Sleep It Off

Okay, forgive the belatedness of this post. I am not asking, I am demanding. The Dol had an urgent need to vent her spleen and I could not conscionably stand in the way of that need. The point is: so this post is a little dusty. You don't really care. I'm not going to apologize. Let's just move on.

This is the way it is: sometimes all the sleep in the world only makes me more tired; sometimes sleep seems optional; and sometimes I just know if I got ten solid hours, I would wake feeling red-lipstick, go-go boots refreshed.

Not that I have go-go boots.

And not that I would mind if I did.

Anyway.

My eyes are burning. My lungs feel a little like I've breathed in too much canned fog. I've been walking into stuff that doesn't move, is always there--stuff that's long since been programmed into muscle memory and stuff that dwells in plain sight. You know, like walls. And the floor.

I thank Mr. Poppins for that.

No, really: I thank him.

I just got back from a whirlwind East Coast weekend complete with wedding, bbq, and bar crawl. Well, maybe not crawl, but there was a bar and if Diosa's dad--aka, Voted Best Looking--hadn't cut me off, I might have gone home crawlings. As it was I hung out in the jacuzzi with Diosa, her mom--aka, The Homecoming Queen--and Bookgirl. And then did it again the following night, substituting my cousin--aka Sunnybrook (as in Rebecca of--google it)--for The Homecoming Queen.

The roof of my mouth still hurts from atomic pizza eaten at 2 am. Or later. I wasn't exactly watching the clock. Anyway, The Homecoming Queen also made us cookies. At 2 am. Which is something she has done for us on and off for going on two decades, possibly longer if you are Diosa.

I just want to take a moment to reflect on how fabulous the Voted Best Looking and The Homecoming Queen are. Of course. Because Diosa, our resident goddess, could not have possibly come from standard issue stock. She is the product of high school royalty.

She's probably also annoyed that I'm pointing that out. But seriously. You can tell by looking at Diosa, so it's not like it's a secret or anything. Diosa practically has paparazzi.

Anyway, "I, we, and they" had a fabulous time. Up to and including the moment I had to rescue a thong from the intake filter of the jacuzzi. I used an empty beer bottle to extend my reach. I'd rather not say whose thong it was, except of course to mention that it wasn't mine. I was wearing a swim suit. Someone else forgot theirs and ultimately ended up in their birthday suit.

The thong was uncomfortable when wet. Or so I was told.

Fabulous.

So we behaved borderline inappropriately, I got to sleep in late the next day, and I packed about a week of fun into three days. I came home to a happy, healthy Secret Lulu and a surprisingly clean kitchen. Except for the jello on the floor.

But besides that.

Mr. Poppins is my hero. And then he made me coffee.

If I am ever in a position to make it happen, I am having a major landmark named after Mr. Poppins. Possibly a bridge. Diosa may feel similarly about Blackstone, as he kept their spawn from setting themselves or anything else on fire while she slept at Bookgirl's house.

Diosa can write her own post. She often does. I like that about her.

Again. Moving on. To other things entirely. Talk amongst yourselves.

Comments

[The Dol]

ooo! ooo! remember the time diosa floated her boobs in the jacuzzi at my parents' house? i was really impressed. i didn't know that about boobs.

[Ramblin' Jack]

There was Jello on the floor? Seriously? The neighbor's dog licked up all the other stuff no problem.

And naming a landmark "Poppins" would be a bit self-serving, but I appreciate the thought.

XOXO

[B.]

I think you should have a pair of go-go boots. Mr. Poppins, take a note for Christmas, it's five months from today. In fact, all your readers should be encouraged to get a pair.

[Diosa]

Dol - I'm sure Polly could have demonstrated for you sooner.

Polly - Actually, both my parents were voted best-looking, and my mom was not homecoming queen. But, we're talking technicalities. You know what my dad's nickname in HS was? Tennessee. Because he'd just moved from there and had that southern drawl.