Help me, Rhonda

This weekend has been... glorious. On Friday night I was introduced to Porter's Pub in Easton and it felt fantastic. Venturing out of the Lehigh bubble did wonders for my soul. It was the kind of place where the crowd is completely different every night- which is probably a function of what type of live music they offer. Even so, everybody knows each other. We made friends rather quickly with a Easton native and her ride home. Her name was Jayme and she resembled a slightly younger Susan Sarandon who was three sheets to the wind. I turned to my friends and said, "You could write a play about this one."

I wrote down things she said:

1. She used to work at an auto shop and was naturally around men all the time. Maybe that's why she cursed like a sailor.
2. Traveled to Italy when she was younger. By herself. For weeks. TWICE. "Who do you share that with?"
3. Upon seeing the Leaning Tower of Pisa for the first time: "It really...fucking...leans."
4. "I've stayed in B & Bs where the cows come right up to the window"
5. When we told her we were Lehigh students, she laughed and said "Crap! I used to walk my dogs at Lehigh and let them shit on the front lawn."
6. Her friend bought her a mink as a divorce present.
7. Upon drunkenly stumbling out the door: "I'm so fucking Irish."
8. "I am who I am."

I liked her because she was interesting. I overheard a conversation about whether or not an "uninteresting" life would make a good subject for a play. I don't know. What I do know is that one "uninteresting" life could be the most exciting thing since sliced bread to another person. One man's junk is another man's treasure kind of thing. Anyway, it's particulars--some peculiar, some profound--that keep me interested.

Today's Superbowl Sunday. Go get it.

-Katie