So this morning.
I was half-awake when I realized that yes, Virginia, it is a Tuesday and not, for instance, the mythical day of Satnesday, where cloned Russell Crowes will anoint my body with gold-infused oils and juice fresh pomegranates for me all day long (love the fresh juice, don’t want to deal with the Lady MacBeth hands that accompany said juicing). I left at my standard time to accommodate my morning trip to Sbux, but when I get there, the lights are out, Lindsay Barrista is shaking his head at the customer at the window, and there is a sign on the menu where you place your order. Getting closer, I see that their power is out and they have brewed coffee but that is it. I did not think that maychance I could have gotten a Misto with a shot of vanilla, but instead, backed up and decided, aw hell, I’d go to new local brew house that just opened and was conveniently located next to the first off ramp of the highway. And then, in my questionable wisdom, I decided that instead of getting on the highway and then getting off again (and risking the fact that I’d zone out and forget to get off the highway until I was exiting for work, sans caffeine) I would drive through a residential neighborhood in order to avoid passing the meat packing plant and achieve caffeination that way.
Of course, this was a mistake. It took about fifteen minutes to drive what should have taken five, probably because I was stuck behind a caravan of stupidity. (Note to self: do not take the Route of Meat Packing Avoidance in the morning when the Stay at Home Moms are leisurely driving their minivans home after dropping the kids at school. They have no sense of urgency and will make you insane.) Then, once I did make it to the local Sfaux, I pulled in behind someone in a Taurus who needed to apparently order the most confounding order known to man. I zoned out, listening to the latest Death Cab CD, and tried to be Zen, even though I needed to be sitting in my desk with computers booted up in a mere fifteen minutes. During my Zen trance (during which I tallied all the ways that Sbux was better than Sfaux), I very much suspect that the car that pulled up closely behind me got a little too close. In that they oh so slightly bumped my car. I wasn’t 100% certain and I hadn’t been paying attention to my rearview mirror when they pulled up, so I didn’t see it happening, so I decided that I just didn’t care enough and to get out and investigate would be, I don’t know, rude. Welcome to Midwestern Nice.
Finally, after they had given the Taurus driver all the coffee in Columbia, I was able to place my order. To their credit, it was a very speedy order, but to their discredit, I suspect they didn’t put any vanilla syrup in it and also, it tasted like a post-beer bender cup of shit. However, I did make it into the office with a few minutes to spare, and employed my Mary Poppins method of coffee doctoring. Enough sugar and almost anything is suckable.
(Snort!)
(Designers? What happened to Andrea?)
It goes without saying that within minutes, while laughing at someone who receiving a singing barbershop quartet from her boyfriend, I spilled a third of the mocha onto my pristine white cardigan, and the shirt I’ve layered beneath it exposes a little too much Weetabix to wear at work. Thus, I ended up hand washing the coffee out of it in the bathroom sink under ice cold water, wringing it out, and then put it back on, soaking wet. And my laptop is completely broken and won’t boot up, instead cycling through a failure mode and then trying to restart to hit the failure screen again.
And because the universe always has the best punch lines, I have two images for you. Impending sneeze. Mouth full of half-chewed bagel.
End scene.
There is nowhere to run to, baby, nowhere to hide.
Because I don’t like to wallow in the suckiness of this morning, two things. First, after three days of repeatedly starting and restarting the same hand of four suit spider solitaire, I conquered it last night. No one was home to join in my celebration, but believe me, the cat was very impressed. I am waiting patiently for the invitation from Mensa.
Secondly, when I walked into the bedroom to say good bye to Esteban this morning, he rolled over and asked if I had found my card. He then instructed me to locate it, and inside he had written that I’m getting my Valentine present after work but he didn’t want me to spend the entire day worrying. Which is awesome because not only is he very sweet, but also, there will be no barbershop quartet in my immediate future.
On Sunday, Mopie and I trekked to Milwaukee to pick up a trifle dish from Crate and Barrel (what? These things are important!) and also to check off one of the very crucial elements of our GB Minicon check list, which was ‘Visit Hootchie Mama store for New Clothes’. I always enjoy introducing new people to the Hootchie Mama store, because honestly, all retail venues should happen this way. They recognize the fact that hootchiness transcends dress size, covering Juniors, Misses, Plus Sizes and Super Plus sizes with panache. You can find the same shirt in size 2 or size 34. You want boobies? You can’t handle the boobies. As Pie noted, there are a lot of things that go over the top, but there are also things that sort of flirt with being over the top, and that makes them fabulous. And true to the magic of the Hootchie Mama, Pie found a bunch of items, including one shirt that was listed as being four dollars but then was an extra 50% off. I got a black circle skirt flanked with giant silver sequins. It’s too big and has big threads hanging off of it, but after a few minutes and a few stitches, as well as the addition of a silvery crinoline, it’s going to be the skirt I’ve always dreamed of owning. And a pair of earrings for $2. And two pairs of sunglasses at $3 each. Love the Hootchie Mama store. Love it.
Plans for the GB Minicon are going swimmingly. There is ‘significant accumulation’ on the forecast later this week, so the sleigh ride through snowy woods is going to be beautiful. There are still a few spots on the bus, so if you are now kicking yourself for not committing, here’s your chance. Click on the Weet and Pie picture below for more information.
Happy St. Valentine’s Day!
