Run, Mashbot, Run! (Or: When A Perfectly Good Day Kicks You In The Ladyballs)

Today was a good fucking day.  A GREAT day, even.  I was in a fantastic mood, went to breakfast with my mom, got a lot of shit done, squeezed in some downtime (dancing and using a bunch of jackets on the back of the door as punching bag; no, I'm not kidding), and fixed some crap on my computer that I've been meaning to take a crack at and actually succeeded at accomplishing.  YES!  I WIN AT COMPUTERING!

I've been sick for the last week or so and have done nothing but sleep and watch TV and then sleep more and get up to pee.  I'm finally feeling not only better, but like I said-- fantastic.  Noa's day camp in Goffstown has a bus that takes her back to Manch and stops about a mile and half north of where we live at 5:15 every day and today instead of begging someone to pick her up, or taking a cab, I was all "Dude. I mean BUSINESS right now."  I put on some shorts and a sports bra (I told you I wasn't fucking around! The sports bra is the briefcase of jogging!), made myself an awesome playlist featuring THIS--



-- and THIS--



-- strapped my sporty iphone armbandy thingajanger onto my arm, and was off.  I tucked a $20 behind my phone in the armbandy thingajanger just in case I needed to stop for water (ahahahahahahahaha), and was like "DON'T FUCK WITH ME, WORLD."

At 4:30 I stormed up Bridge Street like I was on my way to bust a meth lab and even turned on one of those phone apps to "map my walk" so I could look back at it later and feel bad about my 16 minute mile.  I made the crosswalks my bitches and stormed across them glaring at oncoming traffic like I was....Boss Of All The Crosswalks, I guess?  I started to feel REALLY good and was all "Fuck walking, I'ma do me some jogging!"

I jogged about two blocks and then started to have a heart attack so I set the next telephone pole as my Don't Die Until Then goal.  And you know what?  Success!  I didn't die!  I slogged along for a couple more blocks and then was all "YEAH, jogging!" again so did a two block jog, two block walk thing until I got close to the church where Noa's bus stops.

 At this point I was barely walking a straight line.  Oops.  Overdid it.  So I stumbled into a gas station, ripped open a cooler door, pulled a Gatorade from the shelf and proceeded to chug like it was being funneled into my mouth from a second story window.  Why Gatorade, you ask?  Well, to enhance my performance, DUH.  I remembered to pay the attendant before I stumbled back out, and dragged my ass the last stretch to the Brookside Congregational Church.  I had assloads of time to spare-- because I don't want to brag or nothin', but I did 1.58 miles in 23 minutes, which is a 14:37 minute mile and I KNOW you must be jealous of my jogging {slogging?} prowess.

Face throbbing and heart beating like a death knell, I threw myself down under a tree...and you know what?  I STILL FELT FUCKING FANTASTIC.  Endorphins: not a myth!  I sat under that tree with a goofy smile and caught my breath and said to myself  "Next time it's going to be a 13 minute mile.  Baby steps."  (Sidequote: "I'm sailing!" -What About Bob)

This--



--came on my phone and I laid back and sang along with my earbuds in while I took shitty lomo photos of the church and waited for the bus.  AHHHHHHH.   I'm just gonna dance all night!  All was well in the world for our fearless hero Mashbot!

                                                     (Plane And Steeple! Lomo GENIUS!)


And then the fucking bus pulled in.  And I looked at my armbandy thingajanger and shit my pants, because I had failed to put the most basic of necessities in the goddamn thing-- MY DRIVER'S LICENSE, the one and only thing required for the bus peeps to release my child to me.  I desperately started looking through my phone for something with my picture and name on it, and yeah-- NOT A FUCKING THING IN MY PHONE IS GOOD FOR ANYTHING EVER.  I tried to casually be like "Here's my Facebook page" and the YMCA counselor looked at me like I had just tried to use a piece of toilet paper with "Noa's Mom" written on it as my ID.

So at this point the MOST INTENSE PANIC EVER set in.  I'm not ashamed to admit that I started crying.  At this point they were going to take her back to Goffstown, and for round trip cab fare that would have cost me $40-$50.  Which I CANNOT AFFORD EVER, because unemployment is an unfriendly bitch.  I asked if I could get on the bus and if we could stop on the way to the next bus stop when it got close to our neighborhood so I could Usain Bolt it to my house, grab my ID, and beam myself to pick up my kid.
They promptly shut me down.  Not because they didn't trust that I'm a fast fucker like Usain Bolt (I was wearing a sports bra, I think they knew I meant Speed Business) but because they can't allow anyone else on the bus but the campers and counselors.

