Monday, January 10, 2011

I like gas-station hot dogs.

Before I delve into the weird that was my weekend I'd just like to let you know that since the last time we talked I've acquired a very mini-sized tube of deodorant for my purse. It was the only responsible thing for an otherwise almost completely irresponsible person to do. So, even though I may choke on unsuccessfully dry-swallowed pills in the future, I will also have the peace of mind that if I die, I will indeed NOT be the smelly person at the office, even if I forget to apply antiperspirant before I dash out the door in the morning.


Also, my sister and I, enroute to Columbus, Ohio, hometown of my beloved alma mater, for one final Christmas of the year, discovered that we both loathe two-door cars. Call us old biddies, but we both believe that the sedan is where it's at. I mean, driving a coupe is like admitting you have zero or one friends, you're cheap and will never offer to drive, or you don't give a shit about the comfort level of your passengers. Four door cars just make everything easier. I just need to know that I can access everything in my backseat easily, without having to awkwardly lean over the front seat with my ass in the air trying to find that other shoe... or something. Plus, a spacious backseat? I don't hate it.

On Sunday morning, Beth and I decided that after drinking heavily, sleeping in a house that I'm highly allergic to, and getting well below five hours of sleep, we were so in love with our manfriends that we would rise at seven in the morning to begin the journey back to them.

 Things got rullllllll weird.

 Mostly, me. Plus, Beth is the anti morning person to my schizoid total morning person... Usually when we're mixed together before noon or so, it will end in a verbal altercation that turns into a physical altercation.... that leads to one or both of us being physically or emotionally scarred for life... it's a pretty volatile combination. I'll just have you know right now, though, that we both survived a weekend of six driving hours together without any real bitchiness. Which is big. For both of us.

Now, let’s talk about a little thing called false advertising.

I have a problem with products that proclaim they will give you energy. AKA when I consumer said product, no matter the conditions,  I get the jitters, start shaking like a leaf on the tree, start wigging the fuck out for about two hours, and then crash and am completely worthless for the rest of the day. And I know this about myself. And I still decided I needed to take a five hour energy shot at 7:30 in the morning on Sunday. For S's and G's, since I wasn't even driving. Because I just can't say NO to impulses and urges. Ever.

Whatever, I also wolfed down a gas station hot dog before the sun was up, loaded with onions, ketchup, mustard, chili, and cheese, so I had basically already taken my own life in my hands.  Because I obviously lose any semblance of shame when I'm hungover.

These products that claim massive amounts of energy! without a crash! DO NOT give me energy, they make me loopy as all get-out, and then they make me feel within inches of death for the next 12-24 hours.

Anyway.... things got a little wacky for us at some point during the three hour drive and we had, I shit you not, this conversation:

Sara:  'ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I feel all flooby and I can't stop making weird noises.'

Beth: 'Yeah, you are making weird noises. You're actually acting like you've lost your mind.'

Sara: 'gahhhh, glooooody dooooody bahhhhh rummmpp pa pa pump."

Beth: 'When I'm babysitting I real like to make the children make animal noises.'

Sara: 'Uhhhhhhhh, I'm too hopped up on five-hour energy to fully grasp how not right that is.'

Beth: 'My favorite animal to have them imitate is a monkey.'

Sara: (cracking up/losing it) ‘You know what, you're fucking odd. I don't know why anyone would let you watch their children.

Beth: ‘Just last week, a little girl I babysit for named a poop after me.’

Sara: '.... And I think I'll climb into the spacious back seat of your lovely SEDAN and start acting like a chimp.'

I hope we never reproduce.

XO Sare

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