T.O.W. I Misunderstand "Weekend"
Ugh. Why do I stay up until 2 in the morning like some socially-deprived, no-eye-shadow-until-you’re-17, home-schooled teenager? It’s likes Bill Cosby talks about in his classic Himself routine. Adults bitch about going to work all week, counting minutes until the weekend; then they spend those two days completely destroying themselves.
Yeah.
Not that I stayed out all night doing Jello shots and dancing to The Devinyls or anything. It’s more that I try to CRAM as much as I can into two days. Then I go back to work and feel like I didn’t really get a break. My ex father-in-law, the pussy-whipped ever-cheerful workaholic, used to say a vacation or day off simply meant a break from the normal routine. As in if your normal routine was hammering up drywall, a vacation could consist of manually masturbating hamsters and ferrets for genetic research. Annoying. I always wanted to whack him in the face with a large cucumber.
ANYhoo…Thursday night was dinner at the Melting Pot with my folks, where I found my new favorite concoction- the Gummi Bear. ::salivates::
Friday night I taught tap. Awesome, actually. My “girls” know the entire 42nd Street audition routine and we still have a month to polish other steps before TMM rolls around. Not to mention it’s kicking my ass into shape. Came home, read, watched T.V., fell into blissful, comatose state interrupted frequently by my dachsie Sadie’s strategically-placed cold nose.
Slept late in Saturday with a migraine (late = 9:00). Cleaned for 3 and half hours. And not wussy-pussy cleaning like dusting the coffee table. We’re talking rug shampooing and vacuuming baseboards and ceiling fans here, people. I think my inner Monica actually got off a couple times somewhere in there. Then Andy and I dropped by to help my bro and his wife with their move in. After which we stopped by the new Irish pub in Frisco for a drink and received the worst service EVER from annoying twigs in schoolgirl uniforms. ::gunshot:: THEN it was off the our first West Coast Swing dance class (FABulous); home to change and off to a party for an ex co-worker. ::sigh:: No. Not done. Add on the late showing of ‘27 Dresses’ (James Marsden is pure hotness) and finally to good ol’ TGIF for a drink and naughty snack that I might as well have glued directly to my right thigh.
Now it’s 1:53 in the morning. I’ve taken my Melatonin and am sitting here with the Muppet (my wire haired dachshund that looks like, well, a Muppet…or a dog a Muppet might have) in my lap watching Andy play a video game where some guy seems to run endlessly across a field looking for swords or crystals or some shit.
Tomorrow I will spend half the day getting ready for Monday and the other day depressed and pissed off that the weekend’s almost over. Score.
But hey… at least I can do a double wing time step. So take that. Nyah!
(Yes, I’m a bit punchy. I think it’s the Melatonin. Or the Gummi Bear)
‘Night!