Martini's Weekend.

Wow, what a busy weekend. Actually, "busy" isn't really accurate … BIZARRE is far more like it. I had more time to sit down and write out a better explanation. Here goes ...

Friday night, R and I were supposed to go the Ballet. Well, that fell through, and "plan b" fell through (COSI's "Friday Family Fun" deal is only the last Friday of the month now). So we settled on just dinner with the three of us. Can't forget The Princess. So, I have a totally bitchin' hair day, and an even better skin day ... I put on MASCARA, because I looked so hot. It was ALL ABOUT ME! ME ME ME! ha ha

Anyway, Superman (a mutual friend that now lives with R on the weekends) is coming completely unglued because he knocked up his girlfriend .... OH PS, she just drops it on him that she's married, and they are going to "try to save their marriage". Umm, you're having a kid with another man. I'm pretty sure this one ain't salvageable. And to top it all off, it's Superman's birthday (oops we all forgot). So ... I say, OK, bring Superman. Meanwhile, C's girlfriend E is all bummed out because he took the job with an out of state police department, and their house sold within two days of putting it on the market ... so she's all upset that she's got to make the choice of staying or moving. So ... I say, OK, come on E, let's go out. We end up at Olive Garden.

So, this begs my favorite song ... DYSFUNCTION JUNCTION, WHAT'S YOUR FUNCTION? ... It's like a really bad joke. "So, this woman, her ex husband, their child, their friend that knocked up a married woman, and the woman's friend's live in girlfriend are all in a bar ..."

Between three of us (Me, R, and E) we pound down NINE GLASSES OF WINE. We get really silly, then go to R's house and eat Superman's birthday cake. He blows completely apart because the married baby-momma isn't there, and I spend two hours attempting (unsuccessfully) to put him back together again.

Am I going to hell for thinking ... hmmm. I look HOT. I even put on mascara for this. And here I sit hugging a sobbing man that ISN'T EVEN MINE. I gave him my shrink's card, and I hope he calls her.

Friday night totally rates a "WHAT THE HELL?"

Oh, I left a tidbit out of the story so far …the cat. I almost ran over a cat on Friday AM. I'm such a sucker ... I brought it into the house. Sorry. More on her later.

So after my distressing evening Friday, I wake up on Saturday with a hella headache. Enter: two Imitrex and and a large ice-bag, and sleep on the couch. My phone rings, it's Girlfriend. She wants me to go with her to get pictures taken in freaking bum-fuck central Ohio. So I heave myself off the couch and go. She left out the little tidbit that her husband was going with. Remember (or did I even tell you) that her husband accused Girlfriend and I of being lesbians because we spend so much time together? Oh that was a riot.

So we drive to the damned boonies with her husband who is not happy he's going. That was a fun trip. An hour and twenty minutes later, we arrive. We set about getting Girlfriend ready, and her hubby makes some excuse that he has to run to Wal-Mart … something about needing new jeans. Fine. Bye. Girlfriend gets pictures done, I amuse the baby (because God forbid her husband could have taken her). THREE F-ING HOURS LATER he shows back up. Well, we've long since been done. Thanks for coming back. We set about going home. I get back in my cell phone service area, and there's a VM from R wondering what was up with me ... I really wanted to take The Princess to play somewhere, but not now. Dammit. It's now like 9 PM. Too late. UGH. So I go to the next voice mail ... someone called to claim Kitty. It's the loud neighbors in 1915. I call them back and tell them that I won't be home for another hour and a half, and that I can either bring her over when I get home, or I can bring her over in the AM. Well, they insist that I bring her over that night. Fine. They call my cell another TWO DAMNED TIMES in that hour and a half. I consequently take my sweet damned time going home from Girlfriend's.

Get this .. the cat's name? DOODY. Yep, like poop. I think all of those people in that apartment have the collective IQ of a spaghetti squash.

And then, Sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY! Gentlemen, start your engines.

So I wake up at like, 5 AM. Look at the clock. Decide I have another 45 minutes to sleep. Wake up to the alarm going off at 6:15. Wonder why the hell I am waking up that early. Realize I was supposed to wake up 15 minutes prior to that. Panic ensues. That's one fast shower. And one bad hair day. And I didn't really care.

I zip up my boots and go FLYING out the front door. I expeditiously fall square on my ass with my knee under me. Apparently, there is a sheet of ice on my sidewalk. After a quick survey of the neighborhood and confirmation that no one saw me (who the hell else is up at 6:40 AM on a Sunday?) I hobble to my truck and stop for fuel, realize I don't have time for breakfast, and then make the drive at 80 mph to Dayton. I arrive with a minute to spare (just shy of 8 AM).

Judged the Miss Greater Dayton pageant, drove home, got Taco Bell, fell asleep on couch.

Friday was far more interesting than Sunday, in my opinion.