When the going gets though, the tough start drinking...

I don't advocate drinking to escape life, but sometimes I understand the urge. This was my weekend as it happened, not how I planned it.

1. Treated myself to lunch out on Friday. Got two consecutive glasses of iced-t with crap floating in it. Placed my order only to wait an hour to not get served. Had to bring lunch back to the office and eat at my desk.

2. Had lovely dinner with Willie. Decided to go out shopping afterwards. Not 5 minutes in the store my bowels decided to start a revolution. Spent too much time in a store bathroom that was hardly clean. Blech.

3. Got home and laid in bed. The room smelled funky so I lit a candle - only to have the cat jump on top of it. If my stomach wasn't rolling before, the smell of burnt cat hair will do it to you.

4. The next day I got insulted by a cashier by asking me when I was due. Due? Due for what? I knew what she was asking, but I wanted to make her squirm. She did and I felt better for making her uncomfortable, but now I must torch the offending clothing. (note: never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever ask a woman if she's pregnant. No matter how pregnant you think she looks.)

5. Woke up on Sunday with a migraine. Nothing like greeting the morning sun with the wish that maybe my brain might slip out an ear, if only to make me feel better. It didn't.

6. Willie woke up with the same stomach dreck I had - and he NEVER gets sick.

7. Tried to nap off the migraine but it didn't work. But I did screw up my sleeping schedule so I didn't sleep. And now I'm whiney and cranky. A lovely combination.

8. Not that I was going to sleep much anyway. The boy came home in the middle of the night and needed medical attention. Hello? What? Nothin' says "I love you mom" more than a hand that might be broken a week before band camp (he plays the drums)by doing stupid shit with friends. He's fine.