Let's start back a bit here. The suckitude of this day knows no bounds. It sort of follows a week that steadily drove itself downhill, domino fashion. I started out with great intentions of all I'd accomplish this week only to watch said intentions go up in a flood of water. Just. don't. ask. Suffice it to say, we have to put a new ceiling in our living room. Uh uh! I said just. don't. ask.
So this morning, I went for a bike ride to take a box of vegetables to my friends' house. (Also best to not ask.) She made the mistake of asking me that simple question, "How are you?" I told her. Five minutes later I realized my voice had hit a level only dogs can hear and her kids are staring at me in horror. "Uh uh uh," I stammered, "I'm so, so sorry, um kids, I was just, you know, frustrated..." so the eight year old reached out in sympathy and said, "I know that feeling. It builds up inside you until you think you better just go outside and scream at the moon."
Word to the eight year old.
I rode home rapidly because my friend wisely decided I was in no shape or space to drive a car and thus offered to take my six year old with her crew to the final day of vacation bible school.
(Things you never expect in life: to be really, really sad when you say "last day of vacation bible school.")
So I needed to beat her to my house and get my six year old out the door, seeing as how my insane raving was making her push the clock to not be late. I made it with about five seconds to spare.
One child out, I turned to my husband and said, "Is the *&%^ plumber on his *&%$& way &*^*#@ yet?" Yes, my husband was home this morning. After being home yesterday afternoon. Again with the suggestion to just not ask.
He said yes, I asked another question, the answer to which caused me to re-enact the Elaine dance from Seinfeld in absolute frustration. Apparently my body contorts like an upright seizure when I am so furious I can't even speak.
My husband asked if I plan to finish my bike ride. The distance to and from my friend's house is about a half point for me and since I've been engaging in comfort eating for stress this week (right before big San Francisco trip) (to wit: one donut, one vanilla latte, the rest of my kid's ice cream cup, the rest of my other kid's ice cream cup, half a cookie, nachos, and oh my gosh I can't even continue I am so disgusted...not to mention I haven't included the incalculable number of calories from the steady liquid diet this week has demanded.)
"I can't," I whined, "I am so tired." See, the three year old is a big part of the OMFGWILLTHISWEEKEVERENDness of this week, including but not limited to her new bedtime of midnight and wake up call of 6 a.m. Add to that the antibiotics (just. don't. ask) are making me slightly nauseated and heartburn-y all day and night and you know, I think a little woozy although that could be the "I am so sick I actually hauled myself to a doctor" part.
I flopped in my desk chair and skimmed Twitter and e-mail.
"Oh," my husband said, loitering in the office doorway, "I just thought, you know, maybe you'd like to finish your ride."
I looked suspiciously at him because it sounded suspiciously like he thought I needed to "ride it out." I opened and closed my mouth about five times, while he braced himself. Then I thought the best of it and decide he was right.
"Okay," I said, "I'll go ride."
I swear he sagged in relief.
So the three year old and I headed out to the bike and we began my regular route. I was sailing along, catching bugs in my gritted teeth, riding into the headwind on the long road and riding downwind of the trash truck on the mercifully short road, and I thought, my God this day had better get &^$*&^$ funny &^$*&^$ fast! How in the world did it all get this out of control, I wondered, and I had this flash of Robert DeNiro floating in fire, a la Casino. I decided there was definitely going to be something funny to this day, no matter how many margaritas it took.
So after la la la la and yadda yadda yadda (you don't really want a recitation of kid activities, cleaning my house, errands, conversations with people, and so forth), my mother arrived to save my life and I turned to my favorite mindless activity: early happy hour with reality TV.
This is the part where the title starts to make sense.
What just happened to be on but Tori & Dean! I'd never watched this show but I got two whole episodes in a row and all it cost me was a couple of slices of angel food cake with yogurt and blueberries for the kids.
Okay these people are great. First, I loved how Tori gets all hoppy and shrill when excited, good or bad. Tori, God love you because somehow it made me feel like maybe I just looked ridiculous and maybe even a teensy bit cute and funny when I got fishwifey this morning. Seriously, I'd had this deranged Joan Crawford image in my mind, and your beach episode about the dream house now has you in that image instead. Much, much better.
Second, this dialog in the episode about planning her son's first birthday is pure comedic gold, a la Everybody Loves Raymond. It's just so relate-able.
Okay initially Tori and Dean decided to have a simple backyard barbecue with their closest friends and family for the birthday. But then Tori's friends came over (with a notebook of party ideas!) and the next thing you know, that small and simple backyard party has morphed into a three-ring circus in the Back Garden of a mansion. . .
(In home office, on telephone, computer open to site with bouncy castles. Dean is lurking in the doorway around the corner, eavesdropping.) Tori: Hi, Scoutie, it's T, call me when you get this message. I just booked the moon bounce and wanted to see if you found that chimp place...
(Dean bursts into the room) Dean: A FIFTY FOOT MOONBOUNCE?!?!
(startled) Tori: What!
Dean: A MOONBOUNCE and a CHIMP?!? Are you telling me you're renting a jumpy castle and a chimp?
Dean: This sounds like it's just getting a little crazy!
Tori: Don't be mad but there's going to be a train...
Dean: A TRAIN?!?!
Tori: Yeah, a train. A traaaaiiiiinnnnn. (big smile)
Dean: How much is a train?
Tori: The train wasn't that bad. It's the astroturf we have to put down first...
Tori: It's not that expensive, not that bad...
Tori: Come on...
(Cut over to Dean talking to the camera: I would hate to throw a $25,000 party...that's insane. Put it in a college fund!)
(cut back to conversation. Dean walks away.)
(Flash back to Tori after meeting with friends, talking to camera: I can't just do a little backyard party. We have to do this right! I owe it to my friends! [giggle])
Why, I cannot say, but that whole scene just cracked me up. I mean, throw my head back and kick my heels up and laugh out loud cracked me up.
Maybe it's because it was someone else's situation escalating out of control but with some sort of hopefully good end. I don't know. I didn't see the end of the episode. I may have been laughing too hard.
So here's the humor.
I will not be laughing too hard when I find ou thow much replacing my ceiling costs so I may as well laugh now.
But let's end this post and this week on a good note.
Either tell me your tale of woe (because seriously, misery loves company---really it helps me feel like this is just one of those things and not some sort of "God hates me and wishes me to live a miserable life" deal) or tell me something really funny (because who doesn't love comic relief?).
And have a great weekend.
(But LA people, sweet jehosephat, how much can that house they bought cost if it is beyond the budget of Aaron Spelling's daughter who hasn't done too shabbily on her own?!?!)
Copyright 2008 Julie Pippert. Do not reprint or reproduce without permission.
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