Monkey Business

I have many needs this week. Many. I have the usual need for coffee, quiet, sleep, Twitter, friends, love, seasonally appropriate clothing…oh, and food. But, in addition, I need 48 hour days, a covey of minions (each with an understudy), five small cloth bats, mini-whites, storage space and a haircut. I also need people to refrain from warming up nasty food in the microwave by my desk. That last one is just a standing order, a pipe dream really.  Our annual Halloween party is this coming Saturday and I am completely unprepared. In the weeks before Halloween, I usually sit on the lanai drinking mint juleps while planning and Luisa holds an umbrella over my head to protect me from the damaging rays of the sun. Yes, party planning genius requires a certain degree of coddling. I usually have lists and diagrams and recipes. I’ve usually sent out requests for the obscure items I need. This year, there have been no mint juleps, no umbrellas and no timely requests. I have not had a chance to peruse my Martha Stewart magazines, have not had time to clean out the basement and garage (the sites for the dungeon and haunted cemetery). Instead, I’ve wrecked my car and cared for a kid with H1N1. As much as you’ve heard about the scary impact of H1N1, I feel that its effect on party planning timelines has been dramatically underreported. I’m here to tell you that a sick kid takes energy away from important tasks like finding a proper top hat. Consider this a public service announcement. 

I’ve been in denial to some degree but, Saturday night, as I went to bed – it all hit me. That’s when most things hit me…when I am trying to sleep. So, I woke up yesterday morning jumpy and anxious. You’ve not really lived until you’ve had the chance to spend time with me when I’m anxious. I’m as fun as a barrel of monkeys…if the barrel is filled with shrieking monkeys that bite and screech in ear-splitting monkey voices, “WE’LL NEVER GET EVERYTHING DONE AND WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE HORRIBLE MONKEY DEATHS!” Yeah, I’m pretty adorable. 

It will all get done. It always gets done, right? If not, I’ll just climb inside the coffin in my garage and ask someone to nail it shut. Dead women don't wear top hats.