With sleeping this long is that afterward, time flies. Before you know it, the non-invasive sounds of music without words has shifted to the sleepy frog voice of the host of your worst-favorite weekend public radio program. You return to the brown noise app attached to the bedroom stereo and think: What a review. I hate your show so much that I'd rather just listen to static.
Is to go downtown, catch a single band, order a large taco pizza to-go and return home at the same time as Chuck gets done with work. "If you're having a super good time, I'll meet you out," he says, and I'm not sure how that is possible. A 29-week preggo negotiating a crush of people during the drunkest week of the year. Sipping water, catching 1/8th of the words said in my direction and, in turn, being cognizant that just 1/8 of my responses are hitting the mark. And none of this happening in the XL sweatpants I wear pulled up to boob level. No, I must wear public pants.
I am having fun. JCrew, Seadawg and I secure part of my favorite piece of real estate, a back corner booth that we share with a single couple crammed into the corner and deep in a lip lock that will extend the length of the evening. They don't pee. They don't go to the bar. They just kiss and kiss and kiss. On top of that, they're wearing the same shoes. Is this how they met or is this something that happened. One introduces the other to the utility of black Converse, something the other had never considered. Kind of like how I'd never had Chocolate Soy Milk before I met Chuck and now I can't imagine a world without it. Kind of like how he had never bought socks in bulk until he met me.
Is an easy sell. I show my friends how I can use the Find My Friends app to follow his journey from West End to the bar. "And here he is on Lake and Superior," I say, pointing to his dot. Sure enough, he texts me from the line outside, which has extended beyond a vacant store front. "It's going fast," he says. "Can you order me a Surly?"
Asks Chuck to take our picture, but it becomes obvious that we are not going to be able to come up with something cute. Her face is in shadow, I keep opening my eyes too wide, a common problem I have. The result is creepy. Chuck studies a failed attempt and says: "I don't know. Why don't you just go with it?"
So we embrace our inner monsters.
Order the taco pizza at last call and snarf it while watching an episode of 'Cheers' that I recognized from the title alone. "This one marks the return of a character," I say, mouth packed with black beans. "Which one?" Chuck asks. "Andy Andy," I say. And I'm right.
"To sleep until I can't sleep any more," I say, turning out the light.
SURE ENOUGHI wake even later. Something closer to 1 p.m. Almost as if I went out and got blotto last night, rather than sitting in a hidden corner watching a young couple make meals of lips. I'd have slept longer but the cats are furious that the door is still propped closed with a crate of records. It sounds like Orin is getting close to anger-strengthing his way through the barricade. Chuck lets them in and they immediately fall asleep on my feet. Rage is exhausting.
In bed and read some more while the cats slept in poses resembling something out of "The Kama Sutra." Finished a comic book; Almost finished a short story collection. I feel that I can again show my face near Minnesota Reads without feeling great shame.
To make progress on Operation: Buy Things for the Baby. First I revisit a list of necessities that Feisty sent me months ago and make a list. Then I wander through the baby section taking deep, cleansing breaths. When I start to feel dizzy and sweaty, I stand my ground. "Find sleepwear. Gown-style with an elastic bottom, easy for middle of the night diaper changes," I command myself. Meanwhile, there are a handful of other preggos in these aisles. I smile at all of them, thinking that maybe we can be friends. Talk about what we've gotten so far and what else we need to get and our color scheme. Share a pretzel and feel each other's bellies. But none of them seem willing to commit to a friendship with me. I text Chuck about it and he suggests that it has something to do with my sweatpants.
I find a two-pack of gowns. Then I find crib sheets and a mesh bumper and a waterproof cover for the crib mattress. Then I pick up some nail polish for myself.
There are two women behind me in line at the check out.
"I suppose you're going to ditch me to go hang out with him," says one.
"I already saw him today," says the other. "We went to lunch."
"Oh, where did you eat?" the first one asks.
"In his car," she says.
The "It's (Insert Day of Week) and I'm Boring" is a series that Jodi and I do to pay homage to the beauty of old-school blogging.