Today was one of those sorta' screwy days that has me up thinking of all the things I did wrong. First, I woke up to my Friday "job." You guys remember, right? Duck Master! I sell Duck for a Buck at the kids' school to raise money for the PTA. (See all the prior posts on Duck for a Buck. We will wait right here. Back? Good.) I am not the head of the duck sales, however, I might as well get some life insurance since doing that practically requires I carry a policy while "working" under the direction of the "head" Duck Master, Katie. While Katie is a fair boss, she insists that people who "work" for her, "perform" at a moments notice. Say, a month ago, when she offered a child a song if they bought a duck. While I have been known to improvise the occasional song, Katie began asking children their name, so that I might add that into the repertoire. That one song turned into me having to do freakin' toe touches and other heinous tumbling moves mere days after that fateful pilates class that I thought might require surgical repair of integral muscles in the breathing process. Ever one to please the popular girls (Katie), I managed to to not only sing (off key) and pull some impressive jumps that I haven't done in years, but I think I should have earned some sales award for selling "Crazy Hair" ducks that were bald, or ducks that were scantily clad in sumo attire and somehow, I brought the sexy back into sumo- if that ever was possible. And then, I thought, there was a day when the most challenging part of my day was when I had gone to hang some D5, and the patient asked for a narcotic for hangnail, or the day the dying man of CHF told me he has sweaty balls. I mean, is this, singing for a dollar, how I am going to pimp myself out? However, we sold out of ducks, and I got to help order the next batch. Guess what we found???? FIREMEN DUCKS! Holla! I am now lovin' me some Katie again!
Then, I go to the YMCA, and don't you know, I am in luck! The weight machines are totally empty, and it appears I won't have to wait my turn for anything in my circuit. Fantastical! (Yes, my new favorite word.) I do them all with sets, in record time, and after getting my info in the computer, I head to the elliptical. I think, "I'll take it easy, and only do 30 minutes." I had arranged a meeting for afterwards, and didn't want to be a hot, sweaty mess for the meeting. (Long story short, I was, since I am more competitive than I really should be, and went over an hour on cardio, which technically equates to enough sweat in my bra to ring out liquid and then I get cold if in it too long. And we all know how that goes... It's screwy, that's all I can say.) So, the machines were packed, and I found a machine far from the lifters that I like to oogle, and darn it if the only one available had something that was sticking to my shoes, and every time I stepped with my right foot, it made this sticky sound, and felt like I was going to have a nervous breakdown from the sensory of it all by the end of the first half of my workout. I am a basket case. A basket case that is desperate to take care of my body. But at what cost, I wonder????!!!????
Next, I make it home, shower, and my dog goes ape at something while I am in the shower. And without fail, my brain starts to process the situation. And without any real reason, my initial thought was that I must get the conditioner out of my hair, or else, I might be like a greased pig sliding around the bathroom floor with an intruder. Then, I wanted to keep my eyes open while I washed it out, but that was taking longer, and I was not sure if being swift was more imperative than keeping watch for the potential danger that I was in. I heroically make it through the shower, and when I go outside to check things out, I find that the Jehovah's witnesses are walking up the street, but they left little fliers about an upcoming event, and don't ya' know? The invited me! I wonder, do they do the whole Baptist style casserole pot luck yummy smorgasbord thing? I love me some casserole! And to get out of cooking and cleaning for a night? I'm soooo in. I know my father disowned me for converting to be Catholic and all, but I wonder if my mom might consider dropping me like a bad habit if she knew I was considering going-- merely for the fact that I need a night out. And, I don't want to do dishes this weekend. And I wonder at what point the Catholic church will realize I am really not right, and that they might consider pausing the whole conclave bit to work on the "Erin Infiltrate" bit? I hope not. the church is in shambles right now, and I don't think it's because of me, but you just never know, seeing as not ONLY did the witness people come a knockin', but some window cleaners threw a plastic bag with rocks in my drive way advertising their services and it made me so mad I wanted to drink. See, the plastic bags had rocks in them so that they would not fly around the 'hood. However, I must say, it just junked up the hood more, and I am pissy about my living arrangements, namely, the fact that I live here. And I don't have a basement. And that my house the perfect size for our family, however, the builders insisted on placing a bathroom inside my kitchen, and my smoke detectors go off
everytime I cook, daily. So what if we do go to this witness meeting, and there is no casserole? Then I am so screwed. Because then, I will be forced to shamefully exit with my family, and the neighbor, since he is hungry and got the same invite I did, and will have to
come home to set my alarm off, I mean, cook dinner or use the toilet, whatever seems most appropriate at that moment that I am standing in the kitchen.
For the record, a fireman actually came to my house to turn the alarm off last weekend. No joke. That's how screwed up this house is. I think the builder was high when he made my house. And I must have been on something to have bought it. I wish I knew what it was seeing as I clearly am in need of some medical assistance lately ;o)
