2002 Story Set
| July 7, 2002 The 7th - the day I drive down to LA where I will see Fabio on the 8th. I was up and down all night - of course I was - and my alarm went of at 7AM. I rolled over. Not ready to roll out of bed. But I am up at 7:30AM and run to feed the dog, who, since a suitcase was on my bedroom floor, had been relegated outside to get her ready for the next two nights. The Border Collie who thinks she should sleep with people and never be outdoors when it is: cold, hot, windy, rainy, or a holiday.. I am up, have my decaf (with cafe mocha mix in it), Medifast, and I iron the kid's new black linen shirt. I made a conscious effort to make certain that the iron is turned off. I count out my pills. I find I own 20 pairs of panty hose! And my high-waisted girdle with bones in now fits my body (lost just enough), which from the side resembles me at 6 months into a pregnancy, pick one. But I've lost enough to get the girdle on! I haven't regained my svelte figure yet but I have lost enough to wear underwear I own. Good. My new long acrylic nails preclude a body suit because I need to figure out snaps and things. They are tricky now. But I can handle a bra. Took a day. Those naps at the bottom of a body suit would be hell on wheels to deal with. Besides, the bra top of the body suits ha no support and is not smooth like the "touch me" bras from Victoria Secret, which at 38B I can now wear again! Let's get to the point where they are too big! Let's need 36B! Again! I grab a slip to pack. Yes or no? Just in case. I bring in laundry and decide that my purple rolling luggage carry-on is too small. An overnighter for an overnight stay? Ha! So I run to the garage and get one a size larger. I have several. DUMP! Fast! Now I have room for jewelry, make-up and pills. I The suitcase I had for my son, another carry-on but a small rolling case, is too small for him. It is also a roll-on bag but even smaller than the new bag I got at COSCO. SWITCH! He is now packed in the purple rolling bag. The boy has now awakened. And, I run to close windows (against the heat) and lock appropriate doors. I have, unfortunately, neglected to secure the garage door in my rush for the suitcase, the mental packing check list and security concerns. It is already hot (heading for record-braking highs). Ranger, orange furball from hell, makes a break for it. I hear him (he is belled), he ignores me and leaps to the ceiling hole above the garage door opener through which he reaches the attic and hence the outside, by means I have yet to discover. But he does not leave right away. I, barefoot, in a loose tank top and shorts, race around the outside of the house yelling, "Kitty, kitty, kitty"to the delight of the men in the neighbor hood. (Size does not matter when racing around half-clad.) Like he'd actually come when called. This performance is for the delight of the neighborhood as it is Sunday and people are about. My son, when I come back in, says, "Leave him there". Meaning the cat. So I madly run for water dish, food dish, and a litter pan. The cat just stares at me from his perch on top of the spa, the upended Jacuzzi that needs a motor, again. It also needs to be back on the deck of the house in San Diego. Soon. Soon. I fix the boy food after he showers (and turn off the stove), swallow my still waiting pills, and check on the cat. Somehow I se that the cat has finally vanished and I can't hear his bell. The scag! So I run madly back outside (still barefoot and in the tank top), I veer to the left side and side gate, and catch the orange brat as he leaps up to the top of the gate. Along the way I must have dragged my arm on something because I end up with blood blisters down my right arm. They come up fast. (And, yes, Fabio noticed them.) The cat thought he had gotten away. What he had is given me a clue as to how he's getting out. I grabbed the lump of fur tightly and take him back into the house, tossing him into the wet shower stall and closing the bathroom door. I madly run to bring the cat water dish, food and litter pan back inside. I also fetched satchels for my makeup and his cameras out of the garage. Now somewhat organized, I shower, while the kid eats breakfast and dresses. I am running late. Once the garage is secure, I release the cat who shows no remorse at the delay and chaos he has caused. I begin the task of make up (using leftovers since the rest is packed).I have enough make-up to stock a small store. Note that the QVC stuff has not arrived. (It was waiting in the mailbox when I got back. Of course.) I discover that I have forgotten the 7X mirror. Whoops. A compact of Dermablend. I can't think what else. (Try volumizing mist spray. A fluffing hair brush.) I am running now. I stuff discovered leftovers in any open orifice. As I start ferrying the suitcases outside (all five of them), my son, in socks, tripped over his toe, slammed into the closet door, stumbles forward, dropped his comb and fairly fell into the kitchen door. He missed the hall fan but that's OK as I had already tripped over it earlier while running down the hall barefoot. He limped to the truck, clearly rendered useless, while I dragged all the stuff to the truck by myself. HE is leery of falling since he is not stable and being tall, has a long way to fall. It became immediately clear that the load ain't goin' into the truck cab! Not and still fit people in it! I thank God that I had grabbed a cargo net (while shopping yesterday from Kragen auto parts) and shove the two big suitcases under it, fastening them to it to minimize sliding. I have no bedliner - yet.. The rolling ice chest, containing soda, water, rolls, carrots, and the vial of GCSF, I have to lift to get into the back seat (extended cab - small seat). I tip it sideways a little to maneuver it. It is hay as I have shoved all the ice in the ice tray from the ice maker into it. This spills ice water down my chest! Yikes! I shake it off. At nearly 80 already, I dry fast. Loaded at last, I run to Barnes & Noble for a book I have ordered. My son requests Playboy (light reading material) but they were out. Seems one clerk hides them, and some customers read them and shove them onto back shelves. But after a search we gave up. My son, when I got back to the parking lot, (it is now 11AM), informs me that playing classical music loudly will also illicit stares just like when playing hard rock. Oh goody! I didn't know this! Then I drive the wrong way up Mowry, to the 880. I need the 680. Finally realizing that I am brain dead, I turned around in the right direction (84, 680, 580, 132, 99, 5, 405). As we reach the turn for 84 off Mission, my son notes a cutie on a bike. He notices these things now. He must be getting better. I ignore him, but I do turn very slowly, and I am at last off to find the hotel and my date with Fabio. I am clutching my Yahoo directions. |
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