03 November 2008

NaNoBloMoAlmost

What really makes this funny is that...we have the same excuse. No lie: I didn't know what day it was and I had too much to drink.

At some point in the near future I'm going to address FatBoyFat's blog posting about having kids...he had me smiling from Go. But one of the things about having kids is...you get sick? Tough shit. If you DON'T have kids and you get sick and it's the weekend, you can go to bed. If you have kids? And you have an annual neighborhood Halloween hayride for about 150 people? Then on Friday you take your germy little darlings to school, come home, pop one of every cold pill in the house, and then go haul straw bales and tables and chairs and firewood and coolers. You come home and DIE, and spend a sleepless night trying not to cough because it hurts too bad and makes the ice picks in your forehead spike you.

And you get confused because since the hayride is on Saturday, then Saturday must be the 31st. Mustn't it? Surely? The 31st?

Then Saturday? You do it again. You make four batches of chili and start rounding up extension cords and fish cookers and tubs and basins and flashlights and industrial lights on poles which have blown bulbs that can only be purchased 20 miles away. You get one kid to her volunteer work and the other kid to a birthday party. You remember you need to take a shower. You buy beer and special bourbon because YOU HAVEN'T HAD A DRINK IN A WEEK and by george, if you're going to mix cold medicine and bourbon it's going to be worth it going down.

It wasn't.

I was supposed to go to Birmingham yesterday to spend the night with my lovely friend in her lovely house and have a lovely time. I didn't. Go. Or have a lovely time. I kept my germs at home. In bed.

The point I've reached now is that...it doesn't matter. I feel just as bad IN bed as OUT of bed. Miserable is miserable. So I'm loading up a stray friend and driving to Bham today (I have to pick up the one-legged cousin's sister at the airport) and finding somewhere cool and sophisticated to eat lunch.

So I can sit there and sniff and snort and blow all over the crudites. With style, I might add.

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