I'm Running Late. Again?

Last week my hair stylist sent me a text message letting me know she was running late and, instead of getting together at noon as planned, she said she might be 15-30 minutes behind schedule. 

If this were anyone else, I’d believe them.  But since it was Alissa, I was standing at the door waiting for her precisely at noon just as the doorbell rang.

Alissa is one of those perpetually prompt people and you could set your watch by her.  Well, if you want your watch to be fifteen minutes early, that is.

I’m sure the words, “Sorry, I’m running late” have never actually crossed her lips.

I, on the other hand, am thinking of having those words tattooed on my forehead.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I’m completely irresponsible.  If I were to have an appointment with, say, the IRS, believe you me I’d show up at the appointed time. And I’ve never been late for the doctor, which is kind of funny when you think about it because when have you ever been seen by a doctor exactly on time?

It’s not that I don’t know how to plan my time efficiently. It’s more that I don’t like being early, so I invariably run late.

Whenever I’m told an event starts “around” or “approximately,” those are magic words that mean I’ll be there at least forty-five minutes after that time.

Consequently, I rarely attend surprise parties. Why? Because there’d be a very good chance the birthday girl and I would walk in at the same time. You’re never the most favorite person at the party when you’re responsible for ruining the surprise.

I haven’t quite figured out why I’m so prone to running late. Maybe it’s because back in my earlier, more responsible days, I tended to be the first to arrive.

This wasn’t good either.  It was really awkward when the hostess answered the door wearing a bathrobe and a towel turban.

Maybe also it’s because whenever I was the first to arrive, I was put on crudité prep duty while the hostess, you know, dried her hair. And got dressed. Back then I wasn’t very good with crudité prep. Back then I was more comfortable throwing a few veggies on a tray with some pre-packaged dip and calling it a day.

But with Vince’s help, I’m getting better. If we’re supposed to be somewhere at 8, we are there at 8. Unless Vince has to work. His work schedule is very unpredictable and he rarely leaves right on time.  Which means that I’m usually still running late.

Like right now. I’m supposed to be at a birthday party. And I’m not ready.

Crap.

All I can say is, thank goodness it’s not a surprise party.

Gotta go.

Running Late was NOT in the Plan

Today has not proceeded as originally planned. I got up early this morning and…okay…well, early for me, anyway. (Hey, I consider even five minutes before my normal wake-up time “early” – okay? And this was like a half hour earlier than normal!)

My plan was to fortify myself with some caffeine and then forage in our sadly depleted fridge for some sustenance. I figured I should even have enough time to wash a load of darks and could take my time getting ready for work instead of racing around and flying out the door in a mad dash to get to work on time.

That was the plan. And isn’t it interesting how life throws us curve balls?! (I am not, by the way, very good at fielding curve balls.)

But, anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself.

I headed downstairs and the first item on my agenda was to free the little kitties from their sleeping quarters. Only I discovered that Vince had let them out when he came downstairs at 4:15am – and never put them back inside their prisons, er, kitty condos when he left for work.

Fortunately, the little angels were quietly napping on the loveseat. Since they’re not always quite so angelic, I cringed a little bit as I headed into the dining room because I was sure I’d walk into total mayhem and destruction. But neither the tablecloth nor the candlesticks had been disturbed and no plant on the premises had to give up its life to the little furballs.

Wow. All quiet on the dining room front.

Next, I walked into the kitchen. I wasn’t too worried that they’d gotten on the counter and played field hockey with my car keys – mostly because they’re still a little too small to jump up on the kitchen counters.

Curiously, the front burner on the gas stove was on. Barely, but still on nonetheless. On the burner was the pot in which Vince usually cooks his morning oatmeal. Since he knows very well that I’m not terribly fond of oatmeal, I was sure he hadn’t made extra for me and was attempting to keep it warm until I arose. Since he had left two hours prior, I was a little afraid at what I’d find when I lifted the lid. But lift it I did.

Inside the pot was a mysterious brown substance that looked nothing like oatmeal. Rather than try to make a guess or – heaven forbid! – taste the stuff, I simply turned off the stove, put the lid back on the pot and backed out of the kitchen.

By this point I was thoroughly exhausted.

Okay, I wasn’t technically exhausted from my activities thus far. Technically, I was tired because I’d had a restless night and hadn’t slept very well. But still. I took a little detour to the couch while I decided my next steps…and promptly fell asleep.

When I woke up, it was precisely 8AM. This is precisely the time I should be walking out the door to get to work on time.

Have you ever startled a cat and all four paws lift off the floor at the same time? Yeah, that was me. Two-legged, but the effect was essentially the same.

