Instead, I rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. My
first clue should have been the dark circles that shadowed my eyes like swollen half-moons.
I looked like a battered wife or an unsuccessful street fighter. Had yesterday’s
crying done this to me? Surely a few hours of tears wouldn’t wreak this sort of
havoc on my face. Would it?
Okay, not that big of a deal. Who did I have to impress
anyway, right? At least I had gotten up early. I had a dog I needed to bring to
work now that the ex was fully out of
the picture. Before the grand finale of our friendship, we split custody of
Murphy. He would swing by every afternoon and take him until the evenings. Then
I would swing over to his place after work and keep Murphy for the night. But
we are both without each others' keys and not exactly on speaking terms which means Murphy has nowhere to go but with me.Getting a dog ready for travel should be a simple ordeal. That is, of course, unless your dog is spoiled. I had to pack his cage, his toys, his stuffed dog, his treats, his food and his favorite blanket. Then I had to walk him, carry his stuff to the car and make sure he had a sweater in the event of an arctic freeze. It could happen.
The clock was ticking and my calculations for needed ‘ready’
time meant I was now down to one less hour of sleep a night and near being
late.
The events of the day unfolded in the typical ‘should-have-stayed-in-bed’
manner. I spilt gas all over my shoes, spilt an entire venti coffee all over my
car, lost a $20 bill somewhere during my journey, pulled a poisonous pistachio
shell out of my dog’s mouth and almost smashed into a pulled over car.
The high point came when I finally got back home and it came
in the form of a long overdue conversation with one of my best friends in
California. (I will call her Flatbed in remembrance of a Fourth of July disco she
and I had on a truck while screaming that England should have won to anyone who
passed by.) I am Flatbed’s Maid of Honor, a title I am proud to hold, so we
talked wedding plans and bachelor/bachelorette parties.
Weddings usually depress dumped and single women but
somehow her wedding, and the whole idea of being a part of it, was an exhilarating
topic for me. So we hashed out plans and gossiped. For two full hours the following
subjects were discussed: The War of the Brides Maids (yes there is already
delicious drama happening among the women… not involving me, thank god), the WE
WILL NOT DO THIS SOBER wedding, vibrators, the Mexican affair and the
destruction of Vietnam, the daughter I will corrupt, the Lunch of Peace I will
be attending, the blind friend, and a mom who is so awesome that her solution to an unruly
child is to go to Vegas to sort it out (love that woman). Vegas should always
be the answer.
After my phone call I poured a glass of wine, turned on
Walking Dead and shut my phone off. The night ended with me in bed dreaming of
zombies and broken legs (don’t ask). Not so bad after all. I guess my intuition
was right. Life is way better if you stay in bed. The world is much too
dangerous.
In other news, my weekend has already been mapped out. A
birthday is commencing this Friday and shots will be had by all. Except me. I
am volunteering to be the designated driver. Saturday is a write-in for
NANOWRIMO and I am not missing this one. Time to meet people outside of wine
cafes and neighborhood pubs. I almost forgot! My plans for tonight! I was supposed to have sushi with a bestie/coworker/friend of mine but she had an IUD shoved inside her this morning and now she is feeling like she is giving birth to a sumo wrestler. No sushi for her. So I am taking this opportunity to take myself on a date. Me and the beautiful me will be going to Kampi for California rolls and miso soup. I may even stop at the bakery and indulge in a decadent and way-too-high-calories red velvet cupcake. Look at me living on the edge.
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