CRAZY.

That isn't the notation my doctor put at the bottom of my chart, but I would guess it's stamped all over the thing in bold letters.

No... today that word describes my week. Out of town Tricks, banquets, a week at The Restaurant not to be matched and then I got wild and ridiculous last night at midnight and did laundry to the sounds of Bob Marley.

Many stories, many crazy people... but today is not so much about story telling as it is about laying on by big arse and mindlessly flipping the channels on the ridiculously large TV The Husband told me we had to have in order to grow in our humanity.

Whatever. I can see up people's noses.

I just finished The Young and The Restless. A show I have not watched since the summer of '88, but oddly all the characters are still the same. I might get all crazy with myself and switch positions on the couch to catch an old episode of The Jeffersons.

There will be plenty of time for story telling tomorrow.

But today it's all about The Couch.

Happy Memorial Day.

So I didn't fall overboard. I didn't even slip on the dock, or trip in the galley or any of the other follies I seem to get myself into. It was a seemless Trick, in terms of my physical health.

It ended up being a gorgeous night. The clouds were threatening, but they broke and I really don't think you can beat the moonlight dancing off the water. Although perhaps you can beat that with a nice ran of sun bouncing off the water and onto your tanned skin while you sip an umbrella drink with the sound of steel drums in the background.

I need a little vacay.

So the night was fantastic. The people were incredible and the mood was great. There was, of course, those few who always take it to far and seem unable to keep their drinks to a minimum. And on this trip there were two of them, and oh did they put on a good show.

The girl was ... The Keggar Girl. And for those of you who've never been to a keggar in your young and foolish days (I say this with a heavy sigh and a shaking head for the memories...) there was always a girl who spilled on herself, tripped, cried over a boy and at some point during the night would throw up and walk around in a stained shirt all night. If her friends cared about her enough they gave her a sweatshirt to change in to. If they didn't care enough they became impatient with her, rounded up the designated driver and sent her home.

So - Keggar Girl on a boat is an interesting dynamic. She was a darling little thing who - clearly - could not hold her liquor or find the age where she was maybe smart enough to eat a little with her glass (she drank 6) of wine, and maybe remember that if your sea legs aren't so great, perhaps just avoid the bar all together. So where does she go? Do you hang her like a bumper over the side of the boat? I think that crossed Her (very embarassed) Husband's mind as he wrapped her in a blanket and brought her to the bow for some fresh are and time away from the masses. She brought her own sweatshirt, thank goodness, but it was sadly no use as she threw up in it on her way to the lower deck.

And then there was Devil Horns Dude. A college boy home from his second year who apparently mistook this nice 3 Hour Tour as an aforementioned keggar. His Father, our Client, tried in vain to get the kid to relax a little, but the kid was not having it. He was fresh from finals and seemed determined to let loose all the pent up frustration pulling a few all nighters can bring. So he spent his night raising up his hands like he was at a Motley Crue concert giving the big devil horns signs while sticking his tongue out. And then he would run up to the bow and yell, "I am The King Of The World", and would end it all with a nice devil horn sign.

Devil horns in the galley, on the upper deck, on his way to the head. Devil horns by the food, by the bar - all over that boat. I am not sure if it was a class he took at College - "Rocker Sign Language, 101" or if he just felt free of the confines of all that learning and was trying to express his bad self. Either way, I get the distinct impression finals must have been a bitch.

The fresh air must have done some good because Keggar Girl came through the galley and asked for some crackers. She apologized for her lack of good judgement, and asked if we minded that she lounged at the table for a while.

Devil Horns dude kept up his personal party, and by the time we got back to the docks his hands weren't raised quite as high. But his spirit was still in tact. He said good-bye and raised up his hands for one last salute and said, "The food rocked. You rock! Rock on."

Rock on, Dude.

Ok, people. Someone might want to notify The Coast Guard.

I am tricking on a boat. A yacht, actually. Big boat. Huge. Which I am grateful for because anything smaller reminds me of that year I went lake fishing, and in all of the excitement of all that trout I tipped the boat. I also fell out of The Father's Boston Whaler when someone forgot to tell me they were pulling away from the dock. They say those boats never sink. The crew, however - not so much.

Me and starfish - we're close.

I did not mention any of these things to The Client, though I did swallow hard and choke a little on my tea.

Should be fun. Should be - interesting.

Should be a little of white-knuckling the teak rails in the galley.

Love dogs - truly love them.

The Aunt has a tiny fury ankle-biter that insists on pecking at my leg every time I come over. He lunges at me, all vicious like, and growls and barks at my shoes. A couple of times his teeny tiny sharp teeth have made contact with my skin. So to be totally honest, that dog I don't love so much. And to be even more honest, I've been known to sneak a glare and a snarl at the dog now and again to show him who's boss. Though the last time I did that he peed on my foot.

