unfortunately. I do it while the throng around them is particularly throng-like. I say hi, they say hi, and I tell him that I took some abuse for sticking up for them. She's very outgoing and friendly, and very teeny. Someone takes our picture, too. They seem nice enough, but he's acting a little put-upon about being there, which is consistent with what he later says in an interview somewhere about the party being filled with "crazy fanatics" and how "awful" it must be to be an actual celebrity. It occurs to me that we should stop sending the vans that blindfold and kidnap these people and force them to show up. Hopefully, Zach's earlier-reported comment will be some comfort to Jon if he does feel put-upon. And hey, after all, it was Zach who said that, and he won.

Fifteen

One of the things that happens as this party gets bigger and bigger is that I meet a smaller and smaller percentage of the people who are there. I actually manage to miss Reichen completely, although I do see him from a distance once or twice, and he looks very nice. I meet Chip for, again, about four seconds. The main thing I am able to take in -- because it is pointed out to me by someone, though I don't remember who -- is that his chest hair ends in a perfectly neat curve at the precise edge of his neck. As I will say later, it is so precise that it looks like the entire thing was done with tweezers. Or maybe like it was worked on by a highly-paid topiary gardener. You wouldn't think that kind of thing would be highly noticeable, but it is. I give him my customary winner-greeting of, "You won!" to which he says, "We won!" He's better-looking in person, too -- his head doesn't look as boxy as it did on TV. That's pretty much my entire Chipster story, unfortunately. I should have asked for some money, maybe.

Sixteen

At some point, somebody taps me on the shoulder. "Do you see that white-haired guy over there in the white shirt?" I nod. "That's Bert," they say.

"Bert Bert? Executive Producer Bert?"

"Yep."

I make a note that I will have to go over and say hi at some point. Despite my note-making, this never actually happens. How is that possible? Damn.

Now, what makes this story funny is that after I later complain in the finale recap that I didn't met Bert at the party, I receive an email that basically says the following: "Yes, you did. I was standing right there. We were over by the bar, and he thanked you for all the support, and you complimented the show...it was really nice. You did talk to him." Of course, this strikes fear directly into my heart, because although I know I had a few Coronas, I am not having memory problems. How is this possible? So, I write back an email that says basically this: "Is it possible that you're thinking of my conversation with Elise [Bert's wife and also a producer]? Because I did talk to her. And we were over by the bar. And that's basically the conversation that she and I had." The reply comes back: "You know what? I think you're right. Never mind."

And what makes that story funny is that I later tell it to my parents over dinner at their house, and I start with the part where I write in the recap that I didn't meet Bert. And then I talk about the arrival of the email claiming I did meet him after all. I say to them, "Now, I was nervous about this email, because the thing was, I hadn't eaten much of anything the day of the party, so..." My mom raises an eyebrow. "Well, you can see where this is going," she says to my father. "She was looped." "I was not that looped," I protest. "I didn't eat dinner! I'm just saying..." "She was looped," Mom says. "I saw the pictures. She looked looped." Now, I tell her the part where it turns out I was right and I didn't meet him. "So that was a relief," I say. "I would think," she answers. "I told you I wasn't that looped," I finish.

Seventeen

Chris is holding court with a bunch of his many newly-minted fans when I get there. He's been on the boards off and on, so it's nice to have a chance to say hi. There's a little crowd around, so he's entertaining them with various tales of Sequesterville and Venice and hearing himself say, "Come on, FLO!" with Flo across the room. Heh. He brings Amanda over, and he apparently tells her who I am, because she beams at me and says, "No, you're noooooooot!" She is officially the cutest thing ever. She should come complete with a little pink twitchy nose. And they really do swear a lot. But hey, you know that.

Eighteen

There is plenty of kiss-kissing. Oswald is especially talented. But I never lack anymore. It's funny how an offhand remark about Spain, made in the second recap ever, has so thoroughly taken hold. It's a good thing I didn't tell a story about getting kicked in the shins.

Nineteen

It seems only appropriate to tell one story from DimSumCon, which takes place the day. Or, rather, this story takes place after DimSumCon. With another engagement scheduled at 4:00, I leave Jing Fong with Couch Baron at about 2:30. We agree to share a cab, and I'm thinking I can get back to the hotel at about 2:45 and sleep for an hour or so before I have to take off again. We stroll to what seems to be a likely cab-catching corner, but things don't go well. After a few minutes, we walk a few more blocks and start again. For whatever reason, we do not see any cabs at all, anywhere, ever. We walk some more, and then a little more. It's about ninety-five degrees and about ninety percent humidity, and I'm lugging the gifts that Poptart kept overnight for me and gave me over lunch. They're not heavy, but they do include this giant stuffed orangutan. So I'm tramping all over Chinatown with a big stuffed animal under my arm, which raises my internal temperature by about fifteen degrees. Walk, walk, walk. Finally, we give up and decide to walk to the subway. Suddenly, he chuckles. "Can't you see it? The shot of us wandering around with the little white letters at the bottom of the screen -- COUCH BARON AND ALLI -- LOST." I laugh. "CURRENTLY IN LAST PLACE," I add.

Twenty

There's really no way to be show enough gratitude to all of the people to whom it's owed at this point, but I can't get out of this thing without profusely thanking MissDona and Poptart for the planning, PepeNY for the coordination of the brilliant goody bags, pseudostudent for organizing DimSumCon and doing oodles of other administrative good works, and everybody for all the great stuff I brought home. I brought home a stuffed orangutan, a book, a bracelet, two velvet hammers (one heavy, one light -- as it was explained to me, one for close work and one for throwing, heh), a little clock shaped like a TV that is completely the cutest thing ever, an "Editing, Schmediting" shirt (yay! I wore it the other day), a wearable headlamp (hee hee), a "Kiss-Kiss" canvas bag, a necklace, and a stuffed Delaware Blue Rock. I am more than certain I have left multiple things out; it's not because I don't love everything -- it's because I'm already using everything. Oh, and that doesn't count the facial that I got on Friday afternoon, which was ridiculously cool as well. And to everybody I spent time with at the party? It was great to see you.