Waking Up

Last night while cooking dinner, I was forced to remember things like: How many pints in a cup? Then, SSM guy being the snooty intellectual that he is asked me, just for fun, "How many quarts in a gallon?" There are four, in case you were wondering.
So today is the start of a new morning routine. I call it, "Waking Up." It requires, well, waking up. I was at my desk at 6:30 doing a project that was due last night in California. It was 4:00 a.m. in California when I emailed it, so I think I made my deadline.
I'm very excited about my new office space. I call it Suite 1 in the Murphy Street office. Sounds like a satellite office for a legit business, doesn't it? I think I'm going to put it on my business card.
This was a hell of a week. Emotions ran high. There was, a) the 5 1/2 hour drive to New York in the rain, b) the childhood reminiscing with old friend, c) the attendance at the taping of the Colbert Report (the t is silent), d) the MISSED OPPORTUNITY OF A LIFETIME and e) the first argument with SSM guy. Where to begin. Let's start with the MISSED OPPORTUNITY OF A LIFETIME.
Beautiful, high fashion, sophisticated Publicist friend, when she invited me to New York to see the Colbert report, also invited me to dinner with the publisher thinking it would be a good opportunity for me to meet her and talk about a book deal. HELLO??? I didn't go. I thought it was a bad time to meet the publisher - it wasn't my night, and it felt frenetic. I was in frumpy, loser, wallflower, "I hate being in New York" mode and after witnessing thin, pretty Jessica do such a wonderful job on the Colbert report all I could think was, that should have been me. Where did my life and my career go? I was supposed to be famous. I was supposed to be on TV and be thin and funny. Instead, Jessica was thin and funny.
So through tears, I drove home to Massachusetts and arrived three hours later to crawl into bed with the love of my life. That was the good part.
I frantically called publicist friend the next day to tell her that I wanted to fly out to California to meet her publisher. No word. She's done with me, I'm sure. My goddamn low self-esteem. It's annoying, really.
So naturally, I've been a little agitated. All this and PMS. SSM guy and I had an argument over the refusal of some Walmarts to fill birth control pill prescriptions.
He wasn't aware of the issue, to which I replied how outrageous it was for a fucking pharmacist to instill his moral fucking values on us and humiliate a woman. I turned an attractive shade of red and ranted something or other while I mentally packed up my things and moved back in with mom. Yeah, there's a solution.
"Jean, you're moving back in? What happened?" my thrilled mother asks.
"Mom, I'm mad because SSM Guy wasn't aware that some pharmacists don't sell birth control pills to women."
"Oh, well, your bed's all ready for you. Do you want something to eat? I have a beautiful salad that I prepared tonight."
Ugh.
Anyway, I stormed up to the suite, googled "availability of birth control pills" and emailed him articles about the travesty of a pharmacist refusing a woman what is rightfully hers. Poor SSM guy left me alone for awhile, probably having no idea what in God's name set me off. We talked it through, and it turned out that what I was really mad about was that he was so fucking smart and I couldn't argue anything intelligently with him because I don't know shit. I'm all emotion.
Today the sun is shining, I woke up, I'm not moving back in with mom and I'm okay with not having appeared on the Colbert Report (the t is silent). I am, however, exhausted and will probably nap now.
The new photo is Butternickle, lifetime friend's daughter's hampster. So far I haven't been asked to dogsit for Butternickle. He's pretty damn cute though, isn't he?