Once More with Feeling.

Ow.

I haven't been writing lately for a number of reasons...getting ready for my parade party,  enjoying the parade parties, a midnight trip that night to the ER w/ my sister as her little guy Owen was sick (croup, double ear infection), babysitting Owen so Kate could study  for her exam, my inaugural IKEA trip, soccer...but most recently, it's my back. I am in unbelievable pain right now. Soccer last night probably wasn't the smartest call , as this pain has been hanging around for about 2 weeks. However, the past two weeks' pain has been manageable, annoying but manageable. Yesterday, I went to The Voodoo Doctor (the chiropractor) to get straightened out and he said my muscles were really tight in my hips (not news) causing me joint pain and that was the basis of my complaint. To counter this, I'm to stretch (also not news). However, given a similar experience 2 years ago, I didn't think this was just a matter of tight muscles. A different Voodoo guy from the same office had said it was a disk slip that was in turn pressing on a nerve. He worked some Voodoo Magic, straightened me out with that little gun thing they use, and I have been fine since.

So yesterday I was in tolerable discomfort, used a heating pad before I left and played in my game (as I had for the past 2 weeks).  During one play, I leaned over and felt the first nerve pinch type pain. I got off the field, stretched out a little and resumed play. I could run, being upright was fine and I managed to get through the remainder of the game without too much drama.

Once the game was over though, there was the small matter of changing out of my soccer shoes and socks and into my sneakers and throwing on my track pants. And all of a sudden, getting down on the ground to do so was excruciating.  All I could think through my wincing was, "Aw fuck, this is gonna be a long night."  And indeed it was. Driving home was uncomfortable, particularly in the turns I had to make. Getting into bed was unbearable; I had to be pulled up onto the mattress. Finding a comfortable position was a task and a half, once in a position I was okay, but getting there was a whole other story. In case you didn't realize, you do not stay in one position for 8 hours. I tried to in my most comfortable position of laying on my right side, and eventually my arm would go numb.  Every move caused me to yell and yelp and bust out the Lamaze Breathing technique.

When I woke, I, like the rest of you, had to pee. But I literally could not get myself out of bed.  Thankfully, I live with the human Jaws of Life and once I got back on my side, he was able to pull me to the edge of the bed and I would take it from there dropping my legs over and pushing myself up against the mattress with his hands under my armpits. After that, there was still the matter of, you know, sitting back down to pee. After mentioning to my Jaws of Life that times like these I really wished I was a guy, he had to lower and raise me off the thrown.  While a little embarrassing, I guess the silver lining is that at least all I had to do was pee. Later, he also had to put on my underwear, socks and pants.

So now I am stuck on the couch waiting for my doctors appointment watching the original Odd Couple on HBO. My Jaws of Life just left to workout and I just realized something.  I have to pee. 

awwwwWWWWW -FREAKOUT!

9:03 p.m. Friday night. My friends Amy, Scott, Mike, Christine to name just a few (all UConn alum) are FREAKING THE FUCK OUT as #1 seed UConn is having trouble holding off #16 seed Albany. Losing. To a #16.

Actually, I take that back....the STATE OF CONNECTICUT IS FREAKING THE FUCK OUT as this is all the state has.

(As of printing this post, UConn is up 6, but still. Sweet Jesus. WAKE UP, UCONN.)

(also, for absolutely no reason at all, I am secretly rooting for Montana. Don't ask cuz I don't know.)

The Grudge

I don't really know where to begin here so I'll just start off that I am mad.  Irritated. Sitting here, stewing. Last night was not the most fun of evenings out for me. A bunch of us went going out for my friend Christine's birthday.  I was not really up for it, as I knew that I would be hanging out with E and our history together was so-so at best.  But, Christine's a friend and she had taken me out a few weeks ago for mine. After consulting Mike, the moral compass, as I was trying to think of a way to bail, I asked him, "what would you do?" He'd said he'd at least go to dinner (which I was told was at 8:00) and this was gonna be my plan. After plans changing about a half dozen times, we learned that we couldn't get a reservation until 10:00 so Christine & I were going to cab it over to E's house in the North End and hang out there until dinner.  This, as you might imagine, less than thrilled me.

