Monday, March 22, 2010

I don't CARE where the sun rises

I have a habit of going to my parents' house for at least a portion of the weekend.

This weekend it happened to be Saturday. Partly because my brother and sister were home for spring break and mainly because what started as a low key "I'm not drinking" weekend was transformed Friday afternoon by a happy hour in the office, continued happy hour at the bar, polishing off a bottle of wine in my apartment, and blacking out after a shot of jager to the point of not remembering a damn thing. 
Not when I discovered I left my debit card at the bar (still there), not when my boss pointed out the out-of-my-mind email I sent her (thank Gah-hod I didn't hit reply all), not even when I was told I made out with someone in a bar (soooorrrry mooooom).

So any-hoodles, when it's rainy and you can't just wake up and celebrate in some good old fashioned hair of the dog on a patio somewhere, what do you do? Escape to suburbia to detox!
Except that at 4:30 my Dad taunted me.
Dad: "you know there's 3 bottles of  red over there, Court"
Me: "'s not even five...."
Dad: "Since when does that stop you?! Besides, it's Saturday and it's 5:30 on the east coast!"
And then I found myself drinking red wine and eating laughing cow cheese completely UNnecessarily.
Note: Dad was not drinking, just encouraging me

So the lesson here is that I do not have a spine, will drink wine when told, and if you take me to get a steak dinner, I'll sleep at your house, ask if we can watch precious, and then you can buy me lunch the next day.

So anyway, I'm lazy, it was cold, and when my mom said "Are you sleeping here tonight?" I replied with "Yes, but I'll probably regret it in the morning."
All slutty jokes aside, I should have known that very phrase was enough reason to drive home.
But noooooo.

I don't remember falling asleep Sunday night but I woke up to a terrible blaring noise that was sure to be a fire alarm. I had that terrible ripping feeling as my swollen eyes tried to decipher what ungodly hour of the morn it was.
As I stubbed my toe on the dresser fumbling for my glasses, I realized that the sound wasn't as loud as I originally thought.
Maybe because it's 7-effing-15.
To make a long story short, I finally dragged my ass out of bed, made a jumbo cup of hazlenut coffee, and realized it was 8:10 and I should have left 20 minutes ago.
Take the back roads! It'll save you time!
No Dad, you know how I am off the beaten path.
[dad prints map out and draws on it with a pen as if I can decipher his hieroglyphics]

I went for it anyway.
It was going great until I had to find "Texas Trail"
Well that road only goes one way.
To be honest it wasn't Dad's fault.
I could SEE the mother effing highway.
It was right there.
But that can't be right, I'm looking for Texas Trail.
I swear.
Sometimes I really wonder about myself.

I start to panic when I realize I am definitely going the wrong way.
*light bulb*
The traffic I have to encounter when I pull a U turn is horrendous.
I look at the clock.
It's 8:47.
I'm supposed to be there at 8:30.

Now granted, no one actually abides by the 8:30 rule.
But I hate being late.
It makes me feel anxious, and I had a shit ton to do today, and it felt like a fat man was sitting on my chest. And not in a good way.
Not that said situation is ever good, per se.
But that sexual encounter would be less uncomfortable than my punctuality issue.

Of course I call my dad, expecting him to tell me he can magically transport me to my office instead of suggesting I just turn around and go find my exit.
The following conversation ensued:
Where are you?
I don't knooooowwwww!! I missed my exit and now I don't know where I ammmmm.
What direction are you going??
DAD! you know i don't know directions!! This is why I told you I shouldn't go this way.
Well is the sun on your left or right.
[pause to hold up the Ls and remember which is left and right]
Okay. Turn around and go the other way.
It pisses me off that he is such a directional magician.
(whatever that even means)
Thanks for passing on bad eyesight instead of that lovely directional mechanism.
A few minutes later, I am waiting in traffic backtracking to my missed exit.

It's now 8:54.
By this point my throat is closing up. I cannot possibly make it before 9:15.
I do what any neurotic, high strung girl would do and start to cry.
The last time I cried was watching Fried Green Tomatoes on TV about 2 months ago.
But I was really frustrated.
Then the guy next to me in his volvo saw me and started looking at m sympathetically.
Damnit. Why didn't I wear contacts so I could put on sunglasses??
The better question: WHY AM I CRYING OVER THIS?

I finally found the exit 2 more tries down the line.
Of course once I wasn't frustrated, I just got mad. 

But then "Hey Soul Sister" came on.
I had a bi-polar moment and started belting it out while driving along.
I was pretending to play drums on my steering wheel having a complete *moment* when I realized I was pulling up to my office. 

By this point, I had expended 5x the energy a normal person uses by 9:22.

And to be honest, I'm really not even sure if anyone noticed I was late.
I got more coffee, because CLEARLY, I needed to be more hopped up on something.
Then I got to work.
The rest of my day was pretty uneventful besides my co-worker Daniel bringing me a pack of jalapeno kettle chips from Subway.

And that, my friends, is why I am vowing to never sleep at my parents' house on a week night again.
At least until next Sunday.

1 comment:

  1. You're in America; stop taking responsibility for your own actions and start blaming your parents. It's embarassing to see you so grown up.