Sunday, October 05, 2008

I'm not good enough at math to come to any hard and fast conclusions

but I think I need to figure out time travel. And fast.

See, I've figured something out about myself. When I have to do something I don't want to do, afterwards, when I'm safely home again, I feel entitled to spend 2 to 3 times the amount of time I spent doing the crappy activity doing what I'd rather have been doing instead. Call it "decompression time" or "down time," but when I get home, I feel that I have the undisputed right, nay, the duty to bury myself in some kind of misanthropic people-ignoring activity to get the taste of society out of my mouth.

Example: if I go to a party that turns out to be pretty boring, I spend (party time) + (getting ready for party time) + (commuting time) + (time getting out of my Spanx and stashing the contact lenses) ... well, you see how it starts to add up.

Today, for example, I was at church for three hours, doing choir-y things and keeping my son in overpriced Starbucks goodies to bribe him into attending his confirmation class.

So then I had to rest up from all this time spent 1. acting civilized, 2. not saying the eff word, and 3. trying to order things correctly at Starbucks.

OK, so THEN I'm sitting on my bed, listening to an audiobook, drinking tea, and maniacally rearranging my Facebook lil Green Patch (and if you haven't seen this stunning work of art, you really must) when my son came into my bedroom and reminded me that I was supposed to take him out clothes shopping.

So I reluctantly dragged my weary ass off the bed and drove to the mall and bought him his fifth or sixth navy blue blazer (honestly, when will I learn? He'll just grow out of it) plus a pair of shoes and two pairs of jeans and my lord, it almost killed me.

Remind me never to take him to a maul without doing some reconnaissance work first. I mean, I had no idea where to get him a pair of jeans at this mall. We searched through about six stores just to find something that didn't have all kinds of stupid-looking embroidery all over the back pockets.

But I finally found a Gap, so that was OK. Anyway, my point is that when we got home, I retreated to my room and fooled around with my Green Patch until dinner. I completely blew off an afternoon service at church that I was supposed to be singing at. (I think it was my unconscious deciding that I still wasn't ready to find out what Taize services are like.)

So I think today I spent maybe five hours doing things I wasn't all that into. And about the same amount of time reading and fooling around on Facebook.

Which isn't too bad, but this does not bode well for the rest of the week, which is the point I'm trying and failing to make. I have a tea party to go to tomorrow, where I'll meet the incredibly old and scary lovely and gracious Carmen dell Orefice (whom I will NOT call Carmen dell Bodily-Orifices.) On Tuesday I have another Ladies Who Lunch event that promises to be about as grim as they usually are. Wednesday shouldn't be too awful, but on Thursday we fly to New England because my older brother is getting married (again) and I'm going to see my entire family, including my MOTHER who you may remember is giving me a royal pain.

When I get back I'll have to spend three straight weeks trading virtual plants with total strangers on Facebook. The only way I'll be able to get the beds made and pack the lunches is if I get my hands on the Time Turner thingie from Harry Potter and I Forgot Which Book It Was In. Otherwise my face will meld with my laptop from the sheer horror of having spent so much time dressed up in uncomfortable clothes not saying the eff word.


  1. Prisoner of Azkaban! You're welcome!

    We get the boy's jeans at Kohl's now. Because Kohl's is the new Target, yo. And also because they have jeans with hidden adjustable waists, because my kid is 47,000 times taller than he is wide.

  2. When does one earn the right to say NO and just stay home? Let me know, I'm right there with you.

    I hate shopping for kids' clothes. And keeping them happy with food.

  3. I liked your intersts like housekeeping


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xxx, Poppy.