Christine came over my house as I finished getting ready. Initially, E had offered to pick us up and drive us over to her house but then recanted her offer, which quite honestly was perfectly fine with me. What was not perfectly fine with me, however, was the bomb Christine dropped while sitting on my couch waiting for me. "Yeah, I bet the reason she took back the offer to drive us over was so that she & M could do lines."  Now I've known E for the better part of 10 years, and while we aren't tight, I did not think this was "her bag". I should have bailed right then as it would be an omen for how well the night would go.

We made our way over and I met E's uh, live-in amore, Antonio (his real name, cuz seriously, fuck him) who has been in the States from Italy for about 6 years.  Antonio lived up to every Italian playboy stereotype. He thinks he hot, God's gift to women, and hit on me and Christine (both beau-less at this event) with everything he had. E was familiar with his "charms" and admitted that yeah, he's a big flirt and blahblah. I made it clear to E that I was in no way encouraging his affections (if you can call it that) and she was completely aware of  the situation and okay with it (yeah, I don't...?). Eventually, Christine's cousin and her date arrived and things were more or less fine what with there being a group of seven. E, who normally gets on my nerves when there's booze involved, was actually pretty decent and I was able to deflect Antonio's advances to keep the evening bearable.

Until Christine's cousin and date left, and he tried to stick his tongue down my throat while I was putting in a new CD.

Shoving him off me, stating plain as day the message "no dice/c'mon, man, enough," he recoiled.

Dinner plans changed yet again when no one was really in the mood to travel out, we ate in (a dinner made by the offending Antonio who would not hear of us ordering pizza) and things were okay (again, I was here for my friend Christine). He'd even made Christine a homemade tirimasu. Okay, that was nice.

Until after dinner he would start up again. Touchy feely with both of us girls. Us with our humor waning. E saying nothing (or in the bathroom, "God knows why").

After dinner we headed to a club in town that E had gotten on some VIP list. Out of friendship for Christine, I went (Christine and I being the 2 not on drugs, I felt she needed a buddy).  Attempts of other grossness continued but the final straw came when Antonio bought me a rose in front of E (which she did not see) which I said I did NOT want and I even asked him, "um, so I'm to say this is from who exactly when she sees it?" Eventually he got up from the couch to see E and before he did, tried to tongue me again.

This is where I snapped. I told Christine and M that I wanted to go home "and I want to go home NOW. I am going home, NOW."

I didn't want E or her jerk to see me leave, I just wanted to make a quick and painless getaway. Tip to friends who see me like this...NEVER hold me up with your goodbyes. I can appreciate your "you poor baby"s and "that's too bad"s and such, but the whole point of making a getaway is TIME. I didn't want to be busted one foot up the stairs having to create a scene (even though I know I was well within my rights to do so).  I swear M was holding me back, physically restraining me by my shoulders, trying to talk to me about it in deep detail. Like dude, I AM GOING RIGHT THIS SECOND. GET OUT OF MY WAY!

I managed my getaway and naturally when walked into my apt., I was pissed off.  I slammed shit (it should be noted I accidentally flipped my birthday cake upside down on the cutting board as I was trying to sublimate my rage with food), I wanted to have a bitch session. I called out, "MIKE -- MIKE YOU UP?" and woke his ass up.

And I told him what had happened. To recap, 2 attempted drive by tongue-ings, a breast touch, an attempt for me to feel his "excitement" for me.  And that's just the physical stuff. I felt gross. I thought, "if this doesn't get a reaction from him, nothing will" and was hoping I could have a Comrade in Rage.  This is what I got:

"Jesus."

Okay, does anyone else think that reaction is a bit light? Now I'm irritated with Mike. So I go on, filling in a few more bits here and there. Nothing. I even press him, "Why aren't you more mad? Aren't you mad?"

Now I know everyone's reaction to we'll call it "disheartening info" is different. But this isn't me being pissed off about being cut off in traffic, or how my mother is driving me insane (which I give the out that guys can't win on this one no matter what they offer). However, THIS was about another guy groping me. And I know that the world isn't all bubble gum centered lollipops for chrissakes. I know that that jerks exist (and had I thought words would have registered with him, I would've laid into him) and I also know I'm a big girl and can take care of myself.  I also don't expect his to thump his chest, go over to E's house, defend my honor and beat the guy up.  But....c'mon, is it too much to ask that he at least EMOTE on this one?  At least give me sitting upright in bed and saying, "He did WHAT TO YOU?!"  I'd settle for a swear word.  Again, this is not me being pissed off over a parking ticket.  This definitely falls into his, I dunno, bailiwick.

