Being an Old Fart isn't All It's Cracked Up to Be

Do you ever wake up in the morning with the realization that you are indeed the lamest person you know? Honestly folks. I was in bed at 9PM last night - read it and weep, that is NINE. PM. Practically evening. - with Grace curled into my armpit and snoring louder than Anthony after a drunken binge.

Granted, this is in large part due to the fact that on Tuesday I made the mistake of drinking a cup of French Roast at 2:30PM, thinking it would help me through my night of volunteering with Women for Women International. Instead, I sounded like I was on speed through the first two hours of my volunteering, and I couldn't sleep until about 2AM, even after watching The Terminal, a film that would have been much more delightful if the movie studio had been able to fire Steven Spielberg.

I swear, coffee for me is more potent than a couple hits of ecstasy. All night as I lay in bed willing myself to fall asleep, I was actually paranoid that all the new clothes I wanted from Eddie Bauer would sell out before my first paycheck from General Dynamic could arrive. Seriously folks. I got up at 1AM and went online to check. And then spent an hour rearranging my wish list into outfits. A good ELEVEN HOURS AFTER I DRANK THE COFFEE.

I think you now understand why both my doctor and dentist agree that I should not imbibe caffeinated beverages on a regular basis.

Needless to say, when my alarm went off at 6AM, I was not the happiest puppy. That was Grace, who was doing her cute little "circus dance," you know, that dance she does to show us how pleased as punch she is that we are awake and now able to take her for a walk. Or feed her. Or touch her even. Whatever, so long as we're paying attention to her.

And all that to say that last night I was in bed at 9PM and I'm an old fart.

What is going to make it all worse is that I woke up last night at midnight because Anthony still hadn't returned to occupy his half of the bed, and I started to worry and fret over all the reasons why he might not be home yet. Then I gave him hell when he walked in 5 minutes later, and continued to do so until 1AM. Grace then weaseled her way back onto the bed and into the mattress divet I'd been working on all night, successfully pushing me off the bed and onto the living room couch.

I woke again around 5:30AM to Grace staring at me oh-so-innocently, at which point I returned to bed for some of Anthony's generous BTU's and hit the snooze button until 6:30AM. That is when I discovered that Grace's oh-so-innocent look meant that she had left a huge pile of steaming poo on the ONE carpet in the house and I had just stepped in it. Mommy Ryan was not all that happy.

Yeah. So really, I feel like an old woman. For fun, we take the dog out for a walk and laugh when she nearly strangles herself over the sight of another dog. Then I come home and work on my scrapbooking or watch another movie from my Netflix queue.

To paint an even more flattering picture of our lives together, this weekend we have big plans. The temperature is supposed to top out around 70 degrees, and Anthony has planned for us to do a full cleaning of the house. Apparently, with two of us it should only take a few hours. Yes, yes, the fun never ends.