thursday Tale – Least fav day

As of late, I have officially declared Thursday my suckiest day of the week.

I am just too freaking tired on Thursdays now.  In the past if people asked whether I was a morning bird or a night owl, I’d quickly respond,Both, sleep is overrated!”

My entire life I have always burnt the candle on both ends. No sleep? No problem! Well, these days although I still cannot relax until late night and often stay long into the wee hours working on stuff, the next day I am drag ass tired.

I am also growing markedly annoyed at folks constantly commenting to me as to how tired I look. Yes, I realize this, thank you. So now when they ask, “How are you?” I just answer, “Exhausted, and you?” I even responded when one woman remarked, who knows me only in passing, “Well I had surgery 7 weeks ago, then had GI issues for 3 weeks straight, I also cannot remember a damn thing, I am a total bitch, and I’m actually quite astounded my children haven’t run away from home yet, aren’t you so sorry you said something now?”

Thursdays are especially tiring as I begin work at 7:30 AM which used to be perfect. Not so much these days. Especially when my typical Wednesday nights consist of something similar to last night:

We got home late: After work, there was a Dance rehearsal. I also decided to do dinner with my bff (the one and only from bff Tale). Being able to hang with her and her two daughters is always a treat as we don’t get together often, so had many a story to share. Last eve, I recapped how during one particularly long presentation at work, I decided it was break time. Therefore I signaled as such by bellowing out that my Best Friend (her of course) had just been diagnosed with gout, and wasn’t that so interesting because she is very, very thin and doesn’t drink alcohol (anymore), nor eat any rich or fatty foods but downs several Iced Lattes from Dunkin Donuts every single day with extra sugar AND extra cream. Everyone took a break after that. A long one. Of course she and I both found this story absolutely hilarious. The other Dance Mom with us, um, did not. Sorry ’bout that.

Well at home as soon as that clock struck 9 PM my dashing, princely son instantly became a very dramatic young man. As I tried to get him ready for bed he groaned and moaned. He was too tired to shower, his feet hurt, he needed a back-rub, it was too hot, his sun-burn hurt, and oh didn’t I remember that he is half Irish?  Oi vey! It wasn’t until after 10 PM that he was comfortably creamed, lotioned, fully-fanned, and sleeping soundly.

Next, Bosco decided to act a fool on his walk. Now mind you this was after one false start. Ya know when you open the front door, and you say, “Danger Will Robinson!” Like last night there were three dogs walking our street and one had already bitten Bosco in the leg two years ago, losing it’s tooth in the process while chomping into my man’s muscley thigh. Of course Bosco was totally fine, and it was his fault, aka MY fault, as he had escaped, and run into this dogs yard to visit uninvited. Just because you LOVE everybody does not everyone loves you bro.  Anyway, so that first try was definitely an epic fail.

On second attempt, all systems were a go. Unfortunately, the excursion was short-lived because Bosco soon found a living frog, and before he could be stopped, had swallowed the poor thing in its entirety. Now I have seen Bosco do some gross shit. Like eat spiders. He even dismembered a Daddy Long Leg once, leg by leg.  First, he put the whole thing in his mouth, then spit it out repeatedly each time sans a leg, until only the body remained. Finally, he snatched that up too. However this frog murder, is by far the MOST disgusting thing I have known him to do EVER!

Back at the Ranch upon hearing of Bosco’s latest crime, my brilliant daughter, who is also a lover of  ALL living beings, suggested we try to rescue the frog by performing the Heimlich on him. I said, “Sorry, but not.” So she pried open his mouth to see if she could perhaps hear a “ribbit.” I start rolling in laughter because she is so completely angst, but at that moment I just could not take the shit seriously. Then she put her head to Bosco’s chest to see if she might hear an “extra” heartbeat. You have to love this girl. She truly is the sweetest thing! Finally, she concludes, yes, it is a goner. I tell her, “Go to bed, and leave the Frog-Eater with me.”

Well ain’t karma a bitch? I really should have felt sorry for that frog, because at some point during the night I awoke to the sound of  Bosco regurgitating frog legs. Of course he refused to actually spit them out, yet continued to chomp on them until the sun rose.  By then, I was fit to be tied. Even Layla had abandoned “The Frogger” and left their bed to escape the nastiness somewhere upstairs.

Dang I say, no rest for the weary, why don’t I just start working at 7AM? Not much gets done before Layla “my guard dog” starts growling ferociously. I can hear her at the front window so I go upstairs to investigate who or what has come too close to our property to set her off. A car, I note, has parked directly in front of my house. Far, far, too close for Layla’s comfort zone.  I wonder aloud, “Whose car is this?” To which my son who is eating breakfast promptly responds, “Oh that’s Big Boomerang Joe’s car.”

At first I laugh, then I think wait a minute who the heck is Big Boomerang Joe, and how does my son know his name?!?  My son further informs me over his cereal, Big Boomerang Joe is leading the crew working on my neighbor’s house, and there is a boomerang on his truck. Well still, I had never seen the creepy car out front with out-of-state plates (this was not a truck). Just to be sure I race outside, and confirm yes there is a truck next-door with a boomerang on it (no name Joe though), along with a crew of about 8 men working. Working that is, until I came out.

Upon my grand entrance all work stops, and every eye falls upon me including, I presume, Big Boomerang Joe’s .

Why? It is because I am looking Oh-So-Fab-for-over-Forty?  NO!  They were all likely startled, freaked the fruck out is more like it by a maniac-mother, braless-wonder with frizzy hair and racoon-eyes who ran outside this morning without even thinking.

I am definitely “NOT winning” today or any other Thursday these days.

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