To lie there, hearing me sighing pissed off sigh after pissed off sigh...clearly upset....

Okay, am off base here?  This is not about the night. That I can get over.  But does anyone else have this issue with their mate?  I wanted to feel like I was part of a team and I really felt alone on this one.

(I don't know how long this is staying up as I don't hold grudges (tho I am allowing Sunday for it), so don't be shocked if this gets pulled. Just curious what you folks gotta say on this one)

Membership has its privileges.

Tonight is the first soccer game for me since July. It is co-ed. It is indoor. It is "wicked fast". And  I have done exactly all of nothing to prepare for it, which is fantastic when you consider you have to sprint for the better part of 50 minutes without a break.

At least I had the foresight to enlist 3 doctors for the roster. That way, if anyone gets a cerebral hematoma (most likely me) or a myocardial infarction (also most likely me) (man, I have watched one too many medical dramas) we will have the much needed trained medical staff on hand.

Pray for me. I have a feeling this game is gonna leave a mark.

Pictured left: Abby Wambach or someone who is definitely in shape and therefore definitely not me.

This week on a very special Once More

The birthday...where to begin...

Well, it started off breezily enough. I did Baby Whisperer Part 2 in the morning. I got a b'day present from my sister's dog (and my apparent "boyfriend"), Hamilton. Understand that during my last visit, the FUCKING DOG ate my watch and left many little chewed up bits of leather strap all over the place.

(Exhibit A: what was left)

So "Hamilton" went out and bought me a replacement for my birthday. Emily also added before handing it over to me that Ham even went through the trouble of gift wrapping it himself, which is pretty impressive considering as he doesn't even have opposable thumbs.

A talent, that one.

But the highlight would come around 2:30, driving back to Boston on the Mass Pike in sleeting weather conditions. You can see where this is probably going...so I'll cut to it.

I got into an accident. On the highway.

But what's most impressive is Me = Not Dead. Or anyone else for that matter. And running a close second: Me = Not hurt. Or anyone else for that matter. And given the details,  you might agree with me.

Traveling in the sleet, I was in the middle lane of the 3 lane highway behind a slower moving truck that was dispensing large chunks of rock salt.  I decided rather than follow this truck and have hail-sized marks left on my hood,  that I'd go into the left lane and get in front of the hail-spray.  I was in the left lane for maybe a minute after I passed by the truck. I noticed almost immediately that my tires were slipping or something. It would feel weird but then it would be fine again. I noticed the lack of traction a second time but as about to make the move back into the center lane, when my car spun out at a 45 degree angle left and headed straight for the jersey barrier. I cut the wheel right to avoid a head-on collision and did as much, but the sleet gave me no control and the car spun back too much to the right and as a result, the back end driver-side hit the jersey barrier REALLY hard.  Inside my car it sounded like a gun had been fired.

BAM!

The result of that smack pin-balled me BACKWARDS across ALL 3 LANES OF HIGHWAY TRAFFIC. I cut the wheel again so that the car was at least facing east towards Boston. I avoided hitting jersey barrier #2.  My car was to a complete stop at that point but  it landed only mostly in the breakdown lane as the front tip of the car was still peaking out into the right lane. I took a second, realized my car was still operational, moved the car into safety and turned it off.

And then I learned firsthand why they call it the "breakdown lane". I lost it pretty good.

Quite honestly, I could give 2 shits about the car. I lost because I STILL have no idea how, in a state whose drivers are referred to as "massholes" I did I not get hit by the on-coming traffic across 3 lanes of highway. How did I not cause a pile up and get myself or others killed or hurt. Or have my passenger door see the wrong side of a truck-tractor... Or avoid a hit as I sat there for those few extra moments while still jutted out into the right lane. Seriously, I think I am going to name my car "Trinity" after the lady from The Matrix because this car apparently as the skill to dodge the proverbial bullet by some kind of weird, time altered, temporary suspension.

I don't know if you believe in a God or Karma or I dunno, the big Chuck E. Cheese in the Sky but I am still walking around in disbelief that I am walking away with only some minor whiplash. My gut feeling is I have a phenomenal Guardian Angel on the payroll who now I'm sure now is all, "I better be getting some stock options out of this. Oh and I want in on the bonus pool, and and bonus every time I save your bacon." Check it: April 2002 (Jetta is mine, I loved that car. Taken the day of my MOM'S birthday on the way to see her and bring her brownies I'd made. WTF w/ me and birthdays, I ask you?? And once again doing a stupid good deed) So that time G. Angel demanded dental and a 401K. Sure, she drives a hard bargain but she's worth every penny, let me tell you. And that occurrence - also not a scratch on me.

