Or, as my colleagues call it, "Detroilet."
On the flight up I convinced myself that I'd be struck by lightning when we landed. You know...a lifelong Chicago Blackhawks fan in Red Wings territory.
You think I exaggerate, but this was a perfectly valid concern considering that when I crossed the threshold of Busch stadium earlier this year, the damn place was assaulted by a massive hail storm and just missed being hit by a tornado. (I was standing beside the guy who took this video, shaking in my shoes and promising the baseball gods I'd never again cheat on the Cubs).
Luckily, no sports-related injuries were incurred in 'The City of Tomorrow.'
How-evah, I did trip and fall into a time warp....
Back story: In the 8th grade I had a devastating crush on a boy named Ray Wasik. Over the years I've thought about Raywasik (you have to read his name all running together because that's how I've said it in my head since the day I met his blonde, Polish loveliness in Political Science class). This is because I experienced my first near- mental breakdown working up the courage to ask him to sign my yearbook on the last day of school. Ever since then, when I've been Chihuahua-in-a-thunderstorm nervous about something I've thought, "This isn't Raywasik Yearbook bad. I can do this."
Present day: The morning of my meeting last week, I pulled on my power panties and headed out to the site of a pretty important customer. I was feeling good. I was cool. I was going to run the smoothest, bestest, most productive-but-fun meeting ever held in Novi, Michigan, goshdarnit. (Hey, it ain't saving puppies, but it's what I do).
Everything was going fanfuckingtastically - for ONCE the rental GPS worked so I didn't end up hopelessly lost in a strange city. Therefore I arrived early and found a Mary Catherine Gallagheresque Superstar parking spot. All good signs, right?
Right. Until I walked in aaaand.....
There sat Raywasik. Not the real Raywasik. Not even someone related to him...you know I had to ask ...but he was close enough.
And I was sooooo fucked.
There was no way in hell I was going to be able to sit in that room, all day, and cooly interact with the doppelganger of the person who comes to mind whenever I'm losing my shit.
Aaaaaand I didn't.
I wasn't cool. I was 14 years old and awkward, and I'm pretty sure I left everyone there - including people who have known me for years - believing I'm a resident of the spectrum.
So, as long as I had reverted back to my 14 year-old self, what do you think I did this weekend?
1. Looked up Raywasik in old yearbooks, to verify that this guy does, indeed, look exactly like him
2. Google-stalked Raywasik
The worst part of this dysfuncational tale is that he has no online presence. None. On the Internet, where nobody knows your a dog, he doesn't exist.
There is an actor out there, named Ray Wasik, but he isn't THE Raywasik.
Raywasik isn't on Facebook, Google +, Twitter, LinkedIn or Tumblr.
So he must be dead, right?