how to get through a Monday morning

 Hit snooze only once for best results.

 

Pad toward bathroom in complete dark so as not to disturb sleeping boyfriend.

 

Start shower water. Brush teeth while it warms.

 

Ease into water. Keep it colder than enjoyable to stymie possibility of taking any longer than humanly necessary. Ponder rapidly disintegrating fucked-up dreams. Decide they're too weird to share with anyone today.

 

Moisturize. Moisturize like crazy. Fret over impending wrinkles. Deny, deny deny.

 

Check facebook/email. But just skim. You don't have time for this.

 

Blow dry hair. Ugh. Get tired/bored of blow drying hair. Put shirt in dryer. Finish blow drying *(#&$ing thick hair.

 

Start your car appox. 7 minutes prior to departure to work, via remote.

 

Grab successfully dewrinkled shirt out of dryer and choose one of 6 actually cleaned, actually hanging-up pairs of work pants. Silently thank yourself for cleaning your room on Friday evening. Curse yourself for not washing undergarments. Scavenge around for a suitable bra. Settle on a least favorite. Feel sense of pride at clean pants vaporize at prospect of wearing a shitty bra.

 

Decide against rooting around for breakfast, no time thanks to the damn bra debacle.

 

Rush outside and discover every window on your vehicle is still covered in a thin but determined layer of frost. Fuck! It wasn't on defrost. Damn it. Turn on defrost. Grab first sturdy flat thing out of purse and begin scraping violently at each window. Realize it's your debit card. Shrug and resume scraping, you don't have any money to spend with card for the next week anyway, it may as well be physically useful.

 

Ease car into the drive. Avoid stopping where not absolutely necessary. Shoot gaps where possible. Dig through bag until mascara is located. Apply at any reasonable time. Ie: various states of stopping and moving.

 

Get first decent look at the bobby-pin job you did this morning on bangs in rear-view mirror. Wince.

 

Re-administer bobby pins three times while simultaneously merging, changing radio station/volume, and answering phone.

 

Redirect attention toward insufficient use of mascara.

 

Greet boyfriend via phone. Go through various stages of morning conversation.

 

Mutter 'What the fuck?' several times at asinine/slow drivers.

 

Perkily answer, 'Nothing!" when asked what you just said by boyfriend. You're working on your attitude.

 

Curse at dropped call at the same spot it happens every morning. Check clock. Brood over a three minute period of time loss caused by missing a green arrow. 

 

Dramatically croon along to "Black Balloon"

 

 

Intermittently continue to apply mascara.

 

Exclaim "I lost you!" when boyfriend calls again. Silently curse out piece of shit phone.

 

Get in right lane to exit highway. Bitch about the half mile stretch spent going 60mph due to "Slow ass mother fucker. "

 

Spritz yourself with scent. Hang up phone.

 

Ease faster than really safe onto the street where your office is located.

 

Scan parking lot as you whip into your spot.

 

Realize your bosses car is missing. Watch hopes fly instantly higher than safe. Feel altitude sickness take hold from said hopes shooting through the roof.

 

Greet coworkers with "Where is _____?" (boss)

 

Exchange pleasantries. Learn of unreported Drs appt.

 

Silently thank universe for a brief extension from boss-induced stress.

 

Turn on computer.

 

Walk downstairs while it boots up. Scrounge around for stray food items/pour first cup of coffee.

 

Welcome to your work week.

crash.

Matt is going to be fine.

He hit a deer on the way to work in the middle-of-nowhere in pitch dark at sixty miles an hour last Thursday. We were on the phone. It scared the piss out of me. In fact, I don't really remember the rest of my drive to work after it happened.

We were on the phone with each other when it happened because we talk on the phone on our way to work every morning.  Apparently we can't get enough of each other what with living together and spending the majority of our free time together. Isn't love annoying?

Anyway. All of the sudden there's a loud commotion and then complete silence. I have no idea what's going on.

Then comes the voice.

The I'm-not-okay-this-is-really-scary-oh-shit voice.

Very shaky.

"Oh my god. Oh my god. I just crashed babe. Oh my god. I just got hit with the airbag. I've never been hit by an airbag before. holy shit I just crashed at 60 miles an hour."

So naturally I hit him with a million questions because I'm in panic mode.

It was terrifying. He hit a deer head-on at a good clip and managed to get his truck to the side of the road. They had to give him a new work truck because his is basically totalled.

Matt was shaken, but he walked away from the accident.

The deer was killed on impact, and luckily, didn't have to suffer.

Thankfully, no one else was involved in the accident and the sheriff and Matt's boss arrived promptly to the scene.

But I'll probably never forget the sound of his voice that morning.

sorry about the window.

So, I've got some news on the couch front!


...Which we'll go into tomorrow because today is for TODAY THINGS. Today, let me give you a little glimpse of what it is like to live in my world of mortification and awkward moments.




On Saturday, my friend Mel drove into town so that myself and another of her bridesmaids, Hannah, could pinpoint and execute the whole purchasing of the bridesmaids dress portion of the wedding. 