But I think deep down I must've know this wasn't "it" for me because there was no life flashing before me thing that happened. Unless of course dry sarcasm is my default before I bite it, because all I could think of during the spins across I-90 was,"this...this will not end well." That's all I really remember thinking.

After the meltdown, I called my sister, cried some more only to realize my cell phone was dying and as such the additional hysterics were a waste of precious cell time. After some back & forth, I told her I'd call her back when I knew where I'd land.  I drove at a snail's pace to the I-495 exit to the toll booth parking lot area to assess the wreckage. The wheel was being scraped by a little by the frame. If I could just bend that part back just a little (it looked like it was barely being touched) I thought I could drive this thing home, just 30 miles away. I told the Turnpike folks my situation and they  said were going to call in one of their trucks that had the equipment but that it'd take awhile as there had been a lot of big accidents that afternoon.

At that point,  I was just dying to get home.  I headed back to my car and went all mini-McGuyver as I checked for a second time for some tools to bend back steel.

Tennis racket? Nope, too thick for the space.

Old windshield wiper? Nope, too brittle.

Ah ha! A small, thick, ice scraper. PERFECT! And that is how the Turnpike truck guy found me - wedging an ice scraper between plastic and metal car frame and the wheel. I had started it, he finished it off as best be could with a large shovel. Said that the wheel looked like it was holding and looked drivable. It continued to scrape a little when I turned the wheel, but otherwise manageable and I cautiously drove myself back to town.

If you read Jess's site, you know my day ended-- clearly on a MUCH brighter note. Wine, tiramisu, pizza, TV, joint blog reading. And you  know Me = Still not dead. Or broken. Or bloody. Which is good, because I think birthdays are a celebration of life, right?

This...this ended well.

(P.S. Em, tho we had originally agreed that the babysitting gig was gonna run you "about 6 jr. bacon cheeseburgers an hour", you're right-- we should endorse said rate to an additional 494.)

 

 

Two Weeks Notice

Today I quit my job.

I quit my job.

My job?

I quit.

It was kinda awesome.

I haven't slept since Wednesday, so I need to lie down.

More to follow.

Holy crap, I'm happy.

Easy, Stomach.

Please don't make mainstream radio, Please don't make mainstream radio, Please don't make mainstream radio, Please don't make mainstream radio, Please don't make mainstream radio.

(Updated to add: Not the original link but ehh, close enough.)

Okay, listen up, kid. Your first hit's on the house but after that, you're on your own.

99% of my mornings start off in a fog of distraction. You'd think was a kind of contradiction, but from the moment I drag myself out of bed and hit the shower, it's as if my brain hears the sound of the bell -- "AND THEY'RE OFF!" Except the horsies in my brain won't even extend me the fucking courtesy of staying on the track. They're up in the stands, they're in the parking lot, they're halfway to the 7-11 for a Slurpee fix.  But I could probably live with this mental morning mayhem, except for the fact that that is exactly how I fall asleep, too.  C'mon, brain, cut a girl some slack.

"I think about you work in the shower,
not in a good way...                  
...but in an I'm-so-distracted-I-can't-
remember-if-I washed-my-hair way.                  
So I wash my hair twice.                  
So I have a hole in my stomach,
I am running out of shampoo..."

I don't have the hole in my stomach but the shampoo/conditioner thing? I've devised a system where once I grab one bottle, the other bottle behind it falls forward thus allowing me to remember where I left off in the very intricate process of washing one's hair. This week's after work life has also not assisted much in the Acquisition of REM.  There was the stellar steak joint night, the  Tex-Mex tourist spot night (and FYI: it is never, as they say, "couth" to shriek, "Oh My God -- A MOUSE!" when seated at a table hosting 10 patrons. (And, well, now I know that.)). Rounding out the eatery trifecta was a place where it was okay to order a plate of fries and a beer for supper. In addition to my restaurant and pub bender, there have been the meetings. Meetings and meetings. And some? Some had the gall to require that I'm "On" (translation: the doodling of daisies and calligraphy practice sessions were to be abandoned completely. Ditto the passing of notes reading "He fancies you" or my other favorite, "I like to do the Stations of the Cross backwards, because Jesus gets better."). You know, I wasn't even shooting the moon for "erudite" or "the dog's tuxedo" but maybe, just maybe "competent" and "knows what the fuck she's talking about." So it did not help matters one bit when one comment landed me on the wrong side of "unintentionally funny" because, God help me, I was caught off guard and revealed something completely honest about my personality.  A good friend of mine once said, "Know the best way to get yourself out of the hole you're digging? Stop digging." Thankfully, those words came to me and I laughed it off. So I think no harm, no foul.

