I was going to name this post "Weekend Update" but it didn't quite capture the quality of what's going on.
First, I have Lyme Disease and am now on massive antibiotics of the most unpleasant nature in order to stem the rapidly spreading bulls-eye welts and my rapidly-progressing arthritic knees and wrists. No joke. I can't bend down and can barely hold anything heavier than a book. What the hell?!! How--and where--did I get bitten by a damn tick?! I've barely left the damn house in a year and a half! Ach. Who knows. All I know is that doxycycline is wildly unpleasant but sadly necessary for a full 4-week cycle.
So I've got that goin' for me, which is nice.
Then this evening the BBDD and I attended a friend's birthday event at one of those Medieval Castle places. I've never been to one, never really wanted to go, and didn't really know what to expect. It's like dinner theater except there is no real "dinner" and the theater is seeing the other attendees getting so drunk they actually find the pseudo-Shakespearean ribaldry funny. We obviously had a great time because we were there primarily to celebrate with our friend enjoying the party of his choosing. But damn, y'all. I can't drink alcohol. Which means this was three hours of totally excruciating "entertainment" along the lines of what a sober person feels at an office karaoke party. In addition, I was--no surprise--having ALL kinds of germophobic issues with the food and the venue. It's "medieval" so the food comes to the table in a big bucket and is served onto your plate by a wench. Fair enough. But I don't eat food from a communal bucket, not even for Sarah Palin's wardrobe budget. I sure as hell don't drink from a bowl that just had the server's thumb inside it. And I don't eat uncooked veggies unless I've washed them myself. So for dinner I ate: one package of peanut M&M's that I'd--thank you lord--kept in my purse for Bambina meltdowns. It was one of those nights where you just keep telling yourself, "This night is not about me, this night is not about me," you smile, you laugh, and you pass the time thinking about what you're going to make for dinner the second you walk in the door.
When we did walk in the door our new babysitter was still alive and seemingly unfazed by her evening with Bambina. As you know, Bambina does not get cranky when tired (well, not entirely); she gets punch drunk. So when the babysitter arrived for this, her first gig with us, she was greeted by Bambina who was (as she called herself) "naked as a jaybird," tap dancing, while pretending she was a Rottweiler puppy named Strawberry Soup.
It was certainly bizarre, but still way better than medieval dinner theater.