Why is my alarm going off at 6am on a Saturday? Gawd!

I wake up Wednesday (not at home) and turn off the alarm on my phone. Upon hearing 40-so minutes of garbage trucks and beer bottles, I realize it’s 9am and I’m late. Really late considering I have to drive all the way home, dress appropriately, then drive another 30 east to the office.

Made it in by 10. How do I do it?

Tuesday was Dad’s birthday, so we went to the Indians game. Finally I get my car back after two days in the shop for *serious* electrical problems that netted around $400. I seriously considered wearing my Cubbies shirt I bought in Chicago last year. I gave our Tribe one more chance (which, foreshadowing to Wednesday, I’ve become a fair-weather gal). Me, Dad, Grandpa and a friend enjoyed ourselves without a sprinkle of rain or the misgivings of a sucky really sucky baseball team. Made some new friends at Batters Eye and followed-the-leader to The Clevelander for a lovely summer evening of beers and patio smoking. I’m still on the lookout for some guy I met that night that I failed in receiving his number by being too preoccupied with friends. Talked into trying this LeBron LeBomb shot everyone keeps raving over. Something similar to the RedBull-Jager-Vodka 2-part conconctions of late, but with Crown (get it, King James, Crown?) cranberry (I’m pretty sure that wine color was cranberry juice), Sprite (His sponsor), sour mix. All put together — wine and gold, baby. Closed up shop with a Buff Chicken Wrap at Nick’s Sports Corner Bar and the leaf of a Ginko Biloba plant in my purse. Are these indigenous to the downtown area?

Did you ever have one of those sleeping experiences where you wake up and you can’t figure out if it’s morning or night? Well, after already freaking out in the wee hours of Wednesday morning, I take a nap when I get home from work. I receive a phone call around 8. I jump out of bed with massive freak-out intentions and like, “Shit! I’m late for work AGAIN!” Only, it’s PM…

I figure I already started the shower, guess I’ll make use of it and head out for the evening. Who’s on a roll?

Start the New Wednesday with a sausage fest at D’Vine downtown. Tables full of men, 3-4 at a time. Is this where the men hide out for weekly dudefests… albeit, slighty swanky with an air of pompousness? Maybe there’s some kept secret at midnight where all the sudden women come out of a magic wine bottle or something, I don’t know…

Walking past Bar Flyy, we chuckle about the waste of space and DJ for such a dead during-the-week-night. Oooh, the dramatic irony will bite you later. Blind Pig on a Wednesday was bare. Liquid pulled in a pretty good set of numbers. First-guy-to-hit-on-me was some poser that felt necessary to name-drop he was sitting with Rueben Droughns… uh, I don’t care. Second-guy-that-maybe-I-actually-hit-on was a salsa instructor. Third-hottie-with-a-beard was appreciative of the fact I chose him out of the crowd, but was satisfyingly-in-love… with the girl right beside him.

Since I was apparently playing a horrible game (not unlike those 9 little men that dressed in uniforms tonight and pretended to be major leaguers for a couple hours), we change venues again — but not before a sandwich pit-stop in Panini’s — to Bar Flyy where we partied like it was Saturday Night Dance Party. I did make the comment when I woke up… Short interaction with a couple of doc film producers from somewhere-sounding-British before I locked in one of my guy friends as my dancing partner. The best from the party-ball-buster at Bar Flyy when the ugly lights came on: (to all those not noticing the time is now 2-something am) Stop making out! It’s time to leave!

My travel arrangements are set for the 30th. I will be in Wyoming visiting Jackson Hole for something of an adventure date. This will be an awesome (and well-needed) vacation. I need to erase some bad previous July 4th memories.

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