Nora Ephron’s Hot Dog

2 Apr

Hilary visited this weekend.

She told me her stomach hurt all morning and then she realized it was excitement. She was going to see Jill!

I told her I didn’t sleep well the night before and I realized it was excitement. I was going to see Hil!

We tried Nora Ephron’s hot dog which is really just a Nate ‘n Al’s hot dog forever immortalized by Nora.

She said that it was her final meal, the meal she would choose above all else. With it, she issued a warning

When you are actually going to have your last meal, you’ll either be too sick to have it or you aren’t gonna know it’s your last meal and you could squander it on something like a tuna melt and that would be ironic. So it’s important … I feel it’s important to have that last meal today, tomorrow, soon.

We tried Nora Ephron’s hot dog.

The deli itself is straight out of a time warp. Taupe seats. Jello cubes jiggling in a fridge. We ordered the hot dog with pastrami and relish, sauerkraut and mustard.

I burned my tongue.

I’ve been lonely lately.

LA is a lonely place.

People move here from all over, filled with big dreams, and then they leave. Either when the dreams don’t work or they realize they were chasing the wrong thing all along.

LA is transient, and I’ve been here almost seven years. In that time there have been periods where I haven’t even thought about loneliness, where the word felt foreign on my tongue. There have also been periods where it’s felt all-consuming, where the word is tattooed on my brain.

Lonely, lonely, lonely.

We drove to the flower fields on Tuesday, the car thick with Kacey Musgraves.

I read her Tom Hiddleston’s profile in GQ and we talked about Getaway Car and if the journalist was in love with him, and what a celebrity profile!

Has there even been another celebrity profile?

We talked about Meghan Markle and Prince Harry and the intricacies of the British royal family.

I read an article about mediocrity and we parsed through the things that we do for pleasure, for fun.

We stopped well out of our way for sugary drinks. We sang Celine Dion.

And we got to the flower fields, something to behold.

I wished I was Mary Oliver so I could describe it perfectly, to tie it back to God and mysteries and maybe even have the flowers talk to me, but instead I am me and this is my description:

The flower fields were healing. The flower fields were beauty.

We walked around them. We took pictures. Hundreds of pictures with lots of laughter.

Hilary attempted a backbend. She danced with the flowers.

There was a moment where I looked around at the crowds waiting in line to take a picture on the posed benches and I said “We are having more fun than anyone else here.”

I’ve tried various things for my loneliness. I have spearheaded social events. I’ve hung out with all sorts of people, some far outside my comfort zone. I have set goals and met goals, but the truth of the matter is, you can’t set a goal about getting a stomach ache when you see someone.

You can’t try hard enough and then end up with a bosom friend.

Those friends are rare, forged in the fires of time and secrets.

I joke that if you don’t know about the intricacies my trauma, and how my trauma has been passed down to me, what are we doing here?

I joke, but I’m not joking.

Hilary visited this weekend.

We tried Nora Ephron’s hot dog.

We tried to make her proud.

I am

full

full

full.

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