At least it was Fashion Star Taco Tuesday.
“Oooooooooooh, girl. Yours is bad. You’re gonna have a 2 day.”
Mitch is reading me my horoscope. She means a 2-out-of-5 stars day. We are both fully reclined on our respective couches hurling insults at the designers on Fashion Star and dreaming about the day we finally move up in this world and can afford to fast forward through commercials like rich folk. It’s funny, though not surprising, what we’ve chosen to do with our free time now that we have it.
“Uh yeah, I know. It’s 11pm. I already lived it.”
“HAHAHA. It says you feel worse about yourself than ever. Also your love life sucks.”
Only half true. So very true.
Anyway. What ha’happened was…
I tore into my day the best way I know how: dismissing all three of my alarms and skipping yoga.
Because checking all my email(s), Facebook, Twitter and text messages first thing from my phone always puts me in such a chipper mood, I decided to do that, too.
Having been informed by an email checked on my phone (which I always find more rage-inducing than those checked on a computer) that the food lab would no longer be available for the Student Dietetic Association to use for our National Nutrition Month Healthy Bake Sale prep, I took it upon myself to go ahead and make 3 dozen cookies before breakfast.
What is wrong with me?
This left me approximately 15 seconds to get ready for work, which meant I threw on a dress. Because, really, who has time for pants? No one.
It wasn’t until stepping out to my car that I realized it was totally cold outside. Also that I hadn’t shaved in… I don’t even know how long. (My love life sucks, remember?)
As is usually the case, my car looks like this:
No gas and every single warning light on. Perfect.
Because I like to live life on the edge, I decide to drive 30 miles on empty. People ask me what drugs I’m abusing to stay so energized and “with it.” I regret to inform you that I actually just drive around with no gas in my car. You should try it. It’s wild. Also I drink a lot. (Not while driving.)
Anyway, I hauled ass down I-77, coffee-less because I couldn’t find my travel mug (OH! it was already in the car because THAT MAKES SENSE) and Kanye-less because I couldn’t find my ipod (where are all of my things is what I’d like to know…?), so I could get to work in time for our meeting.
No matter how late I am, there is always time for me to put coffee in my face so I stopped at Starbucks. The slowest Starbucks on the planet. While waiting (a million years) for my latte, I had to shift myself out of the early-morning sunlight because angry people don’t like happy bright things and it was highlighting my leg hair in the least flattering way possible.
I went to the meeting and then proceeded to eat a banana with peanut butter with a fork like a real asshole and slam that soy latte (so hard) like a champ.
What are you doing?
Shortly thereafter I had to turn around and drive back to Charlotte to go to the damn doctor. Because asking for the morning off to avoid driving a million miles in one morning would have made too much sense. Of course the tank is still empty. It doesn’t need gas because I run it on ADRENALINE.
I arrive at the doctor’s office a solid 45 minutes late only to discover that I do not have my insurance cards. Whether or not I even have insurance right now is a little bit questionable, actually. I just rolled with it and said I’d fax it over later. Mmmmhmm, was the look I received from the receptionist. Girl, you know.
This appointment was no big deal but I, as the biggest hypochondriac on the planet, have been fairly certain I have been slowly dying of cancer for the last eight months or so… So I was pretty stressed out. Obviously I do not have skin cancer. But please tell me if you find this exchange completely inappropriate:
Doctor: Who do people tell you you look like?
Me: Rebecca Gayheart. But she’s becoming less relevant…
Doctor: YES. That’s it. She has a sex tape, right?
Me: … I… would not know.
Doctor: Yep. She does.
Doctor (while touching me): You must work out.
Doctor: I mean, seriously.
Doctor: Paris Hilton. Pam Anderson…
Doctor: Other sex tapes.
Uhyeah. Me too.
I tried to zip right on back to work because, you know, this lunch break was getting kind of long. But let me tell you a little something about I-485…
I don’t know who put up the directional signs for this interstate but they neglected to consider the fact that I AM NOT FERDINAND MAGELLAN. Just because a highway is a circle doesn’t mean you can get all willy nilly with the signage assuming, “Ohhh, they’ll just keep going until they’re back from whence they came.”
INCORRECT. Because that is a really big circle and I don’t have the time or the gas to drive all the way around the city of Charlotte until I figure out if I’m supposed to be on 485 outer or 485 inner or 485 west or 485 south or whatever else they want to name the exact same road.
Anyway. I got on 485 going what I assumed was the wrong way so I exited and turned around only to find that I was right the first time. The silver lining to this directionally-challenged cloud, however, was that I was gravitating towards my favorite falafel place in town.
What good fortune.
I grabbed a falafel platter at Zeitouni and hightailed it home. I mean back to work. Which feels like home. Which is very very sad indeed.
I had to run to the microbiology lab to check on my nastyass mystery cultures that I swabbed from a salt shaker on campus. (GUH-ROSS).
Pass the salt.
You see that flawless slant growth? I know, right? I have a future in this. I’m totally changing my major AGAIN.
I wrapped up the day by cramming a quick weightlifting workout in before two riveting hours of mineral lecture. After class I asked my friend to drive me to my car (which I have to park in a lot like a mile away from campus because the po-pos discovered yesterday that I’ve been driving around with a fake parking pass for a good solid year) only to find that it was still on campus. Except that it wasn’t at all and my friend spotted it right there in the lot before I could even figure out what was going on. This is how with it I was by 7pm. Also she hit a car in the process. Yup. Atta girl, honey boo-boo child. I blame myself for your misfortune.
I’ve only practiced yoga once in the last 11 days and felt today was deserving of a mighty comeback. So I drove straight to the studio and threw myself on my mat, very grateful that it was there and I was there and I exist and life is good.
The only way to end a day like this is with cookie butter-stuffed Girl Scout cookies, a combination that my friend Meg would say is pretty much like dividing by zero. It shouldn’t even be possible.
Girl Scout Cookie cookie butter sandwiches. HEH?
I still haven’t filled up my gas tank, by the way.