Smells like teen spirit

I’m finally sitting down to write after a few days and I’m being serenaded by the lilting melody of two girls who’d really love nothing more than to kill each other. It’s so zen that I could almost fall asleep sitting here.

But I seem to have finally dug myself out of whatever massive hole it was I was in. Seems that Friday evening I dug just a teeny bit too hard by starting the afternoon with a St. Germaine cocktail at 4:30. The day was a nice one. Both girls were gone all day, so the hubby and I got some work done, walked to brunch and were able to chill a bit. Our internet went down in the afternoon (much to our well-feigned chagrin). So we had to read a magazine for a few minutes even. Living with cancer can be rough.

So by the time we needed to deliver Bean to Ava’s 5th b-day party, we were ready to roll. Walked over and then proceeded to stay and suck down beers for a very long time. Then it was girls home to bed and us hitting the porch. L Rocks came over and got to be entertained by the Matthews. T Rocks arrived fresh from panic at Red Rocks an hour or two later, so the revelry went on until 1am. Drinking marathon finally complete.

The hubby vacated my snoring self at some point during the night, so bean was free to climb in around 5am. Luckily she fell back asleep after a few wiggles and kicks to the face. Then slept through until 8 — with her little heinie attached to my cheek according to the hubby. I was still snug as a bug at 10am when Brian and his brother, Rick, arrived to start hauling off wood from our downed cottonwood tree. (Item two — after work — on the hubby’s pre-cancer-surgery stress list. There will be NO picking up 100 lb. tree trunk pieces for him for quite some time.)

So after the tree was gone (thank you a 100 times) — we decided to head out on a field trip to tour the hospital. I’d spoken to my awesome surgeon client who gave me all sorts of info — so I knew exactly what to ask when we got there. The nurses took us to a vacant room and explained everything to the girls. Even telling us that there is room service with a kids’ menu. I felt like I was at a hotel. Hardwood floors, fireplace in the lobby. It was gorgeous. We almost got excited like, “We can’t WAIT TO CHECK IN!” And, “Do you have a SPA too?”

The girls seemed content and now we know where we’re going on the 7th. Further than I thought, but whateves.

So we headed to brunch at Lola. Total yummy-in-the-tummy. And then made a quick stop at Little Man for root beer, creme fraiche and chocolate cherry cordial gelatos.

I also wonder if I’ve mentioned the Boulder Potline? It’s this nifty little network of people who happen to hear if you’re having pain or have a medical need — and they are totally there in a flash. So the hubby isn’t one of those. And neither am I. Hard to believe after living in the mecca for the last 15 years, I know. But no. So we had no idea. We just thought everyone here was just really nice and so calm and mellow. Which is, of course, true. But turns out that we are pretty damn well-connected and have anything we need at our immediate disposal. Who knew.

So since the hubby spent all day Saturday twitching and writhing in pain as we drove to and from Denver, I was worried. REALLY worried. And he decided to go for the gusto. So lemonade it was. Along with a nice hot bath with epsom salts. I, wisely, suggested a double dose and he gamely agreed. So we all went down for naps.

After about 3 hours, I was fully expecting him to be up and cooking me some damn dinner. I thought he’d be hungry. So even though our darling girls were ripping the hair out of each others’ heads and screaming at each other like banshees, I went down to venture a check.

In the pitch dark I hear a small voice say, “help.” OMG. WTF. “What’s wrong?” That same little voice says, “I can’t seem to stand up straight.” And so started a 15-hour-long bed stay. And this is our new normal. “Don’t bother Daddy girls. He’s a bit effed up at the moment.” Holy crap on a biscuit.

Now he’s scared shitless to touch the stuff again. But he can’t do pain meds either. So writhe away it is until next week. Shit-damn.

Today we had coffee with True Blue and TRPL TRBL. (I’ve been told by T Rocks that he can’t keep up with the effin nicknames and to kill them. But I’ve decided to disregard him. And I’m sure he’s not surprised.)

So we met up at TT’s house and planned for the next few weeks. Organic Dish registry? Check. foodtidings.com registry? Check. Google doc for random doodie duties sign up? Check. And, don’t worry, you’ll be getting an email VERY SOON.

Then it was off to brunch with T Bush and his main squeeze. This time it was Centro. (Dave Query? Are you out there? We effin love us some Big Red F. Just sayin'.☺)

It was a gorgeous day today, so we strolled the Pearl Street Mall. Let the girls run in the fountain, stopped for treats at The Cup and just enjoyed us some Boulder.

Then, I got a text from Purse Girl. She said, “Don’t you blog about me for being a bad friend.” But I assured her with a very genuine, “Who me?” She and her b-partner are both out of town and someone really needs themselves a skirt from ohmybag (formerly ric rac designs). I was on it. I actually crave normalcy. Funny that. And I have an uncanny ability to say “hell no” if one of my posse strays across that freshly drawn cancer line.

So we headed to her house to do a quick skirt inventory.

The moment I walked in I thought, “This place smells like dead body.” I summoned the hubby, who had decided to recline on the couch while I did the skirt count. He agreed and said, “This is bringing back a bad memory of Bates West.”

Back in college, the refrigerator in our on campus apartment went on the fritz during the month-long Christmas break. It was around the time of Jeffrey Dahmer’s unfortunate choice to partake in human cuisine, and I smelled it as soon as the elevator door opened. It smelled so bad that the big, burly maintenance guys said they’d pass on the leftover beer and our friends, Richard and Randall, made opening the dead fridge a rite of passage for all new employees. To say that I fell backwards against the wall and banged my head when I opened the door was a HUGE understatement. There was a divot in the wall to prove it.

So the Runkels had been gone since June 18th. We’d been over a couple of times. But something went terribly wrong. Robby was somewhere in Kansas, driving back from PAR-TAY-IN-O-HI-O. So we swung into action and threw all of that rotten shit right into the gar-bahge. Luckily they are veggie-eaters (mostly) — so it wasn’t the fresh smell of rotted meat so much as just rotten salsa, beans and cheese. Still. Really. Gross.

And their fish were dead. Not happy times at the Drunkels.

We fixed it all, got to greet Robby — fresh from Kansas — with a cleaner version of the former fridge self. And left happy and better smelling.

And all is well here. The hubby is in the kitchen where he belongs. The girls are crying and hating each other. And I’m at my computer with wine and my thoughts. I just hope that you people are all prepared to maintain my current lifestyle in the coming weeks. I’m not super flexible.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Kick Drum Heart. Avett Brothers. There’s nothing like finding gold within the rocks hard and cold. I’m so surprised to find more.