To talk rapidly in a foolish or purposeless way.

There's this girl I know named Lana. She's a nice girl, very friendly, smart, talented. I met her through a friend and I liked her from the start. We exchanged email addresses and we've recently started hanging out.

The first couple of times we got together, we met up for coffee and our time was limited by the fact that I inevitably had another commitment that day, leaving us with only an hour or two to chat. I liked her so much that I invited her to a little gathering at my apartment with a few other friends. I baked cookies and served tea and coffee and it was really very lovely. Or at least it should have been.

You know that character on TV, the woman who can talk and talk and talk and talk and she won't notice if the person she's talking to is asleep, has left the room, or is dead? That's Lana. Every time anyone else tries to talk, she talks right over them. She's like a loud lawn mower and we are blades of grass. I don't think the girl breathes because that day she came over? I waited for her to take a breath so I could at least squeeze in an "Mmm hmm" and I never could. She told every single story she'd ever told me over coffee and when she got through those she told stories about hangnails and splinters and the time her cat hid under her bed. She told stories that ended in, "I'm not sure why I told you that, but it reminds me of this one time when..." and then she'd launch into another tale so boring I wanted to saw my ears off with a pair of rusty nail scissors. It would have been less painful than listening to her talk.

The get-together started at two and was supposed to end at five. I had made plans to meet Adam in Queens by seven. At 5:15 I started to fidget. My other guests were also beginning to fidget. At 5:25 I walked out of the room to answer a phone call and Lana, still talking, rolled her eyes in my direction as if she couldn't believe how rude I was being. At 5:45 I took my dogs for a walk. At 6:15 I cleared all the dishes and washed them. At 6:30 I cleaned up the living room. At 7:00, after I noticed that Joe had fallen asleep on my couch and Lana STILL hadn't shut up, I resigned myself to a life of endless one-way chatter and gave myself a pedicure. 

At 7:15 my friend Shannon left the room to use the bathroom (she couldn't politely excuse herself because there wasn't room in Lana's endless spewing of nonsensical words and boring stories to say even, "I have to pee, I'll be right back,") and when she did, I followed her and cornered her in the kitchen.

"WHY WON'T LANA SHUT UP?" I was more than a little freaked out by then.

"Dude. I don't know. She's awful. I'm starving. I've gotta get out of here."
"Yes! Please! Leave! I can't take it anymore! Take everyone with you!"
"HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO LEAVE WHEN SHE WON'T SHUT UP LONG ENOUGH FOR US TO SAY WE HAVE TO GO?"

Shannon had a point. "Maybe if you just gather up your stuff she'll get the hint?"

"Right. Because she got the hint so well when you cleaned your living room and trimmed your toenails."

But Shannon tried. She really tried and I could see that and it meant a lot. However, Lana did not get the hint. Everyone else, thanks to Shannon's cue, gathered up their things and made their way to the front door while I watched, in abject horror, as Lana followed them to the door and then stood in front of it, her body blocking the exit like a shield, so she could keep on talking. And talking. And talking. For another thirty minutes.

Then I thought, Hey! Maybe if I leave too, Lana will surely have to go! So I put on my coat and shoes and hat and gloves and reached around her, my hand grazing her behind, and opened the front door. She gave no indication of being aware that she might be in my way, but kept on talking. She did, however, grab her things and follow us out the door, and for that at least I was relieved. My plans with Adam might be ruined, but now I could spend the rest of my night in peace.

The group of us left my apartment building and everyone went their separate ways. Except Lana. Dear Lana. Lana stood next to me talking. And talking. I didn't actually have anywhere to go now, it was too late to go to Queens, but I didn't want her to follow me back into my building, so I walked to the drugstore. Maybe, I thought, I could at least get some errands done. Lana came with me. She followed me through the drugstore, in every aisle, yapping while I purchased toothpaste and floss. She followed me to the super market, chattering in the dairy aisle, the shampoo aisle, the coffee aisle, jabbering in line at the cashier. She followed me to the laundry mat and babbled while I picked up Michael's freshly pressed shirts. She followed me all the way back to my apartment where, my throat sore from disuse, I was about to open my mouth to tell her I wasn't letting her back inside my apartment when she said:

"Anyway, I've got about a million things to do tonight. I'd love to keep talking but I've really gotta go!" and then she dashed off down the street.

Have you ever dated someone you didn't really like, who you hadn't broken up with yet because you felt sorry for them because they were kind of a douchey loser? And just when you think you can't stand it anymore, when you think you'd rather have all your fingernails pulled out than spend ONE MORE NIGHT EATING DINNER WITH THIS CREEP, he says he's leaving you because he just doesn't think you're right for him? And you think to yourself, No! No! I was supposed to leave you!

That's how I felt, standing on my stoop, my arms overloaded with shopping bags and pressed shirts. NO, LANA, NO. I WAS SUPPOSED TO LEAVE YOU.