There are no words...


Jason Alexander and I met at an interior decorator’s trade show, in the antler furniture aisle, in my dream. I’m not really into antler furniture. I’m not sure he is either, but the way he smiled at me made me think he was into me. So I went with it.

I recognized him instantly, of course, and tried hard not to think of him as George Costanza, even though I watch Seinfeld reruns several times a week, because something about Jerry and Elaine and George and Kramer soothes me into remembering that my life’s pretty good and I’ve got my act together, for the most part.

Then I suddenly remembered I was mad at him for how horribly he treated Julia Roberts in the hotel room when Richard Gere was out and I wanted to give him the cold shoulder, since I have a real fondness for Julia because in real life she bought an old suitcase I turned into art with puff-paint, but then he said “Hi, how are you? I didn’t know they made antlers this big!” And he smiled again and I realized he was flirting with me.

Things got a little jumbled after that, the way things do when you take 4 Motrin in the middle of the night because the Percocet the doctor gave you at Urgent Care to ease the pain from what’s probably strep throat made you itch, so you’re afraid to take another one because you’re home alone and what if the itch turns into one of those full blown reactions that closes your throat so you can’t breathe and no one’s there to call 911? And, by the way, how long do you have before you realize your throat is closing? Long enough to dial 911 yourself? And how many words can you get out before your talking stops? A short sentence or a long sentence? Would you say “Help! I think I’m having an allergic reaction to Percocet, my throat seems to be closing, can you please send someone with an epi pen to my house?” Or would you just blurt out your address first and hope the 911 people would put two and two together and send a fully stocked ambulance immediately? I wonder what George Costanza would do.

Ah, Motrin. It’s not just for cramps anymore.

So anyway, I liked the way Jason smiled at me, and I wanted to keep talking to him, so I walked him over to a sales girl who I assumed would know more about the antlers. I figured it would amuse him to hear an antler furniture sales pitch, and it was something we’d laugh about later, since we were surely going to be friends now, and probably have coffee later, and I was hoping he noticed how normal and un-star-struck I was, but then I reminded myself, hey he’s George Costanza, not Brad Pitt, after all, and he’d be lucky if I agreed to go out with him.

But then I felt a little mean, because I remembered he wasn’t actually George, and that he’s a very talented guy, and very charismatic from what I could tell so far. I also remembered I wasn’t married any more, so I tried to look at his left hand to see if he had a wedding ring, but he had his hand in his pocket.

I then walked us over to a huge antler sculpture made out of candy cane, uh, material. It was taller than both of us. I realize neither of us are exactly tall, but still, that thing was bigger than a mini-van.

Jason thought it was fantastic. The sales girl started telling us more about the huge candy cane antlers and I wondered if people would be tempted to lick it, if I were to buy it and put it in my living room, and then Jason started flirting with the sales girl, which I didn’t appreciate. At all.

And then I was mad at myself for being jealous. I mean, I just met the guy. It’s not like he was my boyfriend. But he hadn’t had time to get to know me all the way yet, and surely I was cuter and more appealing than the sales girl, in a mature way, right? What if he was really a cad who used his fame to seduce fan girls? Ick. I’d dump him in a heartbeat.

Luckily, she was young and immature and didn’t know who he was, and didn’t get any of his jokes, so he started talking to me again. Because I get Jason. I really do. And right then and there, Jason Alexander realized how lucky he was to have me as a friend.

And then I woke up and thought wow, who needs Percocet? And how much Motrin is too much?

And then I tweeted this, in real life:

And then, OMG, he tweeted this, in real life:

And then I knew that somehow the universe was paying attention to me and all my dreams are worthwhile and even pretend friends can really make your day with a wink and a smile and a tweet, which is exactly why social media works for pretending you’re friends with famous people on Twitter.