Anyway, suffice it to say that these past weeks I'm grateful I have the shampoo/conditioner system in place otherwise I'd still be in the shower wondering if I'd washed my hair yet.

Which is why I am going back to Monday, the holiday, to tell my little story of the week.

I'd made plans with my sister Kate to hang out on Monday, sans kids. Real "grown up" time and maybe we'd do something awesome and spectacular like go to the boutique-y shops near her house or maybe even The Mecca that is Target.  She'd called me around 10:00 to confirm we were still a go and when I had done as much, let her know that I wanted to hit the gym first. It was suggested I'd be at her house (45 minute trek) in a few hours.

Well, when left to my own devices...on a day off, ...with no real dire desire to run ....compounded by a laptop staring at me,  I admit it, I'd  efficiently managed to snuff out any gym time.  So I took my shower and decided I was going to play it off like I had gone to the gym all along.

However, I have this thing where once I am out of the shower and am in my towel ensemble (one around the body, one on my head turban style), that it always seems like the perfect time to take a little rest. You know, to regroup. Monday was no exception.  So in the 2-towel outfit I was rocking, I fell asleep for about an hour. I won't lie to you, it was rather lovely.

When I woke, I decided to finally get my ass in gear and hustled getting ready. Kate, clever girl who knows me so well, eventually followed up with a status check.   

"Where are you?"

"Just putting my coat on now and am on my way out," for once being truthful with that line.

"Oh, okay. Go to the gym?"

"Ummmm, yeah, not exactly. I took a shower and I fell asleep with the towel on my head. So I also had to deal with the White Girl Dreads situation which added about another fifteen minutes to my time."

"Oooooh," she knowingly agreed, having been there herself.

When you have fine or longer hair and you keep the towel on your hair for too long? You achieve  this sort of Whitey Rastafarian look.  This is a pain because you gotta start all over and re-wet your hair and brush through all that shit.

"Well, I have a free pass to my gym anyway. Bring your running shoes; after dinner we can head over to my gym and workout together." This was music to my ears because while I contemplating telling the truth about me blowing off the gym for the computer and a nap, that was going to be my suggestion.  We must have sister ESP or something. Probably.

So what did we do for the Jen and Kate's Day o' Fun? Shopping? Movies? Lunch and a pedicure?  No, noooo. Instead we landed on snuggling under the covers watching "What Not to Wear" and mocking the fashion illiterati. Now, I know Martin Luther King stood for more than a random day off, but God love 'im, this day was shaping up pretty great.

Eventually though she convinced me that "we" had to pick up the kids at daycare  - despite the fact that I was rather comfortable where I was. "C'mon, I'll even buy you a coffee at Starbucks first."

Oh, awww-right. I slid my feet into my kicks and we headed out.

When we got to the Starbucks and she announced the obvious that both my sneakers where untied, ordered I remedy the situation adding the sage Momism, "you'll trip and fall and kill yourself."

"Um, Kate, I know you're a mommy and everything but you're not *my* mommy," and left them in their as-is state.

Still, I let her buy me my coffee like any good mommy should ("what is it that I like again?" honestly, such a newbie - how are we related?).

Once at Sarah and Owen's daycare, we spotted Sarah first.  "Sarah, look who I brought to see you!"

And, as is her custom, the look of excitement followed by the shouting, "Jen-nieeeeeeee!" as she scurried her little  3 year old legs over and jumped up on me to give me a hug.

It is in my professional opinion as a person, people,  that you should all experience this style of greeting at least once a day. Imagine what the world would be like if people were this sincerely enthusiastic to see you. For me, it's a feeling not much unlike the part where the Grinch's heart grows exponentially and eventually bursts into lots of little hearts all over the place. I think if people had this once a day, that it would cut down on crime and even lower folk's cholesterol even. Just a guess.

