it is rare that i have a super duper stellar day. i'm not exactly sister mary sunshine, but i also don't mope around bemoaning every little irritation that scrapes my skin.
most days are status quo. not so bad. not so great.
yesterday was bad.crap. shit. suck. fuck. bad.
it was a normal morning. ran a little late for work (status quo); forgot to bring my lunch (sortof on purpose). i was kind of dreading, kind of looking forward to an evening of steaks with The Guy and his roommate and the roommate's latest bar find. i was a little pissed at myself for being too lazy the night before to put together the Thai Shrimp Bisque i wanted to bring. i love to cook and impress people with my (let's face it) impressive cooking. but i had slothed out after work. so i was going to grab a bag of salad. not impressive. let it go.
about noon my sister called my cell phone. that alone is a weird flag. i work at my dad's office. she knows that number in her sleep. my mom was being taken to the medical center. she was unable to put words together and had some cognitive "issues". both of us suspected stroke. sis was in the car on her way to Methodist. i snapped the phone shut, had a momentary head spin, then composed myself. grabbed my purse. hit the freeway towards the med center.
the downward spiral begins.
insert about an hour with me sipping a crap cocktail of snarly freeway traffic, navigating downtown streets, playing bob and weave with the light rail, then basking in the joy that is a multi-hospital parking garage.and nothing quite compares to the wondrous adventure of spending an hour or three and a half in a busy downtown emergency room. with your mom. nervous mom. who has now been restored with the miracle of speech. which she is using. a lot. ah, thank you god.
after a bunch of blood work, an EKG (eh?) and a pretty cool conversation with Dr. Finkelstein (i kid you NOT). mom was released and i headed back to the sweetest little town in texas. in rush hour traffic. yee ha.
then it was dinner with The Guy, his roommate and roommate's latest bar find. Said bar find happened to be a 44 yr old chick with a brick house body complete with real boobs. and they were fantastic. it was like spreading a frothy layer of shit frosting on the ass cake of my day. as i sat across the table, sucking on 64 calorie beer, letting it sink in that i was about to turn 40 and could probably wear this chick's belt for a headband, she regaled us with positively fascinating stories of her ultra-athleticism. golf? yes. swimming? butterfly,thank you. tennis? her best sport. "i'm not really into marathons, but the occassional 5k is fun, if i'm not too hung over." puh leez. there i sat with the coordination of a newborn calf -- and the ass to match. i decided to get drunk. not always a good plan, but always a reliable back up.
about that time, the babysitter texts me: "no rush, but i told my mom i'd be home about 8:00. Will u b home soon?"
soon? seriously? i just left at 6. you think i'll be home at 8? i thought i was the drunk one.
now i'm not sure what kind of cosmic misunderstanding might have taken place between the time i explained how to put my kids to bed AT EIGHT THIRTY and her belief that i would be home at EIGHT. but it really didn't matter because at that point, i was not only the chubby one, i was the chubby one texting the mystery person and getting pissed off in the process. The Guy was just thrilled with me. i'm sayin.
and yes, i will have another glass of wine. just hand me the bottle. thanks.
i suppose my liquid courage gave me the gumption (really? what am i sixty, now? gumption? ugh.) to call another babysitter and cooerce her to play tag-team with dumbshit babysitter number one (good luck getting that $20 bucks out of me, sister).
Finally ten-thirty rolls around and The Guy follows me home. i tell him to stick close because i've now polished off a whole bottle of wine and my week's allowance of diet beer. i then speed off leaving him to actually come to a halt at stop signs and not skid through the turns.
from here: i'm unclear, but i will say as far as i can remember my day did get a little better.
tomorrow. tomorrow. i love ya... tomorrow. and diet coke. i love ya diet coke.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I feel like a shit for not telling you when I called you. If I didn't check my watch for the date, I would have not known it was the 25th. GAWD. SORRY!WE LOVE YOU!
Well at least your mom bounced back. Look into getting an IV wine drip.
Birthdays always make me guzzle the liquid courage, too.
Somehow I missed this until now, don't know how. But the "I could use her belt as a headband" line made me laugh out loud.
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