I’m always late. Always. Maybe just sometimes. Ok fine, almost always. I know you’re never going to believe this, but sometimes I get distracted.
For example, I just lost thirty-five minutes watching that new Kanye West video. I don’t even like Kanye. Unless you count that first record. That shit was brilliant. But still, I’m not sure he deserves thirty-five of my precious minutes on an already busy day. Especially since that video was ridiculous, pointless, and made me inexplicably angry. Damnit, Kanye. Stop messing with me, already.
I’ve got more examples of distractions – loads of ’em, in fact. Why, one of my facebook friends just posted a story about a toilet explosion in a small fast food restaurant in Sydney. I have to read that. Obviously. Herbert looks kinda chilly on the shelf over there all by himself. I should probably pluck him. I can hear Lucy puking. Theoretically, I should do something about that. But first, that little, furry bitch Mildred almost always needs a zerbert.
Speaking of distractions, today’s Craftastrophe is the result of a head cold and the accompanying medications.
See? Two hours gone. Poof. Which is probably why we were running late yesterday for Stage Two of our wine making process.
Rocco thinks that if you’re ten minutes early for something, you’re twenty minutes late. (Side bar: we don’t travel together very well.) So he was, not surprisingly, mildly frustrated and cranky yesterday.
When he gets anxious, I get anxious. Which makes me short tempered. Which makes him short tempered. You get the gist. Yesterday we were both camels, each one straw short of a broken back.
So we’re barreling up the 14th Street aqueduct in Ginny with plenty of time to make it through the yellow light…that is until the ass hats in front of us decide to brake.
“Damnit, we totally could have made it!” I shouted as if they could hear me.
“Fucking old lady,” Rocco mumbled under his breath while pounding the steering wheel.
“How do you know it’s a woman?” I asked, indignant. He looked at me and rolled his eyes. “Oppressor,” I scolded, already giggling. “Then how do you know she’s old?”
“She has a handicap sticker hanging on her rear view mirror. She’s all ‘Look at me! I’m never in a hurry. I’ve got free parking everywhere.’ Damnit!”
Thank goodness I have him to keep things in perspective. Also? His old lady voice sounds almost exactly like Mickey Mouse.
Maybe I should braid all the fringe on my throw rugs…
Ummmm……I learn so much about Jersey from you. So only the little old ladies there are handicapped? Yeah, that’s what I got from this. I’m going on like 3 hours of sleep, that Craftastrophe messed with my head AND I breaked in the middle for that GAWD forsaken Kanye video, because I’m a born sucker like that.
BTW, pink speckled pecker comes to mind. Just sayin’.
Yup. They’re handicapped and wear leopard print. And bump-its.
I was just saying to my lady this weekend, people who are too responsible are boring. I can’t relate to people who order water and salad in restaurants. I don’t trust people who say they like cake instead of frosting. Come on.
Also tried to convince her our respective divorces reflect how much we’ve lived, taken risks, finally found each other but for the right reasons. She didn’t quite buy it.
I put what you said into practice this morning, adventurously spending 20 minutes dinkering around on selfish entertainments that made my kids 20 minutes’ late for school. So, to the statement in your title, I say “Here here.” That is, “I’m almost here. Stuck in traffic. I swear.”
That may be the best comment in the history of comments.
I was wondering, “What is this guy rambling on about?” because, well, ya know, I had totally forgotten the title of the blog. Not that it didn’t totally relate to the moral of the story. ;-P
As the corn farmer said aw shucks.
Jesus, who the hell is this Eric? He’s like the Confucious of a sub level world lurking right below the surface of the outer crust of the real world where people can be lost in a time vortex without rhyme or reason.
Look what he did to me! I’m all over the map here!
I want to say something heavy metal to that. Something like “chaos is my middle name.” But my middle name is Christopher.
i say we all have our frosting and eat it too. for breakfast. eric for prez!
THANKS. I wish I had come up with this quote first which I saw the other day on http://mommywantsvodka.com. “Smart has the plans. Stupid has the stories.” Sums it up.
( Here’s the post http://www.mommywantsvodka.com/smart-has-the-plans-stupid-has-the-magic-closet/ )
Someday, when you fall asleep drunk and have a kanye dream where you are a phoenix and have a bird woman crotch, you will thank me for this.
Also OH MY GOD ELLS WATCH THIS
OH MY GOD I DON’T EVEN HAVE THE WORDS TO RESPOND TO THAT. Do I love it? Am I terrified? Mildly aroused and nauseous all at once? Sweet Monkey Chaps, what are you doing to me?!?!?
That video is exactly what I don’t do during sex.
Apologies in advance for the wording of this reply but Oh my god holy Jesus what the FUCK was that?
I love it when people care about other people being offended, cause I feel like they balance out all the times I don’t.
I’d like to say it’s all about caring, but some of it is still just paranoia lest somebody work-related should trip over my online personality. Aah fuck em.
This is what started Cirque du Soleil. People in the 40’s were very weird.
