Today was officially the day from HELL. Its almost 8:30 and I'm FINALLY home.
It started this morning when the alarm started blaring at 5:30 am. I normally ignore it for at least a half hour but I had to get up and take Hubby and Abby to the airport. Yes, you read that correctly, airport and ass crack of dawn. I managed to stumble out of bed, pull on some sweats and a Boston hat, brush my teeth and get in the car. Then some bald weeble wobble freak at the airport, who was also missing approximately 75% of his teeth, decided that it would be good to stutter out some conversation as I was leaving. I was tired, bummed to not be going, and facing a day at work....I'm sure my glare of death translated into "Fuck Off Weeble" because he quickly turned and scurried off. Good deed 1 for the day accomplished.
I got home in time to shower and turn around and leave for work. That whole getting dressed thing didn't work out so sweet for me this morning. I must be bloated because my jeans fit like my lower body was sausage meat and they were the casing. By the time I got to work, I felt like my belly button was being forced out my ass - and not in a good way. I'm sure its bloating because it couldn't be that I now qualify for a contestant on The Biggest Loser.
Work was a bitch. We are busy as an Irishman at a bar during Happy Hour (and yes, I'm fecking ethnically qualified to make Irish jokes). I barely had time to fart all day which wasn't helping with this whole bloat thing. Before I knew it, it was 4:30 and time to go...
Which normally is a good thing. Except for the fact that Hubby is now all comfy at his folks house in Philly which left me to do the running. (ok, so he's probably not real comfy as he had to fly from Omaha to Philly with Abby ON HIS LAP. He hasn't called yet and I'm scared to call him in case he's sitting in a pile of his own drool). At any rate, moving back to more important things (ME), I get home pick up the dancer and the scruffy one. Drop the dancer at dance and have freedom to run until 7:45.
Scruffy One and I make a run to our local Indian grocery store for all my supplies. With Hubby out of town, I get to indulge myself in an Indian Feast (remind me to kick my own ass later because it would have been easier, cheaper, and a lot less work to just go to our local Indian restaurant and buy the beforementioned fucking feast. I think I'm a glutton....for punishment that is). Then to the grocery store and gas station before circling back to where I started to pick up the dancer.
I did get home to find out my Sox kicked the shit out of the Angels so that helps. I now have until Sunday to enjoy some time without Abby but I'm running all the fuck over the next few days. I think by the time I pick them up on Sunday night, I'll be sitting in a pile of my own drool.
ETA: Ok, I came back to edit this because I forgot something but I think I have dementia because I can't freaking remember what it was....