So, today was… a day.
I started off by twisting my hair up into the usual “I don’t want to fully blowdry my hair because it’s already hot and I’m barely motivated to go to work” bun, only to realize 15 minutes into running around the hospital that I had a huge chunk of hair that was just totally askew and sticking out from the one side of my head like “DUDE. You forgot me and you look like a disheveled twerp.”
Oops. (Why don’t people TELL you about things like that?)
Then I made the mistake of saying, “Hmm… this is looking like it’s going to be a manageable day” out loud, and then the day from discharge planning hell commenced.
Oops.
In the midst of the discharge planning flurry, I got a text from my friend Trish, and the following lunch adventure ensued:
Trish: [text msg] I’m sitting at Parasson’s.
Brandice: [text msg] Jealous!!
*couple minutes, then I look at my phone again*
Trish: [text msg] Aren’t you joining me at noon?
Brandice: [in head] SHIT. That was today? But I know I put it in my calendar right in front of Trish with a 30 minute reminder… *checks calendar and lunch is listed for today, but at 8 PM.* SHIT.
Brandice: [text msg] Oh crap yes! Might be a few min late shit shit lol. Gimme ten min.
*I run to my office for my purse, run to the parking deck, fly through traffic and run frantically into Luigi’s, looking for Trish*
(Did you catch the part where I’m at Luigi’s? The OTHER Italian restaurant near the hospital that we didn’t decide to eat at?)
Waitress who is seating people: “You’re meeting someone? Is that her?”
*She points at a woman in her fifties, sitting alone at a booth.*
Brandice: “No, that’s not her, but I am meeting a friend. I’ll look around.”
*I look around frantically in all three sections of the restaurant and don’t find Trish. Waitress is helpfully following me through this process repeatedly asking if the woman in her fifties is my friend. I assure her that it most definitely is NOT my friend and that I am quite certain that I know what my lunch friend looks like.*
Waitress: “Well hon, she’s the only one waitin—–”
*I stop, because I just realized where I am and where I suddenly remember Trish is. I check the text msgs*
Brandice: “Oh SHIT!”
Oooooops.
*I run to the car, call Trish and explain, fly like a bat out of hell to the RIGHT restaurant and apologize profusely for being a giant moron.*
It was just one thing after the next today, launched into motion by bad hair decisions, kept in motion by frantic Italian food adventures, and it’s only just now winding down because I’m in the confines of my own home and can’t really do much damage for the time being.
Of course, now that I’ve said that “out loud” on the internet, I can’t do any laundry or operate any of our appliances for the rest of the nice, just to be safe.
OOPS.