Tragedon, Traumadon, and Lusticus

Blythe and I have gone a little ridiculous expanding our Metron circle of godly friends. Now we have:

Metron- god of the New York City Transit system

Traumadon- god of little tragedies

Tragedon- god of big tragedies

Lusticus- god of, well, you know...

We decided our gods have their own Mount Olympus. Their land? Staten Island. Yup. Our gods live on Staten Island. Why? Because it's a place every New Yorker has heard of but no one has ever gone to or is 100% certain it exists.

Traumadon and Tragedon are in a feud, much like Hera and Zues. I pissed off Metron the other night, letting Swetus go through the metro turnstile with me, thus saving him $2 on his Metro Card. I decided that then Metron shopped out his services to Tragedon and Traumadon seeing who could help him out with my blasphemous self. Because Metron was good to me this weekend, almost TOO good.

Traumadon and Tragedon vied for his affections.

I had a doctor's appointment in a far away land on Saturday, and Metron was just good enough to me to have the train leave in one minute from my arrival. This was good. Traumadon decided to have me drop my iPod Billie trying to catch it, thus rendering it useless for the train ride. I'm sure it just needs to chill and then Billie should be back to normal.

All the same, I kinda wanted to die. I actually called to find out how much a car would cost in both directions because the thought of riding the train without Billie was so horrendous to me. Turns out, the cost of a private car to and from Long Island is slightly more horrendous.

Tragedon stepped in to win Metron's alliance against Traumadon. Coming back, I had a big bottle of water. I tripped and said water spilled all over INSIDE my purse. My checkbook? Ruined. My directions to some place I was to go later? Dunzo. And most tragic of all? All in Billie. If he wasn't dead before, he be DEAD now, man.

It's so sad I can hardly stand it.

The gods clearly hate me.

The rest of the weekend was lovely. Especially Sunday, where I met up with Blythe for brunch, hair, and walking time. I had been up late with Swetus the night before. He was indulging in some drugs, I was not since I wanted to be functional the next day for Girls Day, so I watched 24 in my room while he played with Spencer and another friend of theirs.

I called Conor to bitch at him for a very LAME April Fools' joke that really just made me worry and not in a funny way.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Well, Swetus is partying late but I'm going to try to make it an early night. Which just means that Swetus will be crawling into my bed at about 5 or 6 in the morning and then try to do me."
[I maybe sounded a bit frustrated. To be fair, I was more pissed at Conor's stupid joke than Swetus]

"Wow. Sounds romantic."

"I'm living the dream."

But I was totally right. But it was okay. He didn't expect me to be on top, which is all a girl cares about when a man wakes you up for sex. Lusticus was clearly on our side.

But anyway, it left me a bit tired for a 10:15 wake up call. I was hoping I'd call Blythe and she'd tell me SHE was hungover and then, no harm no foul. We'd meet up for our hair appointment at 2 and I would get a bit more sleep. At the time my alarm went off, a woodpecker seemed to have mistaken MY BRAIN for a tree and was going at it like it was going out of style.

"I'm so excited about Girly Day!"

[Oh shit. She sounds chipper.]

"Yeah, me too [brain dies]. So noon, then [coughs up lung--goddamn cigarettes]?"

"See you then!"

"See ya [if there was an opposite of an exclamation, here's where it would go]"

Swetus just shifts in his sleep. I swear loudly, pop two Advil, and give myself an extra half hour sleep. In his sleep, Swetus rubs the back of my head like he knows. Good Swetus. Thanks.

I wake up, not dying in pain, but certainly not bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I choose my hangover poison carefully and put on my very big, very dark sunglasses to venture out into the day.

It is lovely. The weather is actually perfect. And while I started out fairly rough, my hangover cure kicked in about two blocks into my walk, and then the thought of NOT having french toast and mimosas on this lovely day seemed to be the greatest tragedy that Tragedon could think of.

Brunch is lovely. Blythe is lovely.

Hair is fun. My hair makes me happier than I can say. I'm a blonde rockstar. Pictures soon. I did have Devon take a picture of it last night but then I had just spilled beer on myself and it's ruined the picture. Stupid beer. Just once, I'd like to drink it without spilling it all over myself.

Becca met up with us, and we walked around Brooklyn, acting like kids. Which, when you're older, translates to acting like idiots. But it's absolutely the nicest day I can recall in a while, and not just because of the weather.

I walk home from it all, put on multiple episodes of Season 3 of 24 and imagine Jack Bauer chopping a finger off an unpleasant person in some stupid meeting that sometimes happens at work. Ah, Jack Bauer. If only, if only...

Tonight I will do my duties as bridesmaid and help Spring out with some little stuff that she wants to do before her folks arrive. I have conscripted the aid of Swetus as well. He wants to check out their pool table, I want him to see my friends in their natural habitat. And an extra set of hands will be nice when working with small and delicate wedding items. I mean, he works with DNA all day. I imagine he's steady enough to handle stamping matchbooks. Me, however? It'll be a wonder if I manage to not burn down their apartment.

This is what I believe they call the Good Life.

If only I could make something up to the gods and get my Billie back, all would be well in my world.