Yes, And... (Part 1)

There we were...standing in the Middle of Nowhere, Texas. 

Dark road. Bright stars. Empty feeling in stomach.

"Katie, what have you gotten us into?" my friend said, doubting me more and more each second.

"Guys, be cool. We will be fine...I promise." Mostly telling them, but partially telling myself.

We were in an odd predicament. If only I knew—the night was only going to get weirder.

I was at a music, film and interactive festival called South By Southwest, and an hour earlier I had missed jumping on the Zappos party bus. I was okay with it. I was tuckered out and at a nice dinner with a couple friends. Then, a friend of mine from the bus texted and said: "you have to meet us. i'll give you the address once you are in the cab, but only if you text me before 9:30. it is going to be epic."

Intriguing.

My dinner buds were intrigued as well (one of whom tells me he is now living his life by the principles of improv: never say no, say "yes, and...", and make your partner look good. I love it.)

So, in the spirit of improv, we said what the heck and "Catch A Chevy" (free rides to any SXSW events). The somewhat foul-tempered driver makes us promise it is an official event..."um, yes, of course" we say, hoping that is the real answer.

Forty-five minutes later, down a dark road, we knew the answer should have been "no."  Our now-livid driver drops us off, unwilling to wait and see if we were, in fact, on the latest set of Criminal Minds. "Have a great night. Think of me," he said, the words lingering as the dust from his blunt exit settled.

"Katie...where are we?..."

Crickets, literally. I honestly had no idea. I couldn't even tell a cab where to go if we were able to get one (which we wouldn't be, seeing as it was the busiest week in Austin).

All I can think to do is walk toward the lights. Confidently, of course, lest my friends revolt.

Luckily, we find a security guard up the road. "Is this the 'Magic House'?" I ask—feeling dumb, but referring to the only other clue my friend gave me.

"Yes. Welcome to Richard's manor. Come on up."

We exchange apprehensive glances and go with it, following him up the winding drive to the brightly-lit mansion. Still, no sign of the bus. We're ushered in and warmly greeted into "Richard's home."  We can only see the back of Richard's head, as he is interviewed in the foyer.

All of our eyes are saying the same thing to each other..."Who is Richard?"

The kind crew get us drinks and begin to show us the collections, not excluding the large, hanging canvas of a shuttle taking off into space.  "Here is the photo of Richard going to space. Do you know the story?" 

"I think we've heard it, but please...tell us again...?"

"Richard wanted to go to space, but NASA wouldn't let him because of his poor eye sight, even after he went to Canada for an experimental surgery! So, he simply went to Russia and bought a ticket from them."  Naturally.

We steal away to a corner, "Are we at Richard Branson's house??"

Then the bus arrives...

(more later)