I think I even emitted a squeak that sounded pretty much like Jinx sounds when she’s hungry – only a lot louder and a lot more panicky.

I dashed to the kitchen, snagged the kitty food and slung it in the general direction of the food bowls. I picked up the kittens and tenderly kissed each one before flinging them into their cages and slamming the locks closed. I ran upstairs and brushed things and washed things and threw on whichever clothes were immediately handy and slapped a little cover stick and lip gloss somewhere on my face and then ran back downstairs.

I grabbed a chocolate chip cookie on my way out the door, which served as breakfast. As I couldn’t even think about taking the time to heat up the coffee and carefully measure the soy milk and sugar-free flavoring I normally use to make the coffee palatable, I yanked a can of Diet Dr. Pepper out of the fridge and hoped that its teeny bit of caffeine would perk me up to get through the rest of my day.

Yeah, well, that didn’t work so well.

Once I caught my breath and my heart rate returned to some semblance of normal, I focused on the road and managed to get to work um…well…within a few moments of my normal start time.

I figured that was pretty good considering I was snoozing at the time I was supposed to be walking out the door. Plus, I didn’t think anyone at work would really want to see me with bed hair, wearing a robe and my fuzzy slippers and sporting morning breath. I did them a favor – right?!

So my plan for tomorrow? I think I’ll just get up at my normal time. Having “extra” time in the morning is just way too dangerous.

4:15 In The Freaking AM

Vince’s alarm didn’t go off at its regularly scheduled 4:15 AM wake-up time. Fortunately, he woke up on his own 15 minutes later – but that’s 15 minutes that he needs to get himself coiffed, dressed, fueled up with breakfast and coffee and out the door and on the road.

So I got up with him this morning. At 4:30 in the morning. That’s A.M. in case you missed it. I don’t do 4:30AM well.

Nevertheless, the man has done his fair share of getting me up and out the door at the appointed time, so I thought it only fair to reciprocate. One 4:30AM reciprocation should suffice for hundreds of 7AM efforts – don’t you think?! Wonderful. Glad we're in agreement. (Hey Vince – good news. We’re even!) (And, yes, I do realize that it’s good news for me – but it’s good news nonetheless!)

So anyway, while my husband got himself ready for the day, I stumbled downstairs and pushed the “on” button for the coffee maker and put a bagel in the toaster. I collected his lunch from the fridge and put it in his insulated bag. And I poured his now piping hot, fresh coffee into his travel mug.

And then I did something that I personally thought was pretty darn heroic. I sliced some sort of fish sausage that he bought last week when we were in upper Michigan – and put the slices on his bagel. Ick.

I really don’t do fish. Three hand washings later, I swear I could still smell seafood on my fingers. But Vince thinks this fish sausage is tasty – and has been enjoying it on his morning bagel, so I wanted to make the guy happy.

Once I shooed him out the door, I was less sleepy and wondered what sort of trouble people get themselves into before dawn’s early light. So I flipped on the computer and did some surfing. I cleared out my junk e-mails. I finished yesterday’s blog and got a head start on this one. And I wished assorted and sundry friends a happy birthday today.

By this point it was all of 6AM. Still too early to get up unless I wanted to do something crazy like deep knee bends or stomach crunches in the living room. I didn’t. But by this time, I was also freezing, so I hustled back upstairs and donned a pair of wool socks and a long sleeve sweater – and then jumped back in bed.

This was not a smart move – because I fell into a deep sleep and I, too, did the “15 Minutes Late” dance. Arrgghh! And there was no Vince downstairs to prepare my morning (fishless) bagel.

Nevertheless, I’m a whiz at putting myself together on the run and getting out the door on time. I grabbed a breakfast bar and my coffee and hit the road. I was in time to hear “celebrity sleaze” on the Morning Zoo, so I knew I was on track.

However, what I neglected to take into consideration was that it was another cold, rainy morning. A little bit of drizzle outside and commuters freak out around here. There were about a billion of us all heading toward downtown at the aggravating pace of about 30 miles an hour. Ugh.

Guess it’s time for another recalculation of the morning departure time. First we had the yellow school bus situation. Now we have the bad weather situation. If these situations keep up, I may be getting up at 4:15 with Vince to head downtown for my morning commute. Sure, I’d get to my office before anyone in the civilized world is awake (yeah, yeah, I know about time zones…work with me here), but at least I wouldn’t have to deal with the slow-moving masses.

Let me think about that for a minute. On the one hand there’d be virtually no traffic. On the other hand…4:15 AM.

Guess there’s no contest.

Okay, you Columbus commuters. It’s only a little rain. MOVE IT!