Phone Candy: by Gigi

Hi -- Last night I had the weirdest dream. I was in France with friends, then I was in Italy and met with the Boy-Everyone-Warns-You-About, an Italian milkdud in a pine green shirt on a scooter. But I have a real boyfriend in real life, Jackie, and I felt guilty about getting on the back of the scooter (if you know what I mean) of this hot, young Italian stud. He wanted to kiss me "down there" and that's where I drew the line. Then I found myself first in line for the French version of American Idol but I'm in my 30's and I'm about as tone deaf as Helen Keller. But there I was in a strange common area with these international kids and I was first in line. Then I realized I had to leave tomorrow for the states to return home, only I wasn't sure if it was tomorrow and I definitely didn't know the time. So I kept calling Alaska Airlines' 1-800 # over and over, but it was hard because the French don't have 1-800 numbers. So I was calling my friend, Meri, to see where she was: back at the hotel and she'd just drank one of my expensive bottles of french wine I was planning on taking home with me. Then James Earl Jones called, but I let it go to voice-mail. The the coordinator of the French A.I. came in and asked if everyone had enough, "phone candy." I guessed this referred to the several big bowls of m&m's, red vines, gummies and other assorted candies laid out everywhere for us to snack on while we waited, talking on our phones.