Bad Girls Weekend

Wooowheee, I Have a LOT of Catching Up to Do! SO the shake down? The cliffnotes version to my brief respite? It sucked. It sucked big time.

The long version?

Bad Girls Weekend turned into a weekend from Hell. Once hilarious and intellectual women spent hours discussing babies, chapped nipples, breast feeding, babies, diaper duty, babies, good school districts, infant growth spurts, babies, mortgage payments, babies, and yes, more babies. Is this what happens when you have kids? You turn into a boring baby talker?

I keep thinking that I’m totally emotionally ready to have a kid; thinking that the house, the husband, and the 2.5 (rotten) kids seems like a blissful opposite to what my life is right now. By Saturday at 7pm, when everyone was getting ready for (effing) bed, and continuing to discuss my new least favorite topic (that being babies)**, I walked over the the cooler, pulled out the cheap box wine, and poured the biggest baddest plastic cup of chardonnay I could stomach. My best of the friends who joined me on this camping trip from Hell walked over to me and asked if I was okay. I said, oh yeah, I’m fine. I just think I may need to be really drunk to get through 12 more hours of the baby talk.

I think that was my last Bad Girls Weekend, since there’s no way in hell I’ll ever subject myself to 48 more hours of a camping/drinking trip that has progressively turned into a friggin’ play date.

With all my ranting about chapped nipples and baby talk, I completely forgot to whine about the major follies of the weekend.

(the really long part of the story)

Friday–Got lost. Arrived at my friend’s house a little late. Left my keys in the ignition, locked the doors, and ran into friend’s house, excited to see new baby (this was prior to the excessive baby talk). Wanted to cry for a brief moment before friend mentioned that I have AAA. Duh.

Sunday Afternoon–My mom picked up my dog at the kennel. This was the first time I ever approved of a little weekend getaway for him. I was a little nervous and ended up shuttling him off to a family friend’s kennel, thinking that nothing could possibly happen to him THERE.

I came home and immediately notice this big pink mark on his black nose, scratches on his legs, and him scratching his ear excessively. He didn’t seem to care, but I was mortified. I leave the effer for one weekend and come home to what I assume to be the leftovers of a dog fight. I’d like to call the family friend, but I’m currently trying to figure out what I can say without accusing the person of neglecting my dog.

FYI, my dog looks badass with the skin scraped off the top of his nose. I’m thinking of buying him some boxing gloves for Christmas.

Sunday Night–I hang out with the fam. By 9pm I was itching to get back to my own bed and opted to make the late night drive from my families place to my home (which is about a 2 1/2 hour drive if I’m speeding).

I was cruising along route___, listening to NPR, and reflecting on the weekend’s events when from out of nowhere, I see a trooper behind me. Since no one else was on the road late on a Sunday night, I assumed to red flashing lights are for, none other than, ME. I wasn’t really all that nervous, since I KNEW I couldn’t possibly have been doing anything wrong. Trooper Man (who happened to have very nice green eyes and no wedding band) asked if I knew why I was being pulled over. I didn’t bother to act coy and just honestly said, Seriously. I have no idea. Turns out my left headlight AND breaklight were broken…As was my record of never getting a ticket. 31 years without a violation (unless you count the 40 parking tickets). My steak is over.

I ended up with two “fix it tickets” with threats of having my license revoked if I didn’t fix the problem ASAP and/or pay the fine. Take my job, take my money, take my beer, take my harmful tobacco products, but don’t take the license.

Monday Morning–Go to Valvoline to get the stupid lights fixed. End up getting it taken care of for free by possibly the nicest store manager in town. I had to beg the guy to take a twenty for his trouble. And frankly, his kindness pretty much made up for the three day shitshow weekend.

Monday Afternoon–Drive 20 miles, not knowing where else there’s a friggin Trooper barracks. I walked up to the creepy sterile building and discover the door is locked. Posted on the glass window is a large sign that says, “Trooper in Duty in case of emergency use call box.” Immediately I think, great, I’m going to get arrested for using the call box and not having an emergency. So I knock on the door. No one answers, so I knock again. Still no one.

I finally get the courage to click the button on the call box. It dials into the barracks. First a get an automated message and with the cars speeding by behind me, I have no idea what the message actually said. At this point I was kind of grateful that I wasn’t standing there with half my arm chopped off and/or being held captive by an ex boyfriend with a sawed off shotgun. Clearly this isn’t the place you’d want to go during a real emergency.

After a few tries I get a human voice on the callbox, despite still not being able to decipher what in hell she was saying. The phatum voice cuts out. By now I was starting to get annoyed. Really annoyed. So I pressed the button again and yell, “HI. I WAS TOLD TO COME HERE FOR A FIX IT TICKET. CAN SOMEONE COME OUT HERE AND HELP ME FIX IT.” My annoyance suddenly subsides when I realize how absurd I look screaming into an intercom at a Trooper station.