I went to bed early, I'm still running late

I went to bed at 1AM (after "Saturday Night Live" - yes, I do that) and now I am up again. Because I was thirsty. Isn't that weird? I find it weird, and kind of unsettling. I did drink hardly anything all day. A coffee and a soda or two.

Still, you'd think I'd be sleeping straight through to the Grammys (not a Grammy nerd, I'm working) after the day I had today. First, I got up sickly early for a Saturday to get ready to go to brunch with Park Slope ladies. We don't see the Park Slope ladies nearly enough (this was going to be our Christmas outing) and so we agreed to go to Park Slope in an effort to just get to see them.

This was not to be, as Oscar, our extremely old-ass truck, decided he wasn't really feeling like a trip to Park Slope, and he'd rather stop working altogether right there on the BQE. Genius Dollie managed to coast him off the nearest exit. And we sat 10 feet off an off-ramp in Cobble Hill waiting for AAA.

How long? You're not going to believe this part. Three and a half hours. Magical. Right at the end, I had to give up (we weren't just sitting there patiently waiting, but all of the back and forth on the phone is too painful to go into. Also, while I was certain my idea of ripping the tags and plates off the car and leaving him there was foolproof, others were skeptical. Oscar, I don't want to leave you this way, but you've hurt me too many times now.) as it was getting dangerously close to the time I had to leave to get to a wake (see, heck of a day), so I abandoned Dollo y El Fano and hopped on the B61-oh for the longest recorded 6-mile trip ever. Then I got home, the kids got home, Oscar got to the mechanic (who was so totally closed by that point) and I got ready to go back out again.

So I get on the L Train, which I am meaning to be taking to the end (of Brooklyn. We're not talking 8th Ave, loves), but that was not to be, as it was only running halfway. Thus proving my point that the MTA has it in for any train that has any form of "Rockaway" as a destination. Haters. So out I went and into a shuttle bus (fantastic -- Dear MTA, I love you.), which took 55 minutes to go what takes about 10 on the train.

When it was time to leave the wake, someone offered me a ride home, but given my transport track record for the day, I couldn't feel reponsible for any more horror I brought with me.

Instead, one of the lovely daughters of the deceased (a lovely daughter who, it should be noted, is too tough for even I to mess with; I thought the fates of transportation wouldn't dare) drove me to Broadway Junction, where I hopped a (local, thanks) A to the G and got home at a decent time.

See why I hate leaving the house?

Ugh, now I've had three pint glasses of water, and I feel awful. And yet still thirsty. In a horrible, "you would salt fish from the Dead Sea" way. I blame MSG. Seductive in small doses, but there must have been way too much in something.