This week has been a whirlwind. I had two big projects due on Friday, one at 3:00pm and one at 4:30pm and once they were done all I could think was, "I'm gonna get crazy tonight!"Only, I didn't get crazy because on my way to get crazy, I locked my steering wheel and my car wouldn't work and all I could think of was, "Now you can't go anywhere and you're really going to regret not going grocery shopping this week and at least picking up toilet paper!"
I came back in the house and I was sure that there had to be some kind of celebratory liquid (i.e. alcohol) that I could get my mitts on. I found a bottle of organic wine that literally, literally could have filled... I don't know, something frickin' small... so small, I didn't even bother wasting a glass on it.
I just uncorked the bottle and took the smallest, saddest chug out of it that I could.
I probably could have gotten a bigger buzz off gargling with some Listerine.
I'm classy.
So then, I'm all about, "Saturday night! Saturday night will be awesome! I'll dress up, I'll wear mascara. I'll drink a fifteen dollar glass of wine before switching to domestic beer to save money for cab fare! I'm gonna get ripped!"
So classy.
But then all last night I'm all super amped and can't sleep and it might have something to do with having, like, a sextriplet espresso at Starbucks so I could power through the day and make all my deadlines and I actually barely drift off at 3:00am but my dog needs to go out at 5:00am (and I think after my last post you know I'm not taking any chances with him...)
So my super deep REM doesn't even come until after 5:30am but I wanna get back on schedule so I get up at a decent hour this morning only to be in a semi-conscious state all day.
And that's when, tonight, after treating myself to four "30 Rocks" back to back on my computer, I see that it's 6pm and I start thinking, "Can I just please go to bed now? Please."
Who would know?
I WOULD KNOW! I need to go out, I need to socialize, celebrate, wear something with non-elastic pants! I need my hair to be down, my eyes to be swathed in sparkle, I need to hear good music and laugh 'til I semi-snort.
Oh, but I'm so tired. So you know what I do?
I'm wicked hungry and I'm madly craving going to McDonalds and getting a kid's meal. That's what I do. Four chicken McNuggets, small fry and a lemonade. That's my Saturday night.
I'm kidding. That would be pathetic if that were my Saturday night.
Okay, that was totally my Saturday night.
And as I'm digging into my meal and I realize that they forgot to put bar-b-que sauce in with my meal (which let's face it - it's all about the bar-b-que sauce. The nuggets are just a mechanism to get the bar-b-que sauce into my mouth.)
So then I'm like, "I'm totally writing a letter to McDonald's about how completely incompetent they are." But then it occurs to me that the only thing sadder than eating a Happy Meal on a Saturday night, is admitting that you ate a Happy Meal on a Saturday night.
"Let it go," I told myself. "You have so many YouTube videos to watch tonight."
Then THAT thought made me even sadder so I stopped at my 7-11 to pick up a bottle of wine and all of a sudden it became very important to me that the cashier think that this bottle of wine was a HUGE precursor to my night of dancing and debauchery.
"I'm just gonna have a few friends over tonight to have a little of this Shiraz and then we're gonna get CW-AZY!"
I didn't say that. Saying that is like admitting: "I'm really going home to drink this wine alone out of a coffee cup while I watch videos of cats play with rolls of toilet paper."
So instead, I did the thing where, as he's ringing up my wine, I'm scraping the price tag off the bottle, which we all know is code for: "I'm on my way to a party."
Do you think he bought it? I think he totally bought it.
This blog is dedicated to hamsters.