Originally, we were all going to take a swatch and go crazy in our own favorite shops and boutiques so our dresses would reflect our own personal style and preference. Cute, I know. However, do you know how difficult it is to find a pewter-hued dress in the middle of summer? Nearly fucking impossible. This was the second attempt at this mission for that very reason.


David's Bridal it is!


Hannah and I stroll into the store with Mel in tow and the place is teeming with people. So naturally, I grab one of every dress and make for the dressing rooms, in attack mode. We snag rooms next to each other and start throwing on dresses left and right. out of pure fate Hannah and I select the same dress and BOOM we learn that Mel's sister is also wearing that dress. OMG NOW WE ALL MATCH, PSHAWWW.


 Hannah buys a size down from her normal size and I buy a size up, even though in some strange turn of events, I tried on a size down and it fit. David's Bridal, I think I love you. Anyway, let's face it, this is a winter wedding and that's when I pack on the excess lbs, no matter how hard I'll to try to the contrary. In fact, we're talking the dreaded danger zone- the time between Thanksgiving feasting and Christmas feasting = nonstop cookies and feasting.






TA DA.... Squats forever until December!


Yeah, I really played that one well.


Anyway, we buy our dresses and scamper off to the mall to look at shoes, jewelry, etc. Lots of looking and no finding. Worst game of hide-and-seek ever. EVER.


Anyway, we're driving back to Hannah's after the mall/much needed cocktail break and we hop into Mel's car and IT IS HOT. Devil producing baby devil spawn HOT. HEAT OF A THOUSAND SUNS HOT... okay just one sun, but seriously, hot. So I roll down my window.


Harmless move, really. Just rolling down the window for some air that hasn't been trapped in a stationery heat-box for four hours while we trolled the mall.


Really bad move.


The instant I roll down my window, only about six inches, Mel whips her head in my direction, completely panic stricken, and yells "Roll that up RIGHT NOW."


Melissa doesn't panic or get upset. She calls everyone 'Punkin,' uses excessive <3's, and can make even the most tense conversations feel light and breezy.

This was panic. AND I should have known better, I'd been cautioned months ago when I drove out to visit her and rested my hand a little too close to the window control button. Uh durrrrrrr...I forgot?


So I immediately try to roll up the window. To no avail, of course. I can hear the motor working as I press the button, but the window isn't fucking moving. So naturally I try to push it up as I press the button. Again, nothing. Damn you feeble arms! Maybe I'm not trying hard enough.  I get out of the car, straddle the door, and force the window up with all of my strength.


Finally, it goes up and stays. We all give tense half-laugh of relief.


"The driver's side cost us $500 dollars to fix, so that would have been awful. Plus with the wedding and me needing a new laptop... That just would have been really bad."


Tee hee hee. Fuck. Me. I'm sweaty, my feet hurt, and I just broke something expensive that isn't mine.


After a couple of minutes the frightening window debacle is mostly forgotten and "Say My Name" comes on the radio. Oh, hello eighth grade, I've missed you. Not really, but our rendition was truly moving. And all remnants of panic and awkward are forgotten.


Say my name, SAY MY NAME! If no one is around you, say 'Baby I love you!"


Goddamn it. I look over and the window has slipped almost an inch. I don't think anyone else has noticed, so I try to shield view of it with my body and start dancing really erratically. Destiny's Child goes off and I'm now the only one dancing to some random rap song, which actually makes erratic dancing pretty natural. So far, no more slippage and we're almost back to Hannah's, where I can pull the hands-on-either-side-of-the-window bit and force it up again. This time, with more UMPH so it won't fall back down.


And then everything starts moving in slow motion. We're rounding LITERALLY the final curve before Hannah's apartment. I'm dancing with the window behind me, hoping the girls haven't noticed. We're cheers-ing our rings together like Captain Planet. I'm thisclose to cocktail hour. Smiles all around.


All of the sudden there's a huge crashing sound and I look behind me, and there is no longer a window. It has fallen COMPLETELY into the door. All of it. Bye bye window.


Obviously I start hysterically laughing because that's what I do when I don't know what else to do.

SIDENOTE: I just spilled an entire unsipped cup of coffee all over my person and my cubicle. ENTIRE CUP. Everything is sticky. My life, a comedy of errors.

Back on track, I look over a Mel, and thank the heavens, she's CRACKING UP. Turns out we both panic laugh.

The bad thing is that her fiance, Adam, (Who consequently hosted my very first college party on my very first night in the dorms) is somewhere in the mountains of New York doing fieldwork for his PHD program all summer and she doesn't have a man around to help her. He'll be back in 18 days.

I know that's pretty sexist, but I'm not trying to fix a car window, are you?

Mel was pretty cool about it, despite the fact that I've ruined her dreams of a new laptop and possibly her wedding, which means probably her whole life.  We had the wind in our hair on the way back to my house.

The next day was the first time it rained in over a month.

Insult to injury? Sorry Mel.

Awkwardly yours,

XO Sare

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.

Whew.

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