As we  were driving the back to the house, out of nowhere I heard a small, "Goodbye, Abe."

"What did she just say?

"'Goodbye, Abe', we just passed a statue of Abraham Lincoln."

I looked behind us to spy a very large, pensive looking Abe.

"How the...how the hell does she know who Abraham Lincoln is? And she says goodbye to him??"

"Her cousin Bella taught her that"

(laughing hysterically) "Oh my God, she says goodbye to a statue."

Back at the house as Kate prepared dinner, Sarah and I played. After our strenuous dance session, I headed upstairs to check my e-mail and some blogs.  Naturally, Sarah found me. 

I had been reading some site that had a picture of Joaquin Phoenix in Johnny Cash character when she did.

"Who's that? That Elvis?

Rather than explain Joaquin Phoenix "in character", I said, "No, that's Johnny Cash. Your dad likes him." Somewhere there was a logic. Don't ask me to explain it now.

"Johnny Cash?" she repeated.

I realized that they stuff I was reading wasn't really all the interesting for little people so I decided to Google for some kid computer games.  I pulled her up on my lap and began the search.

As you know, Google modified their logo on occasion, and on Monday one of the Os was a sketch of MLK's face.

"Who's that, ...Johnny Cash?"

"No, that's Martin Luther King." She repeated his name back to me and continued to look on as I checked various kid sites.

Mid-search,  we were told dinner was ready, so we left the Googling for later and went back downstairs.  During the conversation at dinner, I remarked how impressed I was that Sarah could figure out who Elvis was (Phoenix's hairstyle and sideburns do give off a Elvis vibe) and noted her Johnny Cash/Martin Luther King "mix up".

After dinner, Sarah and I headed back upstairs to the computer to continue our search for on-line kiddie games.  When she saw the Google logo again asked me, "is that Johnny King?"

Ehh, close enough.

Turns out, with her being the youngest of the youngest age bracket, most games proved a little too difficult, either requiring either some reading, fine motor skills/serious control with the mouse.  I did, however, find a dinosaur egg  memory game we could play together.  It was a little slow to start but she eventually got the basic principle and I'd high-five her every time she got a match.

After 2 games, I decided instead of her pointing to whichever egg, I'd let her have have some control of the mouse because I know "I do it" is very big with her people.  We began first with my hand over hers and then I eventually let go and let her go it solo. It was a little shakey at first but eventually she was doing it.

She was doing it. By herself. 

And I could recognize that glint in her eye anywhere.  She was in the early stages of computer addiction. And I had shown her the way.

I got a call at work a few days later.

"Yeah, so your niece? Loves the computer by the way and has gotten pretty good at that game you showed her. She's also figured out how to start a new game by herself. I don't even have to be right next to her when she's playing."

I wonder how long until I hear her in a robotic voice asking me, "Do. you. Want. to. Play. a. Game?" 

 

Love is...

Love is...

Trusting your little brother with you car.

That sounds a little harsh. Let me explain.

My brother Brian came up from Maryland on Thursday night. My brother's nickname is "Brain". 

That sounds a little harsh. Let me explain.

When he was little, in 1st or 2nd grade I think, I saw one of his papers from school.  In the upper right-hand corner of it, he had written his name, "Brain".  When I saw it I thought, "BRAIN?" and yelled out to him, "Hey, 'Braaaain", c'mere a sec....what are ya, Inspector Gadget's dog?"as I shoved the paper at him. We cracked up and the birth of his nickname  had arrived. This is now how he signs off is his correspondence to the family.

So Brain...arrived at Logan Thursday night.  We had "clearly planned" that I would pick him up on the lower level through baggage claim, and requested that when he went out the doors, to go all the way right as that was the easier place to pick up.

Through baggage claim, out the doors, right.

I called him, told him I was at the airport - and I was making my way around the corner to the American Airlines station in the terminal.  I AGAIN confirmed with him, "You went all the way RIGHT out the doors...correct?"

No.

He went left.  By the limos. You see, he thought it would be easier.

Since I had yet to make my way around the corner, I couldn't see the limos. I muttered something about "following directions" and told him that if I didn't think it would be doable(the Fuzz and airport personnel tend to be hard-asses) that I would honk twice signaling for him to get his keister all the way RIGHT.

