jet lag is only an excuse for so long



I am so tired. And my head hurts and my back hurts. And the big toe on my left foot hurts. Today is not a beautiful day in the world of erinire. I would say it was jet lag, but I got back like a week ago and come on, how long can you really milk that shit? But I DO seem to be slightly (read: extremely) out of sync lately.

read on:

I had plans to meet up with my friends Phil and Christina on Tuesday for some (blissful, wonderful, beautiful) night swimmin’ and hot-tub-chillin’. FYI – Christina lives about 20 minutes away, and it was my first time to her neighborhood. So it’s a “get home from work, quaff some wine, slip into the bathing suit” and I am off!! Halfway there I stop for coffee. Rummaging through my ENORMOUS NEW PURSE, i realize that I forgot my wallet. Need wallet, head home. Grab wallet, hooray! on the road again!! I arrive in Christina’s neighborhood and realize that I have forgotten the directions. And my cell phone. FUCK. Not to be deterred, I putter around the neighborhood for a good half hour before giving up and going home. I resolved to try again on Wednesday. Night swimming is worth the effort, right?

Cut to Wednesday at 7PM. I methodically place in my bag: wallet, phone, towel, wine. Stop at liquor store en route for a sandwich and more wine. Head out to Arlington. Feeling good. Rocking out. Right across from Alewife station, stuck in traffic, MY CHECK ENGINE LIGHT COMES ON. For those of you who recall, this makes the SEVENTH appearance of said light since I bought the car two years ago. (some, some more, and yet more) My blood pressure skyrockets, adrenaline soars, and I reach for the cellphone so I can call somebody and scream. I am reaching, I am reaching, and reaching….

no cellphone.

I dump the purse out onto the seat. Still no cellphone.

But I am resolute. I continue. I mean, I drove ALL AROUND her neighborhood the night before, and NOW i really remember the directions, so won’t this all be so funny ha ha when I get there. I get off the highway and promptly forget everything. But I am resolute!! I am continuing!! The neighborhood is a maze of ’80’s suburban sprawl, with streets that go nowhere and random playgrounds and… God!! Frustration. So I happen upon two girls getting out of a car and I am like “excuse me, is there a street that begins with an ‘N’ around here?” and they are like “um, are you stupid?” and I am like “yes, most definitely”. I have no cellphone, no directions, I don’t know Christina’s last name and I don’t know Phil’s cellphone number. I must have looked extremely desperate and panicky, because one of the girls offered to get a map and physically drive to Christina’s house with me in tow. (It’s worth noting that even WITH a map, we STILL had to stop and ask for directions. Twice.)

So the tale has a happy ending – I got to go swimming and drink wine in a hot tub under the stars, but the real moral of the story is this:

I am the biggest flipping idiot known to mankind. WHO DOES THESE THINGS??

and the sidebar moral:

My car absolutely blows.

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