changing lives since 2003 (ms_pooka) wrote,
changing lives since 2003

an easter with dirty underpants

what time should i wake you up?: dad said.

6:00.: i responded.

as i was rousted from sleep, my belly still full of what was once recognizable as a heap of cabbage roles, i turned to the clock and exclaimed: it's 7:15!

you said you wanted to be woken up at 7:00.

i said 6:00.

well, we don't even leave until 8:15.

my leisurely easter morning flew out the window much like rome's chocolate easter bell (thank you, sedaris).

i attempted to feign a relaxed morning by fixing a cup of coffee and sitting by myself with it for five minutes before finally accepting the fact i had less than 45 minutes to get ready. i was now getting warm. warm + unhappy = angry on an inflamed pms scale. i moved it to the jack-and-jill bathroom, turned on the ceiling fan in the bedroom, and threw open the miniature window in the water closet behind me before proceeding to growl my way through the morning routine.

as indicated by the spoiler title... at some point, i realized that i had managed to forget to pack clean underpants. and not only had i worn the one pair i had all the day before, i had also, as an attempt at modesty in my parents' home, worn them all night long under my thin pajama pants. this really did not help my situational anger any.

i had stopped drinking coffee, but the hair dryer had taken over to keep me physically heated up. the only comic relief i received occurred when i shoved my face up to the screen of the bathroom window... much to the dismay of a squirrel who had been minding his business on the fence just outside the window. it would seem he had the holy fuck scared out of him on that easter morning as he scampered halfway up a nearby tree and proceeded to hang upside down delivering squawks at me for five minutes which were so agitated that his torso bounced off the side of the tree.

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now angry squirrel time was over and i had to get back to the business at hand. i made the best of a bad situation and lost a good five minutes to hurriedly rinsing my underpants and drying them with my hair dryer. it would have to do. along with a layer of perfume i hoped would make me smell more like the make up counters at dillard's and less like a homeless smoker trying to mask her scent for an interview at taco bell.

my father and i arrived as the service was starting and the usher registered his disapproval by handing a program to my father, but not to me. i believe it was this same usher who would, minutes later, attempt to hand me a hymnal which i instinctively refused with a wave of my hand like it was an after hours rave flier being passed out by a deep ellum club's street team member.

we were so late, that we were forced to sit in the back corner after pushing everyone else to the middle of the row. at first, i thought my position behind a column would be ideal until i realized that i had ended up directly behind the empty space between the column and the beginning of the shortened pew next to it. it was an empty space which created a direct path to the minister's head. this did not stop me from indulging in my new tactic to survive a church service: reading a book.

i found that the book really did make the service bearable. it even took my mind off the chance that my seasoned panties might be noticeable to those around me and, by the grace of God, kept me from panicking and leaving for the restroom to remove them completely and finish out the service commando style.

despite my effort to lose myself in the simplistic fiction of the man who ate the 747, i couldn't help but have my attention come zooming back to the sermon as i heard the minister liken the new testament to titanic, thereby furthering an implication that leonardo di caprio played the part of christ. and despite the stellar visual effects and him taking issue with a movie capitalizing on tragedy, he found it to be a compelling story nonetheless. i pondered whether or not he would have pointed out that mel gibson's passion of the christ also capitalized on tragedy if that had been his movie clip of the week.

shortly after our arrival back home, my mother entered the house hobbling like an old lady saying she had pulled out her back. my father and i attempted to launch into the action that is pre-preparing easter dinner, despite my mother's easter-appropriate martyr-like ramblings and put-off's. once done, we spent a horrifying eternity scrolling through nearly all the photos brian and i have taken since last august. i did remove a few gems like this:

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the rest of the dreary, rain-laden, chilly day proceeded much as normal for an easter sunday. the family arrived. we ate too much. i came out eerily fuzzy in all three of the family photos taken. the easter egg hunt was indoors. dylan found both of the "prize" eggs i had filled with slices of onion. and the best hid egg was rightfully the last to be found.

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after rushing home, not finding a parking spot because the weird club a block over was likely having an all-ages show (that apparently later went awry and caused the police to block off the street), and crafting an easter greeting filled with candy... i went to visit my boyfriend at the sex shop while we accidentally huffed on "video head cleaner" and checked out all the "instructional models" and "cake toppers".
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