Last night, the second since we arrived home from our nine-day trip to Nevada/Utah, was both a full and surreal one.
I worked until 7 pm, amidst crewmembers toting fake bones - both broken and intact - as well as stories of severed fingertips, all of which were in pursuit of effects suitable for a paranormal gangster thriller.
Then I went to the MWG's member meet and greet, which included an inflatable, lit-from-within palm tree which was supposed to jibe with their tropical theme but only served as a strange reminder of my recent trip to the Las Vegas strip.
When not mocking the hawaiian shirts of fellow attendees, I feasted on the fruit platters on offer, having not yet had the chance for a grocery shop and craving fruit sugars.
Then I went to the birthday party of a one-year-old of my acquaintance, where his parents were tongue-trippingly reading from an edition of Robbie Burns' poetry, it being his birthday as well. No haggis, neeps and tatties, but there was plenty of chocolate cake...
The baby kept on lunging for the tempting yellowed pages of the book. I kept on reaching for another fingerful of chocolate icing.
Eventually, M pulled out his portable MP3 player and played several renditions of the sound to be found in my slowly-expanding belly (apparently, mostly static but also some baby-related percussion) from a pre-work doctor's appointment.
And today, again at work, I'm dangerously crabby. None of the words, in any of the documents assigned to me, seem to want to line up.
Sigh...
But I suppose that's what happens when you get burnsed on a Wednesday night in January.
12 comments:
I wish I would've known! I planned on going to the MWG night last night, but the friends I was supposed to go with came down sick, and I didn't know who I would know. Instead I stayed home and stamped leaf-prints on boxes (don't ask).
Welcome back, btw, and congrats on the babe! (I must have mossed a beat)
No, you didn't miss a beat, I've just been horribly inconsistent about telling people.
I guess that's what happens when you're dangerously crabby...
Dangerously crabby! It would be the perfect time to do stairs together. Extend, extend...
Be careful. The little guy is listening to every smite.
Ugh...what made it worse is that I was trying VERY HARD not to smite anyone that didn't deserve it.
Congrats!
Yah, careful on the smite. The child will arrive, smite all those surrounding, and smite away for months to come; perhaps, but then again, one never knows for certain. (They are small and smitey?)
My child will probably be small and bitey...
Small? You guys are like 50 feet tall!
Just call me Rusty and put the rocking chair in the middle...
Hah! Oh my gosh, Brenda, I've just snorted green tea up my nose and rocked the house with choking and laughter too loud for this time on a Saturday morning. I worry I've woken the kids.
Mmph.
I note that it was at work you were dangerously crabby. That's what work does to people; it's one of the reasons I gave it up. If it feels like work, you're not having enough fun. I can't remember the last time I was dangerously crabby; now I'm just irresponsibly happy. (No virtual smiting please; I feel safe over here, and want to keep it that way).
And, congratulations, Ariel. (I would've added an "!" but know your aversion to them).
Wendover Nevada is like an oasis in the desert. This fun gambling town is nestled next to the famous Bonneville Salt Flats and just west of the Wasatch Mountains. The perfect destination for anyone looking to getaway and try their hand at lady luck.
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