So when we got all the food set up the other night - a gorgeous (finally!) spring evening party - I was a little nervous when I saw The Client's dogs running around the food table. It was a casual party out at The Client's beach cabin, but the dogs were big - horse like - and they could easily reach what we had on display.

And, apparently, what we had in the van.

Without thinking I took a load and kicked the back door of the van closed. Or so I thought. Because when I came back one of the dogs had nudged his nose in the door and went face down in a platter of mini crab melts. I was, as you can imagine, breathless with frustration and anger. And while I would never harm a dog, I did mutter under my breath that I hoped he would get a case of carpet-scooting diarrhea that lasted for days.

When I got to the outdoor kitchen with the mangled platter The Client asked what happened. When I told her she gave me a "*Tsk Tsk* - you really should be more careful about making sure your doors are closed. What do you expect that poor animal to do with all this temptation?" No apology. No offer to tie up the pets. Just a reprimand for my obvious stupidity.

I chuckled a little, bit my lip and smiled.

And then I walked back to the van saying a prayer she gets the diarrhea, too.

I'm a Snooze Pusher.

I am actually more of a Snooze Abuser, as The Husband would attest to, and I am afraid it is a habit I've carried with me all my life. Except in the days before digital alarm clocks. In those days I took my old fashioned bell-ringing alarm clock and hurled it across the room. A habit, The Mother says, that started about the time I was able to navigate my way out of my crib and push The Siblings' alarm clock off the night stand.

And it's not that I am lazy (actually, I am totally lazy) it's that I cannot bear to hear such an offensive sound in the morning. Why can't they create an alarm which reaches out and gives you a gentle nudge? "Wake up sleepy head" in a voice all soothing like The Fairy Godmother. Although I suppose even that would get old and I would find myself seeking out The Fairy Godmother to get her in an arm lock and suffocate her with my pillow.

And the worst part of all of it is I don't even need the alarm. I set it out of fear that tomorrow morning will be the day I over sleep. And yet every day - like clockwork - I wake up exactly 30 minutes before my alarm is set to go off. And instead of getting up like a normal person, I rationalize I've got a few more minutes. Only that few more minutes turns into 3 (ok 9) Snooze Pushes. And this all goes down at the un-Godly hour of 5:30 in the AM.

Another bad habit... well... I should clarify. The Husband calls it a bad habit, I just think it makes good sense... I leave my cell phone on through the night. My rationale is that it is good to let the battery wear itself down. And my other rationale is that there could be a time when there is a crisis in the middle of the night and people need to reach me - I tend to straddle the "I am so important" fence - though no one has actually ever called.

Although lets be honest - the truth of the matter is that I shove the thing in my purse and forget about it.

Anyway.

There have been times where The Friend in Alabama sends me one of her awesome "Have A Great Day!" texts and they come through at 4:30 in the morning. And it used to wake me up and startle me a bit. But now I sleep right through it. Or if it does wake me up I holler, "you have a great day, too!" and then The Husband kicks me and I go back to sleep.

So the other morning when my phone actually rang I was at the end of A Snooze Phase. So my first thought was that the alarm had gone off and I reached out to tap the snooze button but it didn't work. So I hit it again, hard, and it just kept ringing. And then my mind cleared enough to realize it was my phone ringing, so I threw the covers back and made a mad dash for my purse which was interrupted by my tripping over the shoes I left out the night before. That's a nice way to wake up - a nice drop to the knees in front of the chest of drawers.

My heart was racing. It was 5:41 exactly and I feared the worst. No good news comes in the form of a phone call at that time of the morning. So I quick pushed all the buttons to retrieve the message.

"Hi. It's The Client. I know, I know. It's crazy to be calling at this time of the morning. But I have been awake all night putting the last minute touches on things and I started to freak out. Just so we are clear - you are not using Pepper Jack on the cheese trays, are you? I know you gave me a list of the cheeses you will be using, but I started to panic and ask myself what if you used pepper jack. Which isn't even in the ballpark of what you are doing. But we hate pepper jack. And I could not get my mind off that damn pepper jack. So I am sure you're not using it. But I had to leave you this message to get it off my mind. By the time you get this I am sure you will be laughing that I was stressing at this ridiculous hour. So I will talk to you later. Have a great day."

Half way during that message The Husband came over and sat down next to me waiting to see what was so urgent. And as soon as I started avoiding eye contact he raised his eyebrow and started to laugh. I hung up my phone and he said, "So...?" and I looked up at the ceiling and bit my lip.

"Pepper jack crisis."

"Yes. Hugely important. Very serious."

He nodded. "Yes. Very serious."

And just before I started to say something else The Snooze period was over and my alarm went off. I jumped up to go turn it off and on my way I tripped over that same pair of shoes.

I am living the dream, people.

Just living the dream.