Frankly, I’m Fucking Exhausted

It’s the most wonderful time of the year…if “wonderful” is synonymous with “exhausting.” 

We’ve been to parties. Soirées. Luncheons. We’ve shopped. Cooked. Had Christmas with our kids. 

And we’ve worried. We’ve worried because Winky the House Elf had to fly to Oklahoma today to spend Christmas with her father. Oklahoma…where an ice storm began yesterday. 

When my girl flies alone in the winter I book her tickets far enough in advance to chose the connecting city. Winter = Phoenix. That part was handled months ago. That at least eliminates part of the problem since Phoenix isn’t super likely to get winter weather and has lots of flights back to San Diego in case Winky gets stopped there and can’t go further. (Renting a hotel room isn’t exactly an option when you’re fifteen.) 

We were at the airport exactly 2 hours before her flight. Things looked really good when we got there. The parking lot was nowhere near full, and there was hardly a line at security. (That picture was drastically different when we left a couple of hours later.) Naturally, the Winkster had to bring a gigantic bag, so it had to be checked. In spite of having her boarding passes printed out she had to use the full service lane instead of express so that Chaos Boy and I could get escort passes. (This was at the suggestion of the airline. Chaos Boy had called them last night about our weather concerns and what our options would be if flights were cancelled.) 

The full service line was long, but I’ve definitely seen it longer. We settled in to wait. And people watch. Because that’s our favorite family pastime. Naturally there was a woman in front of us in line with a preschool aged child and four bags. Every time the line moved the woman would move two of the bags and leave the tiny child behind to move the others. Every. Fucking. Time. 

It took us about 45 minutes to get to the front of the line. And that’s when we were heroes.

The ditz with the kid and the 4 bags was up next and headed for an open kiosk with her two bags. And left her damn kid trailing behind wrestling with the other bags. Mother of the year was busily tapping on the kiosk with her back to the poor little matchgirl wrestling an alligator (or a big green suitcase) when another family came barrel through with a luggage cart. Pushed by a child. 

So here we have the scene: luggage cart kid is hot on the heels of suitcase girl without room to pass. Dipshit mom is still tapping at the kiosk and has never turned around. Instead of asking mom for help, SG just keeps struggling and is at a full stop in front of LCK. That’s when LCK’s dad walks around him and the cart, grabs the alligator from SG and moves it. And. Just. Keeps. Walking.

That’s right! He walked away with the suitcase, and LCK just followed him, as did LCK’s mom. And SG? Didn’t say a word. And her mother? Still just tapping away. 

This is where Chaos Boy and I stunned a couple hundred people into silence by shouting, “Hey! That’s not your bag!” Damn straight. Because that’s what heroes do.

I’m honestly not sure what was on that man’s mind. I’m guess he was just late and frazzled and didn’t realize what he’d done. Dipshit mom thanked us (but not as profusely as I’d have thanked someone). But the best part of it all was when Winky took out her headphones and asked, “What just happened?”

Ah, teenagers. Not a care in the world.

She got to Oklahoma just fine. Now I need a fucking nap.

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer’s Eve?

Let’s see if any of you are a little more on the ball than I was last night…

I was super tired from being awesome all day (if “awesome” is a synonym for “hungover”). When we were ready to head up to bed, Chaos Boy stood in front of me and pulled me up off of the couch (because he is a freaking hero). Once I was up, I was a little wobbly. While keeping hold of both of my hands to steady me, CB walked all the way around the coffee table so that he could lead me through The Lair and up the stair. (Okay. There are multiple stairs, but I was enjoying my little rhyme.) This led to…

DP: Damn! That was magical. I mean. Some straight up David Copperfield shit.

CB: <laughing> David Copperfield? Do you smell vinegar?

Get it? Because I didn’t. I’m gonna blame that on my pickled liver.

Ya Think Ya Know A Guy

Last night, prompted by a situation involving his kuntly (DP-ism) ex-wife, Chaos Boy drank over half a fifth of Bitch-Be-Gone, aka “Bulleit Rye and shame.” Not surprisingly, chaos ensued. (I should mention now that I, Danger Puppy, was in full possession of my faculties as I had consumed only water and self-righteousness.)

First I’d like to let it be known that I’m a hero. I literally saved CB’s life. There was a spider having a bit of a frolic above a bookcase in The Lair. CB is the designated “Spider Slayer” because I am a tremendous titbag. When I pointed out the spider, CB started to get up to kill it (meaning flush it while saying “go see Jesus”). I did a quick calculation involving the height the spider was at, the angle at which CB would have to reach, and how much liquor was left in the decanter (in my head y’all = amazeballs) and arrived at a frightening conclusion: STEP LADDER! In spite of my love of life insurance, I pulled CB back onto the couch. You see? HERO! (Also, I took that bitch ass spider out myself when he started drifting toward my Dooneys.)

It wasn’t until we were getting ready to head up to bed that I realized CB was the drunkest I’d ever seen him. He came out of the downstairs bathroom and ran into the wall. I made an executive decision at that point: he should go up the stairs ahead of me in case he lost his tenuous control over gravity. This was a great idea until I told him I wouldn’t have to do these things if he hadn’t “gone Irish,” at which point I called him “Drunky O’Shitfaced.” He was laughing so hard he had to stop halfway up the stairs. In keeping with the Irish theme, he danced a naked jig when we got to our room. (Not a result of drunkenness. He has done this many times. Far. Too. Many.)

The final straw came when he started laughing so hard while trying to take an allergy pill that I thought he might choke. That was my cue to shut down the antics. Again, I’m a fan of life insurance, but I don’t really want to be collecting any time soon. 

This morning he wouldn’t cop to having a hangover, but he did say that was the last time I’d be seeing him that drunk. 😉

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Update on the umbrella: it was in his t-shirt drawer. Yeah, honey. Cuz that’s where it goes.