Kittens On Rollerskates

Outfit bff told me to wear; also, what I do with my time instead of becoming even a little prepared for anything.

Sooooo, let’s just talk for a quick minute about my getting-awake skillz, especially as they pertain to this weekend. I had a date last night–yeah, like an actual person date, so give your ideas about me needing to pick up gigolos on the corner of Church and Rosemary straight to the Trash Mule (although as I’m sure you suspected, I did have to ask him out [editor's note, way late in the game: really wish I had not done that] and at the time I looked like maybe I was dying of Appearance Cancer, so this guy deserves a medal of some persuasion just for saying yes)–aaaaand yeah, that’s too much punctuation for one sentence. My main point is, I truly do suck at getting not-asleep.

So the date was for 9 pm, and I am terrible at makeup and showering and whatever, so while it’s usually like ten or so minutes to get from zero to Go Time, I was like fuck that, Ima come correct and look moderately ok for this one–in fact, let’s call Jess and have her tell me what to wear. Big things is in the works. Well ok, so I day-drank for not a small portion of the day (hey, thanks, Randa! All your fault.), and both before and after that I needed sleep like oh my gawd so bad, so I went to bed and set my alarm for 7:30. Good planning, right? Not so much. I have had my iphone for, oh, a year or thereabouts? So, like, normals know at least the basics of working it by now? Mmm hmm yeah but not me. I set that fucker for Weekdays Only which as it turns out Saturday is not one of them. I’m sorry, is that not a day of the week now? Could you please define week for me again? Because I did not get that memo. Pure fuckery. Thank the fucking stars above that I have a bestie that intuitively knows when I need help (badly) just not to fail in even the most menial of tasks. So she magically calls me at

Oooo my gawd I just set some of my hair on fire by accident. Tragedy averted, small hair fires never (rarely?) killed anyone. My hair is basically used to this treatment. It is good to keep it on its toes.

Continuing: magically calls me at 8:24 and wakes me up. Let me just clarify that I needed to: shower; put on makeup that allows me to look 28 instead of 97; find where I hid all of my bras and shoes which invariably come off the second I get in my front door; flat iron my bangs so I don’t unintentionally rock the Punky Brewster Look; put all of my gold on; find my keys, wallet, cigarettes, and phone; and still have time to look completely casual when homeboy knocks on the door. You will probably not believe me when I tell you that I accomplished all of these things, yet I did, so bump all that noise you’re making through your nose, thanks. Maybe baby jesus is real? Unclear. But just for the record, during the date, I did manage to get stupid drunk, drop my keys on the bar floor, walk home with this guy, have no keys, and leave him with no choice but to drive me back to find them. And uh I work for said bar as well. So I have all that going for meh. Pret-ty sweet lil catch, I am.

So, I felt pretty confident that in the morning, when I had to meet my family for Father’s Day brunch at 11, I would have learned my lesson and wouldn’t pull another complete boner wherein I need to change the course of space and time just to get there (2 minute walk) on borderline time. Um not so much. Also, no present for the dad as of wake-up. He’s like nutty for this kindle phenomena for whatever reason that remains unclear to me, because I’m basically sure books still exist, but I still printed out a gift certificate for that (literally while brushing my teeth) which was hugely inadequate when compared to my competent person/sister’s present which was a FRAMED PICTURE OF HIM WITH HIS SOULMATE/GRANDSON ON THE BEACH LOOKING HAPPY. God. Damn. It. I just cannot compete with that kind of caring about things. And when he unfolded my “present”–who has time for envelopes?–he said–I swear–”I was hoping you would burn me a copy of She & Him, Volume II.” What the fuck, my dad wears black socks with sandals, how is it possible that he’s as cool as me?

So back to the crux of the issue, which I have done all that I can do to avoid: Magical psychic ESP-specialist bff calls to save me at what time? At 10:46. Like, I’m in dire need of whatever she can do for me and all, but I believe I need to enroll her in a class designed around honing one’s sixth sense so that she can call me with just a lil bit more time on the clock before I’m in huge trouble. Like, hey, J, could you maybe give me an hour or so instead of 14 minutes? What the fuck is wrong with you, anyways? It’s almost like you don’t know me at all. Bitch.

So got there late, duhz. But things could be a small amount of worse, right? Without Jess, I could have completely slept through the whole shebang, which would not have surprised my family even a little, which makes me bad. Or, I could not be able to invent dances, a field in which I fucking excel (see: The Golden Snake [Late Editor's Note: I have a friend who matters or whatever in the Music World who was backstage at Bonaroo and who TAUGHT THE GOLDEN SNAKE TO CONAN O'BRIEN WHO THEN DID SAID DANCE--I am such a big deal] The Glorified Robot, etc.). Or, I could exist as this mega-catholic guy a friend of mine dated in high school who had dead fetus pictures pasted to his wall, probably with chewed up body of christ wafers as the adherent. I can see putting a picture of a deceased baby on your lingerie drawer or whatever, just a little reminder of why not to get pregnant no matter the level of whoreishness you’re experiencing, but right on your wall instead of band posters and soft-core porn like a regular high schooler? It’s like, you’re a dude, dude, you can’t even get an abortion, so why put yourself through seeing that every morning when you ultimately wake up, unless you’re me and destined for a lifetime of never getting up almost ever if it matters that you get up? So bonus round, because, those are all for sure worse lives than this one that I have. Wait, right? Can’t be sure because I’m super late and have to go like right this second, no time for thinking. Latez.