I know most of you are out doing epic things on a Friday night at 9pm. Getting dolled up, going out, taking a limo somewhere like Chateau Marmont...me, I'm used to some pizza takeout, cheap wine, PJ's and a rented Netflix on a Friday night.
However, tonight I decided to live a little.
I started the evening off with Weight Watchers. Not very exciting to most, who really wants to spend their first hour off of work for the weekend in a double dub meeting about weight loss? I do. And I lost another pound and a half. Which I am aware does not sound like a lot. But that shit adds up. A pound and a half is what you get when you buy some ground hamburger at the grocery. Add that to the 2.5 pounds I lost last week...I was feeling good when I left double dub.
Then I decided to spend my second hour off on a Friday night at the hospital. I needed some blood work done at the lab to see if I have an ulcer (I am 68, less you forget). I walked in, nervous as all hell, saying I was ready for a needle to be jabbed into the underside of my elbow and have a pint of the red stuff taken out. Can you tell, I hate blood, hate needles, hate hospitals? I was a wreck. No better way to spend a Friday night at 6pm. As I entered the lab, the young male lab technician could tell I was nervous. He looked at me and smiled and said "Shauni, right? You are here to leave a stool sample?" He was not even kidding.
I about shit myself right there, making his lab fantasies come true. I was absolutely NOT there to leave a stool sample. Never in a million years. I told him I would rather let him take an arm-full of blood than poo for him in his lab. He eventually straightened things out and took my blood, no side of feces.
I headed home to my man, please with myself for losing over a pound in a week (and not just any week, but superbowl week!) and for surviving giving blood.. I was in a great a mood. Caroline the Corolla even noticed and stopped on the way home at the NH Liquor Outlet--Grey Goose was on sale, so, CHECK! My night was improving by the truck load.
Got home to Mr. G and we decided to eat out at our local bar/restaurant. We pulled up to a crowded parking lot and got a GREAT spot (I created my own spot--I parked in the fire lane). We managed to get our usual seats at the bar while it was really standing room only and within a few minutes, a large drunk man cozied up behind us. He was at least 62, very nice, and clearly wealthy (he continued to tell us about his home in Newport, RI, the yacht club he owned, the Mercedes he drove, and his second home here in VT). We mentioned we were newlyweds, living just down the road, and all in all we got along great (I mean, who doesn't love two young, completely broke, hardworking newlyweds?) He left, got a table, and 5 minutes later...we had a bottle of $80 champagne delivered to celebrate our marriage. It was not for nothing on his behalf--he came over to get a kiss from me and while doing so got a cop of my left breast. But it was very generous, and quite comedic.
Made it home by 9 to a cartoon movie, Juicy pajamas, a roaring fire, and some of that Goose. Life is good.