I got around the corner and I didn't see anybody all the way left. I didn't see these "limos" of which he spoke.

Deep, deep down, I knew what he did done. But I was going to try and give him the bene of the doubt.

"Bri, are you in FRONT of the Peter Pan bus??" thinking maybe he hadn't gone ALL the way left but had gone left out the doors but my ability to spot him was being obstructed by Peter Pan.  He seemed confused at my mentioning the bus. Why I let it go, I have no idea. I passed the bus and parked at the very end of Terminal B. Clearly, no Brain.  Called him again. "B, I am all the way a the end of the terminal. Where the hell are ya? Can you see the Peter Pan bus?"

No.

He mentioned something about limos. Flag is offically thrown on the play. He is at the top level, not by baggage claim, but where the DEPARTURES go to be dropped off.

To recap, he went UP and LEFT when I had asked him to go DOWN and RIGHT.

When we finally connected (after Mr. Nice Police Officer told me to take a lap, because they won't let you idle even if your legit excuse that your bro is a moe-ron), I cheered, "Great to see ya, B! Hey, by the way, is it Opposite Day in your brain today?"

So, getting back to my original point, I was nervous about lending him my car.

I woke up this morning with "The Curse" and feeling really, really awful. I did not feel like carpooling him to my mom's, a good 45 minutes away, coming back to Boston, and then picking him up again. Hell, I didn't really want to do that even without the awful cramps.  So I thought about it. And I thought about it. And to compound the issue, I also wasn't really up for a visit with my mother either.  So after much thought and a mini-conference with my sister, Kate,("well, he IS almost 26 year old, and he does drive to work, everyday? right?") I relented. 

Though not without many pounds of prevention.

The directions. So unbefuckinglieveably specifc and clear they should be hanging in a museum.

See, not only was I trusting Brain with my car, but I was trusting him to drive in a state he'd never driven in really. In a city that's not exactly known for being a breeze to get around, in or out of, no less. Oh, and in a city that employs the pinnacle of engineering, The Rotary. And he'd have to drive on one these tremendous inventions to get out of town.

I wrote out the directions. I said to him (and wrote) 93 SOUTH!  Not. NORTH.

Included in the directions, "No MAINE. No NH, No VT. No CANADA!"

But then again, as I said to him, "though I bet you're the only guy that would head north and STILL find the sign that read, "Welcome to Rhode Island."

As he was walking out the door I asked, "you're a safe driver, right? 60 mph? yes? You know when lanes end and merge?? Don't forget to check your blind spot!  Drive safely!  Please. I don't know if my insurance premiums are up to date!"

And he was off.

And then nothing.

No calls. Nothing.

After about 40 minutes later, I called him.

"Everything okay?"

It was.

"I'm about 5 minutes from Mom's."

Huh. He did it.

"Cool, just checking."

Now it's dark out, starting to snow and he'll be on the road soon to make his return. Great, now all I gotta do is get him back.

I think a different kind of cramps are beginning to attack my stomach.

Why didn't I think of this before?

Tonight I got home at 8:30...p.m. As in, I clocked an almost 12 hour workday today.  It kinda sucked. Tomorrow doesn't look much better with a client dinner meeting to boot.  Wednesday I have my office Christmas party which I will probably be late for trying to keep up with work and deadlines and stuff. It'll feel like I'm in summer school while everyone else is at the beach.Thursday night I have my niece for an overnight and taking her to kids day for Friday (which will be the highlight of my week; I think I am just as excited as she is. To wit: she woke up this morning and her first words were, "Mom, today Thursday? Go to Jennie's house?") and like many of us procrastinators, still have Christmas shopping to do. Did I mention the buckets and buckets of work on my desk. Because for us insurance peeps, the rule is that December is the most stressful time of year what with a disproportionate amount of accounts renewing January 1. Seriously, you find yourself thinking, "why didn't I go into a less stressful occupation, like, I dunno, law enforcement?" The idea of getting shot at actually seems more appealing. Or at least a close second.

As I came home to find pizza and wings on the dinner table (yesss!) Mike said to me, "you're gonna be shopping on Saturday, aren't you?" to which I countered, "what's wrong with Sunday? There's gotta be a CVS open, right?"  He added, "yeah, fuck it, 'y'all getting Altoids!'"

This is why I love him. He gets me.

(The Mobil stations sell Altoids, too, right?)