Tonight I was told some friends were playing guitar at a place called The Talking Stick. All of our friends were there to see them play. About 3 songs in, one friend stood up and told us they actually had a going away surprise for us and turned on a video, projected onto the wall. It was a very sweet video of David and I for about 2 minutes. Then, it said these words:
"David and Erin...this...is...your..."
What word would you guess came next? I guessed, "...life." "David and Erin...this...is...your...life!"
It was not life. The word was not close to life. The word was, "...roast."
"David and Erin...this...is...your...ROAST!"
As soon as I processed the word, "ROAST," I was hoisted upside-down and thrown into a chair that looked like fire next to David, also in a fiery chair. Suddenly, friends and family began standing up one by one, saying their goodbyes, tossing a solid jab or two at us, and somehow highlighting the words, "boobs" and "balls" in a way that might sound creepy to some, but oh-s0-much like home to us. Neither David nor I had ever felt such a sense of honor and joy and primal fear all at once as we did at our very own Roast. I, for one, didn't even know that many people knew who I was, let alone had enough ammo to roast me in the middle of Venice. I think it goes without saying that I don't believe I have ever felt more blessed.
Afterward, an impromptu meeting at a local bar with drinks, reminiscing, dancing, and hysterical laughter filled our last night out on the town in L.A. with so much joy that I'm not sure I ever want to return to L.A. just so I can forever remember it this way.
As I lay, half awake, half asleep, wishing I could somehow call back the movers and request an extra year, I feel undeserving of the amount of love that I just received. I only hope I will be able to make someone else feel so astoundingly lucky in my lifetime.