madrigle76: oh my gosh mal, (do you have time to listen to me blather?

mal: sure

madrigle76: I'll totally shut up if you are, you know, working at work. :)

mal: I'm working on some stuff but I can listen

madrigle76: just LITTLE (yeah right) anecdotes from yesterday.

So my friend Bruce calls and wants to meet for happy hour, which I was all game for, cause the place put's out a great nacho spread

Now usually I'm super low maintenance, unless it's spa day or something, but I can normally just dash out when a friend calls last minute-ish.

BUT, oh no, my brain was on BOY mode last night, over my impending date with Marcus later that evening, and I was a ball of nervous energy mess. (Corazon, you can well attest to how I get)

So, my normal 3 minute shower, time warped into 25minutes somehow, at which point Bruce would nearly be to Caf� Noche's, and his waiting would commence.

I"ve gotten really anal about ironing the last 3-4 months, previously I didn't much care for a starched look, unless it had come that way from the cleaners, my philosophy is if you hang it when it comes out of the dryer it will be fine. *gasp, I know, I can hear all my princess points being snatched away, bitches!*

mal: you're killing me

This whole ironing compulsion is largely due to an entry by you about ironed fronts being gifts to everyone else, sweety

mal: LOLOL

So, Bruce is most likely waiting at this point, and I decide to totally tack on ironing time right.

I mean were nearing 45 minutes now, since he called, and he should have gotten there for sure by now, and I so should have already been there, as it is merely blocks from my door.

So, I call Bruce and tell him I'm dashing out the door as we speak, which was mostly true really.

Except, like some weird clip out or groundhog day, I dashed out about 5 separate times.

Firstly I throw on an undershirt, there like bras for men sweety, they give you that super-sexy, crisp silouhette look.

mal: LOL

Next, my little ribbed heather gray t-shirt and lastly, a square hemmed button down navy shirt as a little jacket-ish thing, with my cadet cut khakis

mal: you're killing me

It was cute, but I didn't do a mirror check.

THEN, by chance and great luck, I happen to glimpse myself in the mirror, and it was a tragically good thing sweety

mal: hahahahah, uh oh.

Cause, embarrassment of embarrassments sweety (I totally just slipped into British accent in my head) my undershirt, you know the bra for men, was crew cut and was totally visible on the much lower crew cut heather gray ribbed t-shirt that was over it, out of the corner of my eye it looked like some low slung, hideous Elizabethan collar.

So, I throw the complete ensemble off

mal: I can't believe you aren't writing this

So, then, I rummage around looking desperately for one of my a frame (cutting and pasting as we speak darling) undershirts, I had to recycle, yes laundry day should have been 3 days ago

Ok, so that crisis was resolved, no more embarrassing white collars peaking out over my t-shirt.

Now, earlier that day I had tried to take a nap. I wanted to be all up on my beauty sleep for my dinner/movie date, but because of nervous energy couldn't fall asleep, so I got up and cleaned. Always a good thing to do with nervous energy.

Thing is I had remembered putting my glasses on the back of the couch when I was trying to fall asleep, but as I soon found out on my second attempt to dash out the door, I realized they were not there, nor in any of my regular spots. They have impossibly thin titanium frames, and a coating on the lens that is supposed to make them near invisible, and it does sweety.

So, here I am, blind, a soupy fog overlaying everything more then 6 feet away, trying to find my invisible-ish glasses.

Poor Bruce has been waiting at least 30 minutes at this point.

Finally, after 10 minutes of squinting and patting around dark corners, I find them, on my end table, in plain site, where they hopelessly blend into the woodgrain pattern.

So, for the third time I'm dashing out, right.

mal: lol

mal: oh no

Keys, wallet, glasses, mirror check.

Check, Check, Check, and Check.

But NO.

I had left my baseball cap and hadn't done anything to my hair, but wash it (why didn't I just shave it.) So, I through the truck in gear, pop on the emergency break and leave it in the middle of the parking lot and dash in for the hat, lock up, dash back out.

Were talking an hour of waiting, by now, for Bruce.

I drive around the parking lot to the exit gate open the coin box, for my gate access card

It's not there.

I mean I never move the thing, but evidently I did at some point

I'm like totally Zen through all this mind you

So I throw Fred in reverse, do a k turn and proceed through my one way parking lot, the wrong way, back to my apartment, and promptly find the access card, thank God.

Finally

FINALLY

I make it there in ONE piece. It was just CRAZY!

Bruce was laughing so hard. He knew something was up, cause I'm normally so low maintenance

By the time 9:00 rolled around and Me and Marcus met, I was functioning normally again, and wasn't all spastic dingle dorkish.

Thank God.

Marcus is dreamy by the way, a masters in mathematics, and sultry dark good looks.

DaReam�Y!