We interrupt this beauty blog to explain why I'm too tired to post

OMFG, internet.

Today was ... well, anyone who thinks housewives sit around on a chaise longue reading trashy romances and dipping languidly into a box of chocolates needs to be me for a day. Preferably today, because it pretty much sucked, and I would gladly make the exchange. Want a snapshot? The highlight of the day was getting the car washed. Want the full-on rant? Keep reading.

First, I was up until about 2:30 this morning. I had to write up the minutes for a board I'm on, post to this blog, read a few other blogs, and listen to my latest audiobook (Book 4 of Jim Butcher's The Dresden Files, read by James Marsters, yes, that's Spike from Buffy, so sue me.) And then I had to get up at the crack of dawn because my husband was out of town and I had to get the children up. So the day began with a high degree of sleep deprivation.

So I drove to Chicago because I had that board meeting. Then I had to chaperone a Girl Scout field trip to see Billy Elliot, which involved driving to Chicago again, this time with a car full of giddy, talkative Girl Scouts with the attention span of a trio of gnats. Also, I used my husband's GPS in order to have access to its deep traffic-y wisdom. And the stupid GPS took me all the fuck over the place, and then when we were really close to where I wanted to go, I couldn't get off the highway at the Monroe Street exit, which is the street the restaurant was on.

So I was driving through the loop with three Girl Scouts acting like chipmunks on crack. The GPS has a female voice with an Australian accent (I call her "Sheila" when I'm not referring to her as "my husband's Australian girlfriend.) Sheila was acting like some rube from the cornfields of Iowa who had never seen a skyscraper. She was confused by the tall buildings and the El (we spent a lot of time under the El tracks) and kept saying "recalculating" and changing her mind about how to get to the Italian Village. Then we ran into some kind of protest--I'm not sure whether it was anti-war or pro-gay--there were a lot of rainbow flags in evidence--and I couldn't go where Sheila was advising me to go. And anyway, she kept changing her mind. Even when I was at a red light, she'd start recalculating. It was as if she was saying "Turn left on Adams. No, wait! I have a better idea. Turn right on Jackson. So what if you're in the wrong lane. Recalculating!"

We ended up being about 45 minutes late for dinner. The good news is that the other Girl Scout Leaders had already ordered the wine, and the bottle was waiting for me.

And then there was Billy Elliot. Frankly, I don't see what all the noise is about. Yes, the dancing was impressive, but the music was by Elton John. And it was very loud. And that's all I have to say about that.

OK, we've now reached the crown of the evening: the drive home with the Girl Scouts, wherein my affable facade finally cracked (actually, it's not much of a facade, and it's not that affable, either) and I gave the girls a piece of my mind. And discovered that they actually can shut the hell up if you pour on the withering scorn, and then top it off with a generous dollop of sarcasm. (Actually make that two dollops. In fact, it would probably be more accurate to call this part of the evening a sarcasm buffet. We're open all night! Tip your waitress!)

And now we're home. And I have to write a BlogHer Beauty Hacks post tonight, as well as something for Mamarazzi. And I have to get up at 6:00 to get my daughter out the door for another field trip.

See why you don't want to be me? Also, see why I'd rather write about lipstick? Nice, pretty lipstick?