A brief week in review from the makers of Spam

Right to the point on this one -- what a fuckin' week. Jesus. I can't even get into details, but here's the breakdown:

Work at Gap.
Run to Malden to attempt to educate the unfortunate youth in the minutiae of fashion design.
Run home in record time (slowest trip ever).
Realize that still have no shoes for Sunday's wedding.
Run to mall, purchase shoes.
Get sidetracked.
End up with pretty nails and two eyebrows.
Stop for a quick sit down dinner, read book.
Realize mall is closing.
Rush home to look busy for when Bil gets off work.
Attempt to re-tailor Bil's vintage 1940's suit in an hour.
Break a needle.
Give up.
Pick Bil up in selfish gesture of goodwill (and frustration).
Return home with renewed sense of purpose.
Resume attempted tailoring.
Finish at 3am.
Give up on alteration to own dress as cannot see straight.
Awake, unrefreshed, at 4am.
Yell at Bil.
Stay in bed until 4:30 to spite Bil. (Bitch).
Dash to airport at 4:45.
Wrong terminal.
Dash to other terminal.
Check in.
Attempt to peaceably get through security.
Fail.
Get bodily searched and summarily felt up by woman called "Marge."
Offer to get naked.
Declined.
Hop on mostly uneventful flight to LA.
Drool on shoulder.
Awake in LA.
Rent car.
Drive car to 'rent's house.
Get gussied up to view wedding site (ours, not theirs).
Take flowers from grocery store.
Don't pay.
Barge in on stern teacher's fifth grade class.
Apologize profusely.
Offer to get naked.
Rain check.
View site of wedding (set up for National Multiple Sclerosis Association semi-annual fundraiser).
Contemplate Multiple Sclerosis.
Leave.
View swanky red Porche.
Lick swanky red Porche.
Tastes like strawberries.
Eat mad fried chicken.
Dance the funky chicken.
Say goodni----.
Apparently pass out.
Apparently wet the bed.
Wake up refreshed.
Leave in shame.
Eat heavenly burgers from In-N-Out.
Die happy.
Go to Bil's 'rent's house.
Eat real Mexican food for first time in lives.
Die happy again.
Resurrect.
View production of Cabaret.
Not yo' mama's Cabaret.
See random people (and friends) from the past.
Get drunk.
Real drunk.
Drink more.
Awake hung over in old residence.
Eat Carl's Jr. and laugh about parties past.
Clutch heads in hung over commiseration.
Shuffle over to Tyler.
Buy rockin' Converse shoes for $15 less than they are in Boston.
Dance with joy.
Hung over joy.
Desperately buy new underwear to wear under there.
Dash to wedding in Long Beach.
Arrive really early.
Walk.
Get blisters.
Laugh.
Cry.
Dance.
Drink.
Drink more.
Hang out too late.
Get home later.
Throw out back while pooping.
Wake up an hour later.
Yell at Bil.
Rush to airport.
Get stuck in traffic on the 210.
Get stuck in traffic on the 605.
Get stuck in traffic on the 710.
Somehow totally forget where the 405 is.
Find the 405.
Get stuck in traffic on the 405.
Arrive at airport as flight is taxiing on runway.
Reschedule to flight an hour later.
Attempt to get through security.
Get red-flagged.
Get "puffed." (LAX's word, not mine).
Watch as woman called "Blanche" meticulously removes all purse flotsam, looking for explosives.
Watch her miss a forgotten lighter.
Run to gate.
Arrive as last passenger on flight.
Discover flight is to Phoenix. (Not Boston).
Discover as Phoenix-bound flight is landing that have a second ticket to Boston in envelope.
Eat pizza.
Jump on Boston-bound flight.
Attempt to reclaim rightful half of armrest from crazy single-serving friend.
Attempt is met with friendly banter.
Chat.
Awkward silence.
Return to R is for Ricochet.
Attempt to ward off hand-holding advances from single-serving surgeon.
Drift into hung over sleep.
Awake to find armrest up between lecherous single-serving surgeon and self.
Realize single-serving surgeon's hand is on thigh.
"Do you always molest your neighbors?"
"Only the ones who are cute."
Gross.
Return armrest to separating position.
Sigh in relief.
Ward off more advances.
Pretend to sleep in order to escape evil single-serving surgeon.
Realize that he is placing hand (mine) upon his thigh.
Near his.... tic tac?
EEEEEEEEEEEWWWW!
Stay awake and alert and afraid and attached to airplane wall for remainder of flight.
Score single-serving surgeon's digits. (203.506.7786, for interested parties).
Escape from plane and hide in restroom.
Run to smoking area and hide for additional 20 minutes.
Hope luggage is still at baggage claim.
Success.
Grab cab.
Listen to cabbie mutter under his breath for duration of the ride.
Escape.
Again.

That was the weekend.

Have not slept for three days.
Cannot remember these three days.
Now blogging.
Still blogging.
Wondering how to finish blog.
Cannot remember how to finish.

That is all.