At this point I was so desperate I was babbling incoherently about all the tree-named streets near downtown.  "Chestnut?  Do you go by there?  Walnut? Beech?  Ash Maple Myrtle fucking Orange?"  The bus driver finally took pity on me (*I owe you one in life, bus driver.  When the zombie apocalypse comes I'll find you and take you to my super fast jogging camp*) and offered "You live on Ash?  After we stop on South Maple we come back up Maple Street and head north to the Amoskeag Bridge."  So of couse I continued to babble incoherently: "Okay ahhhhh I'm going to run as fast as I can but it's like a mile and a half and I think I might die trying but goddammit I'm going to Usain it to my house, grab my ID, and I'll be out on the corner of Maple next to the Dominos Pizza waving my ID around like a fucking weirdo when you go by and if I don't make it....well, fuck my life, I'll take a cab to the backwoods of Goffstown."  (Truth: there was really no swearing {unless you count "shit"} because there were children staring awkwardly at me, including me own. But in my head I said the f-word so many times I should get an honorary sailor's medal.)

And in a panic I looked my six year old in the eyes and gritted my teeth and said "Everything's okay, I'll meet you in a little while."  And in the way that a six year old will, she made no bones about it.  She sat next to her friend (Sara? Madison? Arianna? Fuck.  Forgive me, parenting gods) and waved and said "Okay, mommy!"

And then the bus driver pulled that gear thing that makes that hideous squeal that busses make, and off he went.

And I  FREAKED.  I sprinted up Chestnut street carrying my stupid sporty armbandy thingajanger with the headphones dragging behind me and then....I realized that I would probably literally die trying to make it there on foot before them.  So, classy broad that I am, I called Queen City Taxi as I was running in between construction cones and roadblocks with tears streaming down my face and shrieked at them that I needed a cab to find me while I was running south on Chestnut Street.  And the guy was casually like "Yeah, sure, five minutes" because apparently this happens frequently in Manchester (although I'm assuming under different circumstances, possibly involving meth labs).

And five minutes later a cab passed me and I waved my phone in the air while sobbing (because that's the universal sign for "Cab, please!") and then was on the phone shrieking to the people from the Y before I even had the door closed.  They were all "Yeah yeah, we'll let the counselor on the bus know" and without using a single obscenity I said "NO, TRUST ME, SHE KNOWS.  Please give her my phone number and if she passes the spot where I'm supposed to meet her and I'm not there PLEASE HAVE HER CALL ME so I can sob hysterically.  Sounds good!  Thaaaanks!"

And the cab driver caught on to my "issue" and was like "Hey honey, I'm going to get you there as fast I can."  HERO!  He avoided the traffic on Bridge, ran a few people over, knocked down a couple stop signs, brushed off a high speed chase with the police, etc etc, and when we pulled up to my building he cheered "You can do it!  Go, honey!" while I threw money at him.

Up three flights of stairs.  Gave the brushoff to friendly neighbor.  Kicked open the front door without using the key (JK. But no, I seriously did. I WISH.)  Dove onto my bed, grabbed my purse, somehow flew back down the stairs without any serious injuries, gave the brushoff to friendly neighbor AGAIN, and took off down the street and around the corner to the wasteland of the Dominos parking lot.

And I waited.

And I swore.

And I waited.

And I saw that bus pull up, and I put my hand up to the oncoming traffic (*what is the deal with that stretch of Maple Street near Corey Square?  It's a packed neighborhood and people take that stretch at like 50mph.  UNNECESSARY, says Bad Day Lady), and I ran.  I flashed my ID and the counselor nodded like I was trying to get into a 21+ show at frigging House Of Blues (I didn't even get a pink wristband! No fair!) and Noa got off the bus-- and I grabbed her, and I squeezed the shit out of her, and I said "I'm so sorry if that was scary for you!"

And she said....."Nah. I knew you would find me."  And then she nodded toward la conveniencia across the street and said "Hey, can I get an ice cream for after dinner?!"

She got her ice cream.  DUH, you guys.  I'm a sucker for a kid with a good attitude.  And you know what?  She could care less that the entire shitstorm even went down.  Clueless. 

Amen.








IMPORTANT NOTE:  Despite Noa's bus stop being at a church, there were unfortunately no nuns cheering me on as the title pic may suggest.  Major bummer.