9-Oct-2006

Where did THAT weekend go?  Seriously.  One minute I was writing non-funny entries about the word "pony," the next I'm back here again, writing pathetic treatises that mourn the passing of my free time.  Not that I object to the way in which any of it was spent.  Okay, okay, there were those three hours on Saturday evening during which I had a small OCD-related panic attack.  But that is to be expected from me.  These days, I can even hear the Designated Driver filing her nails on the other end of the phone as I squawk about my "problems."  In fact, I was telling G-Money about it this morning, and she replied, "You know, they have pills for that."  Duh.  But pills were what threw me out of whack to begin with, so that's not up for discussion right now.

Friday evening, I had planned to go straight from work to the Honeybee's house, but I realized mid-afternoon that my laundry needed to be done.  So I drove over the hill and back to fetch my dirty clothes, which I threw in the washer before we headed out to dinner.  Don't ask me how, but I was roped in to a fierce match of Dance, Dance Revolution, which I subsequently lost to Kylie Minogue's Love at First Sight.  Damn workout mode... but I did burn 12 whole calories.

That night, as I was trying to drift off to sleep for my supposed 7 AM wake-up call, the hooligans at the road department decided to power-wash our street.  For the 80th time this month.  Therefore, I had slept a total of two hours by the time I met up with Cliffhanger and headed into the Hills.  We squabbled about brunch in the car beforehand.  She suggested trying a different place; I pouted; she slapped me.  Then we hiked seven miles, got back in the car, and resumed the fight.  "I'm thinking of getting oatmeal at the Super Secret Brunch place," she spoke up.  Now, this would have ruined my entire life, because we have this ritual, see, it involves a little sweet, a little savory, a little splitting, and a little bit of the only happiness in my life.  So this was most definitely going against plan.  But I couldn't let HER know that (um, at least until now, since she is masquerading here as "dbits" and posting questions about hawk mating rituals).  So instead, I pulled a typical Melissa, aka, looked out the window and sighed.  And it worked.  Score one for the passive-aggressives everywhere.

On that note, I have a splitting headache and am going to split.  But tomorrow is question day!  Yay!!!