My Drunk Friday for tomorrow has been ruined yet again by stupid adult responsibilities. Of course the only opening the washing machine repairman had other than NEXT THURSDAY was tomorrow between 1 and 5 PM. Of course. I hope he doesn't mind if I'm sitting in my living room drinking Mike's Hard Pomegranate Lemonades while he works. If he's hot, I'll even offer him one.
Monkey Man is wearing his favorite pajamas - they have freaking Spongebob all over them, and they are hideous. He adores them to the point he wanted to wear them to Pajama Day during school spirit week and I had to ixnay that idea. Not a good idea to show off the package to the ladies, my friend. There are some things that are better left to the imagination.
I have been planning all week to pick out a paint color for my kitchen which desperately needs painting, ideally while we can open the windows and it's not 110 degrees outside. And yet, every time I bust out the paint deck my palms start to sweat and I get panicky. I think I have commitment issues. No, I don't think I do - I know I do.
You know you have crazy friends when you get an email from one of them saying, "Raise your hand if you got drunk and rode a mechanical bull for three hours. My thighs are killing me. But I am totally getting one of those for my house."
And now, it's time for me to collapse into a heap. I spent most of last night watching tornado warnings and waffling between just going to sleep and hoping for the best, bringing Monkey Man down into my bed to I didn't have to try and get him out of bed if I happened to hear an actual tornado, and sheer terror. I probably just should've had a few shots of bourbon and called it a night.