What d’ya wanna bet this was all inspired by my chicken in a vag story? Damnit Kanye, get out of my head.
That Eric is a svengali. Watch his eyes.
I’ve been trying out this Svengali thing. So far nothing. If it works I’m going in this order:
1) Trick the world’s leaders into world peace
2) Mesmerize the world’s polluters into not polluting the world
3) Use the force — suddenly the world’s food shelves will open, spilling abundance across the land
4) Go to the headquarters of Chase Manhattan, Sallie Mae and others and stare at the servers that have my debts stored in them until they explode
5) Go the Mercedes dealership and stupefy them into giving me a G55
Now if you want the honest answer reverse the order.
I can’t stop saying the word Svengali over and over again. It makes my tongue feel weird.
I couldn’t even read what the Craftastrophe was because it was so disturbing! Not as disturbing as ANYTHING wearing a gimp mask, but still.
It looks like gene splicing is hard, Barbie!
It looks like something they’d suck out of Spock’s ear on Star Trek.
How do we both have a Herbert AND a Lucy?
Kayne is unexplainable. He’ll do something brilliant, and then he’ll do something awful. He’s got no middle ground. Brilliant or awful.
That video is AWFUL. So he better do something brilliant in the next day or two to even it out.
Agreed. The clock starts NOW.
With that kind of attitude towards punctuality, I’m pretty certain you are my 8th sister. No one would notice one more woman at our family gatherings. Of course that may be because most of us are running late.
I’ll eat all the brownies before you get there. See how nice I am to you?
I was never EVER late. Until Twitter. Now I’m never EVER on time. Oh well…
Now that I have it on my phone I tend to walk out into traffic. Awesome sauce.
That’s not called “being distracted.” It’s known as a “phenomenal interest in your surroundings.” All the smartest people have it. It’s a gift, not a burden.
You are in PR, aren’t you? I bet you can write a wicked resume.
I am more prone to trimming the fringe on my rugs. All the crust food and wine stains start to get out of hand, and it’s easier to just cut them off.
I feel the same way about my bangs.
Oh, yeah- I trim those, too. I’m a cutter.
You make me laugh. Hard. And I appreciate this because I figure the calories burned by laughing allows me to eat more cupcakes. And for that, I THANK YOU.
You too make me laugh. Hard. And then I have to practice my girlie bit exercises so I don’t pee on my desk chair. And for that, MY HUSBAND THANKS YOU.
We were like separated at birth and then kidnapped from the rich families we should have been adopted into -so we would be exceptional in our distraction, very Paris Hilton, n’est pas?- and then sold in to this mundanary (yes it’s a word dammit I made it up okay)where we’re expected to focus and crap like that.. ooh a squirrel.. where was I? Oh screw it let’s Skype in the tweet grid baby!
I’ll have what you’re having. Also a pony. And I’d love for someone to rub my feet after a long night in heels.
Hubby is like your Rocco– always UBER early- I TRY (key word) to be on time, but am not always successful..
and WTF was that potato salad video?- those women were freaks of nature….small wonder they never hit it big…
I know. I don’t even LIKE potato salad.
i want to hear his old lady voice.
You say that now….but it’s awfully scary in the middle of the night and decidedly unsexy.
Totally awesome toilet explosion article! Freaked out by the 1940’s potato salad contortionist chicks. Fuckin weird.
I’ve been reading blogs for the last couple hours.
I have no idea what I was supposed to be doing.
Oh well, I’m off to re-post the toilet story on FB.
Well done. We can’t have some rampant toilet bowl exploding pandemic.
Uh, I totally get where you are on this one. I struggle to be on time, often losing the battle. Mostly because I am online reading and writing blogs, or playing with the dog, or simply eating pretzels.
The hubby is stressfully early. If we say are leaving at 7, he is in the car getting stressed ten minutes before then. WTF? If I got there at 7.05 I think am a freaking rock star…!
Okay I have a serious question…
How do you spend 35 minutes watching a video if videos are only 5 minutes tops? Shed light.
It’s that damned Kanye. He went all artsy and made a seriously thirty-five minute music video. Don’t watch it. Unless you really just need to blow thirty-five minutes. Alphabetize your recycling instead. It’s a better use of time.
Seriously he is so self-absorbed. Who else would make a 35 minute video. That’s like a mini-movie.
Now that you’ve mentioned it… Mickey Mouse did sound a lot like an old lady. Weird.
I’m the “always early” type. My husband drives me nuts because he always has to go in the bathroom two minutes before the time I designate as leave time. Then he’s in there for no less than 10 minutes. I think he’s hoping I’ll get mad enough to just leave while he’s in there, and he won’t have to go with me.
I fucking hate being late. I would fucking strangle you with a cordless phone and rape your soul if you make me late. It is one of my peeves.
Damnhellass old ladies, with their cookies and warm smiles and $4.25 checks.
Which, on second read makes way more sense than $4.25 cheeks. I need a nap.
If you think about, universally the handicapped parking sticker is something to be coveted. It is rather curious, isn’t it? Even David Sedaris thinks so. LOL
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