Wednesday, February 15, 2006

The Fallout

What a night. No, I didn’t forget the exclamation mark. What a night. No ‘multiple’ exclamation marks either. Just---what a night.

It was actually a really nice day out yesterday. The sun was shining, the air was a bit warmer, and I was out gallivanting looking for little gifts for Madelene…and my mama. Yes, I’m a mama’s girl. Just ask any of my ex’s.

I even went to visit Madelene at work. We hung out outside her office and took a walk together. I was planning to cook for her that evening. She had to work late, so I figured I had some time to shop and have everything prepared by 9pm for her.

Wrong.

“Honey? Can you pick up some Chinese food on your way home?”

Why did I ask her? Well we had another guest. Aunt Flow came to town and decided she was spending a full week here. Those of you who aren’t familiar with Aunt Flow, refer to page 54 in your text book PMS 101.
I knew she was planning an early trip here. I felt it coming on two days prior. Sunday afternoon, while watching “The Notebook”---(you have to see this movie!) I was crying like a baby. A box of Kleenex, a pillow and blanket, and I was in PMS mode. How did I not know this? I cried over everything.

“Honey? You want me to bring you some tea?”
“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Was all that came out.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.”

That’s the scary part. We really don’t know what’s wrong. Who’s we? Fellas, ask your lady friends. This can be a scary and touchy situation if not handled properly. If you say one wrong thing to disturb our crying fest, we will lash out in anger. We become that weepy little girl – to a raging psychotic tiger. Ask questions at your own risk.

Back to last night---Valentine’s Day. It was approximately 4pm, and I found out Aunt Flow settled in and unpacked her luggage. She made herself right at home. She never misses Valentine’s Day. I never have luck with that. I don’t think I ever had sex on Valentine’s Day. Even with my ex’s---nothing…nada….zilch. Aunt Flow puts a ~^cramp~^ in my style.

So, I asked Madelene to pick up some Chinese food. I already had her favorite vodka and beer, and picked up some Shiraz for myself. Madelene told me what she wanted, and I called up our local Chinese restaurant. They think we’re family now since we’re there practically everyday.

“Alloooo, gan I take yo oda’?”
“Hi. Yes, one chicken and broccoli, and one beef with mushroom.”
“Beef? Ah, you change?”
“Yeah.”
I was not about to tell him that I need iron because Aunt Flow requested it.
“Ah, any-ting fo you! Ten mina’!!! Ten mina’!!!” He says, in his little chirpy voice of his. I just love this guy. He's always happy—no matter what. You walk in, and he practically greets you with a hug. (Then again I order a lot of food…) Maybe in his mind, he hears, “Cha-chinG!”

No matter what, no matter how small or large the order is—it always takes ten minutes. What if I ordered twenty quarts of every single beef and chicken dish there? Would it still take ten mina’? I’m always fascinated by it. My very first job was at the age of thirteen years old. No working papers or anything. Total cash job. I worked for a Chinese restaurant in their kitchen. I made wonton soup, egg rolls, spareribs and the fried rice. I was a total pro at making Chinese food. Four bucks an hour, and that gave me enough money to hang out with my friends and chip in for that keg party. Still, I don’t understand how they cook so damn fast.

Back to last night. I’m pulling a sidetrack Mike here. Usually when Aunt Flow is torturing me with severe cramps, I load myself up with 800mg of Motrin. Now, if that’s not enough to make you loopy, try drinking wine along with it. Not a good combo. Not only that—but my blood was probably thinner than water.

After dinner, we continued drinking. She decides to comment on my blog. Who gives a rat’s ass about my blog right now? But—she insisted. After her comment, she asked how to enter it. She was about to enter ‘my own id name’ into it. Now that would have been embarrassing and quite confusing for all of you—seeing that I replied to myself. Errr, can someone say narcissistic?

As she was taking one full hour on that little comment of hers, I kept sipping my wine. She types slower than my great great great great great great grandmother. Imagine? But she talks a mile a minute---CP back me up on that one babe! (And yeah—I did CP…) So needless to say, as she’s typing up her alcohol induced feelings out on my blog, I’m sipping more wine by the second. Not good if we wanted the night to go on and on…

When she finally finished, she comes into the living room to find me passed out drunk from Shiraz and drugged up with Motrin. She managed to get me into the bedroom. I don’t know how I got there—but I woke up naked. I’m one of those big flannel SO not sexy types when it comes to the bed attire. Madelene sleeps in the buff all the time—even in below zero weather. Baffles me. I sit there looking like some Eskimo bunny, bundled up as if I was about to venture into the Tundra. Mush! Mush!

This morning I woke up with a kiss.
“I had such a terrific time with you last night?”
“You did?”
I asked, wanting to know the ending of the evening.
“Yes, thank you for making my Valentine special!”
“Oh? Thank you!”
I had no idea what I was saying and I was still three sheets to the wind.
“Te quiero tanto!”
“Te quiero.”

Here are the remains of last night. A few beers for my honey and a shot or two she did of the vodka. A bottle of wine, a few leftover Chinese condiments--and of course the chocolates that we practically overdosed on. I need to get my bum into the gym A.S.A.P!