Blarp.

So today, I plopped out of bed at 6:03. I had set my alarm for 5:45 with all the best intentions as I do most nights. (Not for 5:45, but for some respectable hour that will allow me to get a brisk start to the day.) But whenever my alarm goes off that early I invariably miss most of it and then slowly awaken wondering what the heck that noise is. 

I also always decide the night before how much time I should allot myself to accomplish whatever it is I need to accomplish before I am supposed to be wherever it is I am going. I always think I am leaving myself just enough time. Then I discover in the morning after I have slept in for an additional 30-45 minutes that I can still accomplish whatever it was I had set out to do. 

I am scarcely aware of what I am typing right now. I am pooped. Schnockered. Swaplummed. Making some of these up. I enjoy being punchy though. I apparently type faster when pooped.

So I picked Maggie up and we went to Arlington. The only thing I remember before we arrived at the stretch of highway with all those tall street lights is a brief discussion of the merits of gluten-free bagels and the gluten:smooshiness relationship.

And her bagel smelled like butter.

We stopped at Wawa cause I wanted gas and a banana.

There was an elderly woman in front of me at the register purchasing a salad, cigarettes, and pound cake. A very interesting combination I thought.

So we kept going. We very nearly arrived on time and then a garbage truck appeared in front of us and remained stationary for about eight minutes. 

It was pretty there. A library, a cake store, and a smoothie store. Also a movie theater featuring FILMS OF SUFFERING AND DEEP DEEP MEANING. This week showing: Slumdog Millionaire, The Reader, The Wrestler, Schindler's List, The Agony and the Ecstasy, etc.

Oh- we got lost first. 

Went a goodly ways down Glebe Road then called Maggie's mom and turned around.

Then we decided to go to Old Navy to get me a camisole because a smidge of my bra was showing. We called information, Maggie's mother, and Joseph and finally managed to acquire an intersection. So we find it, only by turning around several times and skunking around behind the Dick's Sporting Goods. 

A huge Old Navy like a mirage on the hill. We go in. There is a maternity section for heaven's sake. Never heard of such a thing. I try on and enjoy a lovely purple gown. The Maggie decides I should wear something that fits me, so she stylists herself around and selects me a red skirt and a black tank top. Which I get. Also vanilla lip gloss because I was hungry.

By then I am having a piercing headache and experiencing spiders in my eyes because I drank an extra large Monster with only a petite banana.

So we return, we discover that it is fun to bounce on bar stools and raise them up and down. 

I stand at the front door which CLEARLY states "Door Opens Automatically" or something.

So I stand there for, oh, awhile. It does not open. 

Ridiculous.

Also- what is the difference between bananas and plantains?

Also- why is Ben Franklin's called Ben Franklin's?

Also- crap. I cannot remember the other one at the moment.

But here's another one- In that commercial with the porky Chinese girl-child of about four who airbrushes the picture of her piranha to email to her parents- where is she? Where are her parents she is emailing? She appears to be in a house. It would appear to be hers, as I don't know why she would be so familiar with the computer in someone else's house? I don't understand where her parents are.

So we eat pancakes at the Silver Diner. I had never been there. Each table we passed eyed us suspiciously as Maggie was bearing a strong resemblance to Carrie Bradshaw and we were at a diner off the side of the freeway.

Then we go get as many of the props for Normal as we can. We succeed for the most part. Except Ford's thong. 

I don't want to address that.

We drop them off at Stage 1, where we are graced with an interesting story about a turtle and urination.

Then I go home, change my socks, walk to Kuba Kuba and eat a dry sandwich much too big for my mouth. 

We go to the Strawberry St. Market, which is WONDERFUL and has cherry fruit snacks, my favorite kinds of ice cream, corn dogs and quiche.

While we are there I ask Maggie to give me a reason not to get ice cream. She stares at me and asks if I have any chopsticks.

I consider this and say no, and ask her is that her reason for me not to get ice cream.

She says she just wants them for her lips.

At which point I realize she had said CHAPSTICK and dissolve into giggles and staggers for about three blocks.

We pass by the Strawbettery (och, I'm tired) Strawberry St. Cafe on the way home and I spy Scott Melton's dashing profile in the window. We immediately identify Robin Arthur's luscious burgundy bob and I wink lasciviously at Scott. 

It is my job to always let Scott know that he is never out of the watchful eye of the Gladyses.

Robin sloooooooooowly turns in her seat and sears us with a look that says we will be fruit spackle if we do not move along and leave her to enjoy her peas in peace. 

We move right along. 

We love her.

I upset a large brindle pitbull on the way home with my impression of an elderly golden retriever who had nearly bitten my front off a couple of weeks ago. Now my throat hurts.

And we are watching Big Love.

I should go back and read this. Not sure what any of it says.