Sunday Funday leads to Sunday Insomnia

I had one goal this weekend: make gifts for my friends for Christmas.

"But it's February, Kerry," you say. 

I know. I'm a terribly, terribly bad friend who is always about 3 months behind every trend and holiday. I mean, I took my Christmas tree down the last weekend of January simply because my boyfriend made me. The year before, it was up til March. MARCH. 

Friday night I left the office "early" at 6:30, picked up the manfriend, bought some booze, and talked him into dinner at a decent restaurant with decent but underwhelming food--about 80% of Chicago's restaurants fall into this category. 

Saturday, I went to the gym, ran errands in the blasted snow, made homemade artery-clogging potato soup that looked like gravy (see below), and hung out half a block away with a friend who is going through a breakup. 

I promise that is not gravy smothered
in bacon, cheese, green onions, and sour cream.
Kinda.

Sunday, I got up, met a friend from Indy at a bar, decided to pound 4 beermosas and 1 shot of Malort, because "responsibility".... and suddenly, I realized I'd still not accomplished my ONE GOAL FOR THE FUCKING WEEKEND.

Bad Decisions Abound on Sunday Funday
(Example: Shots of Malort)

After a quick trip to Sur La Table (my new favorite obsession/addition) for a candy thermometer, some heart-shaped ice cube trays, a Pyrex liquid measuring cup, and some herbal sacks (ALL VERY NECESSARY) that Nick got me for my Valentine's gift, Nick and I went to Rotofugi so he could pick up some goodies using his Valentine's gift from me (a gift card bc I obviously can't pick out what he likes).

We came home, and then the next 7 hours kinda dissipated into him making me dinner and me doing something that I can't remember. 

I mean, 7 hours. SEVEN? Seven.

How the fuck does one not really know what they did for 7 hours?

I think there was a 5-minute call to my sister in there... and texting my friend about how she needs Treat Yo Self Sundays post-breakup.

But I think this is how my Alzheimer's is going to start. 

Also, there were brownies that took forever, but LOOKY: 

COMMENCE DROOLING.

They are black bean brownies that are so good I want to un-brush my teeth and eat them all, but I will resist. They are more cakey than I like, but whatever. I've pretty much already secured my non-winning status on this 10-week DietBet. I read that  woman who won the last round allowed herself to eat a cookie but that she wasn't going to have another until the end of the 2nd round. And I thought, AAAAAAAAAAA COOKIE? AS IN ONE? IS IT LIKE THIS?

Anyway, it's going on midnight, and I'm not sure if it was the Starbucks, the coffee in the brownies, or the fact that my mother is undergoing major surgery in two days, but I just made 20 bottles of homemade vanilla extract, made those brownies, and scrubbed all the things in the kitchen, and I'm not even sleepy. 

(This is from one of my two favorite blogs, Hyperbole and a Half--get some in yo life NOW. Read the ones about the dogs and the God of Cake. Please empty your bladder first as you may piss yourself with glee.)

I have to be up early to work early, leave early, and then drive my momma to her surgery at 4AM (AKA, A TIME WHEN NO ONE SHOULD BE SOBER, ALIVE, AND MOVING-- LET ALONE DRIVING).

So keep Momma Flo in your thoughts on Tuesday. She's getting a new hip. Icky but necessary. Because apparently the crux of where your upper and lower torso meet is kinda a necessary part of your body when you want to move and walk and shiz.

Now I'm going to lie down only to imagine how my mother could survive without a hip socket, because that's what my brain does...it goes to weird dark places when I can't sleep. 

Rambling stopping. BYEEEEE.


PS Yes, I realize, I STILL did not complete my one goal for the weekend. UGH. I'm AWFUL.