I lost my purse. And my mind.

Wednesday was a horrible day for me. So bad, in fact, that I quit that bitch and went to bed at 7:30. It all started when I lost my purse. 

I had to go buy my nephew a birthday present, then drive to class. I've showered, I'm dressed, makeup on, hair did, let's go! I just need to grab my purse and I'm out. But it's not where I left it. Or where I think I left it. Now, I'm a little (lot) anal retentive about my stuff. I have no more than two to three places where I put things like my keys, phone, PURSE, etc. That way I can find things when I need them. If they are not where they should be, it's because someone has moved them and will soon be on the receiving end of a Hulk-out. 

This isn't some dainty little handbag we're talking about. It's a tote bag with a zipper. And it weighs as much as a newborn. It's kinda hard to miss. 

I look in my usual places. Nada. I had it earlier that morning because I got my keys out of it. Didn't I? Or was that yesterday? I move room to room like a crime scene investigator. Now I'm getting antsy. I call Dan. He's busy at work, but texts me. I ask if he'd seen it before he left the house knowing full well that he can't keep track of his own shit let alone mine. He assures me he hasn't seen it and why am I asking if I know I had it after he left for work? I do the logical thing and start crying. 

By now 30 minutes have passed and I'm balls-deep in an anxiety attack. If you've never had an anxiety attack, I sincerely hope you never do. If you have, you know how horrible they are and are probably considering baking me a batch of cookies (I like peanut butter) to help me feel better. You also know that once it subsides, you are completely exhausted and your day is shot. 

I go look in the car (3 times), in the laundry hampers, under furniture, in furniture, in the trash can (inside and outside ones), the bathtub (twice), the freezer (stranger shit has happened), refrigerator (see previous statement) and even the front yard. It's GONE. I'm a shaking, sobbing, mascara-smeared pile of defeat. I'm about to say screw the birthday party, email my instructors, and go hide under the covers for the rest of the day. But not without one last look. 

I go back to the first of the two or three places it should be - the top of the dryer. I've already looked here several times, so I'm not holding my breath. It's not on top of the freshly folded laundry. It's not under it either. Then something shiny and black catches my eye. Part of my purse is sticking out from the MIDDLE of the stack of freshly folded laundry. Fuck you, Wednesday.

Grocery lists are for SQUARES!

I've been on a mission to make some Nutella/chocolate cupcakes that I found a recipe for. Last week, I zipped to Kroger, armed with a print-out of the recipe so I could buy all of the ingredients. I ducked and dodged up and down each aisle, pausing only to estimate how many of each thing to buy. I was a woman possessed. Who wouldn't be? Made-from-scratch Nutella/chocolate cupcakes with homemade vanilla cream cheese frosting? That's what God did on the 8th day. He made these cupcakes.

Then next morning, I get up early, get the kids ready and off to school and get ready to start baking. Wait a minute. Where are my cupcake papers?! SHIT!!! I forgot to buy some. I slink off into a pit of despair and self-loathing.

Fast forward to today. It's a new week and I am DETERMINED to bake those goddamn cupcakes. Off to Kroger I go. Get cupcake papers. Pick up something for dinner.

4 steaks, a pork loin roast, 2 12-packs of Ski, some rice pilaf and a box of Nerds later, I still have no cupcake papers. Is 2:30 too early to start drinking?

Sugar-free Redbull is the nectar of the gods...until it's not.

I've been on a roll today. Woke up at about 5:45, did a little cleaning, got the kiddos ready, went to the bank and dropped them off at school LIKE A BOSS! I was all motivated to go to the gym after I did some homework, but I'm balls-deep in a Redbull crash. I think I'll stay on the couch and try to Jedi mind trick the fat off my thighs. After I eat this bucket of cake frosting. And take a nap.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

The insomnia fairy has decided to pay me a visit again along with her cousin, the back-pain fairy. I dislike them both equally, but they won't leave me alone. So, for nights like this I've discovered that both Kool-Aid (preferably the Tropical Punch variety) and pineapple-orange juice are acceptable mixers for vodka. That guy with the hair from Ancient Aliens and the internet are adequate company until I get to a point where I can sleep. I'm not always such a Debbie Downer, I promise. I don't care what those other assholes tell you.