Wake Me When It's Over
So the NYE party turned out to be just as bad as I'd anticipated--everyone (my husband, included) got jacked up on jello shots and miscellaneous alcoholic fare. I had a couple glasses of "Fre" white zin (which tastes suspiciously like Juicy Juice) and then stuck to Coke. I lasted til just past midnight, when I fell asleep on the couch, woke up a minute or two later in that "dazed-and-confused" state, and couldn't find my husband. I eventually located him outside with some of the others--smoking. Which, because of my pregnant and sleep-addled state, totally pissed me off. (Okay, I think I was mostly pissed because goddammit, I need a release, and I can't drink or smoke or even overeat anymore.) So I threw a huge shit fit and left, drove home and went to bed. He continued to hang out and caught a ride home an hour or so later.
Funny how the one person not drinking at the party ends up being the one creating a scene.
So yesterday morning I got to make amends with my husband, who knew to leave well enough alone and slept his stinky self on the sofa. Which, after breakfast, is pretty much where we both spent the day. Until I got a wild hair up my ass to get some exercise, and decided to take a walk around 4 p.m. Nothing crazy, just a 15-30 minute walk around the 'hood.
I had watched the Weather Channel and therefore knew the temperature was 17 degrees. But it's been a very, very long time since I spent any time outdoors in winter, other than running to and from my car to one indoor structure or another, so I don't think it really registered with me how incredibly fucking cold 17 degrees is. In addition to my walking shoes, I wore two pairs of socks (smart), a t-shirt, sweatshirt, and coat (smart), a fleece headband for my ears (smart), a knit stocking cap (in hunter orange--unfashionable but smart), and lightweight cotton knit cropped pants (stupid).
I'd been walking for about 12 minutes when I realized I couldn't feel anything below my knees. I glanced down and saw that my exposed calves had turned crimson, and immediately started having flashbacks from "Call of the Wild." I turned tail and started back home. A few steps and I swore my knees were freezing solid. I debated calling Ben and telling him "you have to come get me, my legs have stopped working--I'm three blocks away." I saw myself collapsing on someone's front lawn and suffering the fate of Jack London's human character, only to be found the next morning--"honey, there's a dead white woman in the driveway! Get a Hefty bag!" I vowed to never, ever, ever go outside again if the temperature was less than 50 degrees F.
But I did make it back home. Without frostbite or certain death. And Ben laughed at me and said, had I indeed called him, he would have laughed at me and hung up. Prick.
Speaking of pricks--we're due in court to defend ourselves against one this afternoon. Wish us luck.
Funny how the one person not drinking at the party ends up being the one creating a scene.
So yesterday morning I got to make amends with my husband, who knew to leave well enough alone and slept his stinky self on the sofa. Which, after breakfast, is pretty much where we both spent the day. Until I got a wild hair up my ass to get some exercise, and decided to take a walk around 4 p.m. Nothing crazy, just a 15-30 minute walk around the 'hood.
I had watched the Weather Channel and therefore knew the temperature was 17 degrees. But it's been a very, very long time since I spent any time outdoors in winter, other than running to and from my car to one indoor structure or another, so I don't think it really registered with me how incredibly fucking cold 17 degrees is. In addition to my walking shoes, I wore two pairs of socks (smart), a t-shirt, sweatshirt, and coat (smart), a fleece headband for my ears (smart), a knit stocking cap (in hunter orange--unfashionable but smart), and lightweight cotton knit cropped pants (stupid).
I'd been walking for about 12 minutes when I realized I couldn't feel anything below my knees. I glanced down and saw that my exposed calves had turned crimson, and immediately started having flashbacks from "Call of the Wild." I turned tail and started back home. A few steps and I swore my knees were freezing solid. I debated calling Ben and telling him "you have to come get me, my legs have stopped working--I'm three blocks away." I saw myself collapsing on someone's front lawn and suffering the fate of Jack London's human character, only to be found the next morning--"honey, there's a dead white woman in the driveway! Get a Hefty bag!" I vowed to never, ever, ever go outside again if the temperature was less than 50 degrees F.
But I did make it back home. Without frostbite or certain death. And Ben laughed at me and said, had I indeed called him, he would have laughed at me and hung up. Prick.
Speaking of pricks--we're due in court to defend ourselves against one this afternoon. Wish us luck.
posted by Mitzi Green at 6:40 AM
4 Comments:
Good luck with that. Here's hoping justice isn't blind today!
once again you are the queen of comedy. this was absolutely hilarious. ah man, you are so good at making light of everything.
best of luck to you guys. i am thinking about you.
Good luck this afternoon - with any luck somebody might run db over before you get there and save you the hassle.
You need to get Gretchen to knit you some legwarmers. ;0)
How did court go? Wishing you much luck.
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