no laughing matter

I can't sleep, and it's going to cost you. B and I dined with the fabulous Ms. (K) tonight, and followed it up with late coffees with our bitches. By bitches, I mean, the absolute creme de la creme of friends, whose company we relish, yet seldom get to enjoy.

After our initial plan sputtered and flopped around like a popped tire, we nestled in happily at Starbucks, approximately 85 miles away from where we had intended to meet. No matter, we made ourselves right at home doing what we do best, which, in my case, means scraping the very bottom of the etiquette bucket in order to procure as much laughter as possible. Tonight, I kicked the freaking bucket right out the door. I was so loud I was told my voice could be heard in the restrooms, and I spoke in the most unfiltered, deviant manner imaginable. All night long. It's worth mentioning that the Lancaster Starbucks doubles as a Bible study paradise. It's often hard to find a table because so many of these nice kids are there, praising The Lord and whatnot. But even their presence didn't deter my wickedness tonight. Even as I felt these tender young vessels recoiling, I squawked my obscenities, and cackled at my own depravity.

In fairness, one can hardly distinguish this night from any other, based upon my description. What makes tonight different is that I am having an acute case of morning-afters, the likes of which I've never known. As we were leaving, I asked the staff if we had been offensive, and two of them uttered an irrepressible "yes." My mind is replaying this on continuous loop. Normally I adhere to our covenant, "the joke is sacred," and shake off the scorn, or perceived scorn, of those nearby. I must tell you that it is never my intention to pollute my social environment, nor to make anyone ill-at-ease. On the contrary, my chief objective at all times is to make people laugh, and I will seemingly go to any lengths to secure a favorable reaction. But inflicting misery upon our staff and fellow diners is not my only regret tonight. I came home and read all my friends' blogs, and was swift to realize that I scarcely allow these glorious women to shine when we're together, because I'm always so busy trying to out-blaspheme myself, or reenact someone falling down the stairs, in hopes that they will perhaps, pee themselves, just a little. Karen never gets to talk about her herb expertise, because I will cut her off to honk like a goose, and Sam's voice is an endangered species because I'm too busy exaggerating the shit out of everything to let her speak. B can hold her own, so I have no regrets there, but poor Megan isn't apt to interrupt my rendition of a one-man-band, or whatever else I'm doing. So basically, I'm a solar eclipse, and I owe my friends an apology. Because they are sublime, they will never admit that I am a shameless glory hog, but we all know it's true.

Here is where I ought to vow to be more conscientious of my friends, and of innocent passers-by, but I think we all know what my vows are worth. I'd horrify those baristas again in a heartbeat if I thought one of you would shoot coffee out of your nose.

Some friend I am...

perspective

There's a bit of notoriety surrounding the coffees I drink each day, and I wanted to show everyone why. I start out each morning with a tumbler full of joe, that is, when I can't get to Starbucks to settle for their meager portions.

In my heyday (of mania in full-swing), I was drinking two or three of these a day, and was always delighted to have Brandy over because she'd match me gallon-to-gallon, until we were both writhing on the floor with coffee heart attacks.

So here it is, my morning ritual, the jolt that enables me to make beds, start laundry, do dishes, roust sleepy munchkins from their beds, and, when I'm lucky, take a shower and run 665 errands.

You should try it. I'll even make you your first one for free...

rainy days and mondays always get me down

No carafe, not to laugh. Just a little reminder.

to bean or not to bean

There is no way to euphamize this, I am a Starbucks devotee. If I had the time, I might flit through airports in a green robe banging a tambourine to spread the good news. (I can borrow this description because my dearest auntie is a hare krishna devotee, and she wouldn't mind.) The moment I toss my beautifully-labeled cup into the garbage, I become envious of anyone who has one, even if I am no longer in the mood for coffee, to the extend that I have almost entertained the thought of carrying my empty cup, like Linus with his blanket. Almost. But come one. Who does that?

As a measure of my addiction to their coffee, which I concede isn't even the best I've ever had, I will confess that I own a very nice Krups espresso maker, as well as a regular coffee maker, and every morning, I pretend not to see them, the way a senior in high school pretends not to notice passing freshmen, and I begin to plot a way to get a Starbucks coffee instead. My greatest obstacle is that, while I only live a mile from the nearest drive-thru, I refuse to leave my seven and nine year olds alone while I make the run, whether they are sleeping or awake. The law says that because Quinn is nine, I can leave him in charge of his sibling for up to an hour, a fact of which he is keenly aware and desperate to try. But I am just not ready. We live in town, northeast to be exact, and my mind can't help but conjure up all sorts of hazards that might arise in that fifteen minutes. But, my kids sleep in quite a bit longer than I, so if I let them sleep, I am forced to wait an eternity to get my fix. So I crash around in the mornings biding my time until they wake up. My friends think I am absurd and ought to make the run while they're asleep, but I just can't bring myself to do it. Can you see my dilemma?

Fortunately I think we're on the verge of a breakthrough. The kids have been staying up way too late, and now that we've moved them to their new bunk beds, we've also implemented an earlier bed time, and one of the ways I hope to tire them out for this is to WAKE THEM UP EARLY! The sooner they rise, the sooner they fall right? One of the main reasons I homeschool my kids is so they have the option of getting enough sleep, so it seems a little hypocritical to be ripping them from their sheets because I am brainwashed and need my Americano right now. On the other hand, it sure is nice to have them tired at 9:30pm, rather than asking for popcorn at 12:30am... Wow. Perhaps the answer lies in the question. It seems getting up earlier is a win-win-win situation.

Who knew that foaming at the mouth could lead to such clarity?