Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

14 October 2011

Nightmare on Park St.

Along with my usual Friday Facebook Status Of The Week blog, I had also a second post sketched out and ready to go. 

Then I found out I had to cook an entire family dinner for 13 people and transport it 60 miles tomorrow morning.  

My original plan was to make a cozy birthday dinner for Dan's mom and the 4 other people living in her house, as posted here:

Then 6 more people invited themselves to dinner.  Which was broken to me last night, after I had spent an entire day deciding I had plenty of time to go shopping, prepare the food, and finishing the shrug TODAY.  

That sent me into a tizzy.

A lot of ugliness ensued.

After I finished having a complete meltdown (which involved sobbing, texting my sister, and pricing plane tickets back to California) I wrote my shopping list, planned out my schedule on how I could get it all done today, laid back my ears, and prepared to kick ass and take names.

My Inner Self is SUCH a hard ass.  Word.

I wrote my grocery list, detailed my plan of attack, changed a few bits of the menu so as to allow for more people, girded up my loins, ordered myself to suck it up and stop being such a cry-baby, and prepared to GET. SHIT. DONE.

Then I did everything except all the things I needed to do.

I watched 56473824756392 episodes of Hoarders.  (Newsflash:  Hoarders, your house is not "cluttered."  It's "filthy."  Check your dictionary.)

I made sure I had every tv show I might ever want to watch at any time in my life set to record.  Then I checked again, just in case I missed one.

I made a grilled cheese sandwich.

I stared at the pile of yarn sitting next to the couch, pathetically in the shape of a half-assed shrug (because I got about 3/4 of the way done with the original one and then decided I hated it, so I ripped it all out, changed yarn colors, and started over... which made tons of sense, considering I had 3 days to get it done and changed my mind on day 2.)

I contemplated calling my mother and asking her to buy me a plane ticket back to California, so that I wouldn't have to cook this damn dinner for 13 people.  (The only problem with this plan is that I know for a FACT she would do it... and then I'd be stuck living with my mother.  That would not be good.  Bad things would happen.)

I wished (briefly) that Dan were an only child and that we lived somewhere (anywhere, actually) else.

I tore my bedroom apart looking for a rogue Xanax that might have escaped my clutches from back in the time that I actually had a prescription for it, before moving to New York, Land of the Drug Free Happy People.  (That makes no sense to me.  How can they not know how miserable they are?)  

I'm sure we can all guess the futility of that search.

I felt really super sorry for myself.

Then I channeled Chuckie.

It made me feel sooooooo much better.


It's the little things, yo.


  1. Dear lawd are a SAINT. I would have now developed the flu with intestinal virus and called it off. As for the shrug, well, since you can't go, you can shrug it off, too! (I'm cracking myself up...sorry)

  2. Bwaaa! Unfortunately, I have the flu A LOT when I'm invited to family functions. Since I initiated this partay that I'm suddenly catering, it would be kind of rotten if I were to not show... Hmmm. Ponder, ponder...

  3. Oh My Gaw. Thirteen people? Really? And you have to take all that shit with you for 60 freaking miles? I would go Chucky too.

    So can you boil up a big ass pot of Ramen noodles and bring that? And some Oreo's? Because lasagna for 13, that's too much for one woman.

  4. Oy. You know shit is bad when Chuckie shows up. I'm not sure I'd go as far as arsenic, but I'd definitely spit in it. They'll never know and you'll feel all smug and happy about it...

  5. Oooh... spit!! Well played, Grammy!! Well played.


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