No-Nip Slip

It's been another groundbreaking and comical day. My brother's friend Rich stayed with me last night and we hung out today. We're having 30 mph winds on the beach, so we decided to go over to the ocean to see the wave and surfer situ.

The waves were pretty lame and the sand was blowing something fierce. We stayed for a few and snapped some pics. At a certain point, Rich held out his arm and took one of both of us. Then I took two of him by himself. Then he took one of me by myself, after I'd rotated from the previous direction. Okay, after he shot the pic of me, I looked down and realized that my nippleless breasts were completely exposed to all of South Beach. It was so sandy that he couldn't really see the screen. And obviously, so windy that my bathing suit top AND my sundress fell down. I was in TWO different photos, facing two different directions showcasing the nippleless girls for everyone's viewing pleasure.

After we realized what had happened, we were hysterical.

"Well, I thought I noticed a lot of flesh, but it was hard to tell. I thought your bathing suit was down there somewhere."

Oy vey. And no, I'm not posting the photos. I had absolutely no desire or intention to go topless while nippleless, believe you me. Yet somehow I managed to make that happen. What a go-getter!

Yet, I'm in a really foul mood at the moment. I attribute my bitchiness to scrambling for Costa Rica and Vegas; trying to put together a creative, complicated gift for dad's 60th the same weekend as the wedding; getting several different stories together on deadline; copyediting a 24 page feature in Heeb; maintaining my diet and health; fulfilling social obligations; and as usual, fretting about what the fuck I'm going to do with my fucking life.

But after I dropped Rich off at MIA aeropuerto, I found myself extremely wound-up, driving straight to CVS to fill an Ativan scrip. You're really scraping the bottom of the barrel when it comes to benzos if you're relying on Ativan, FYI. But I've been giving lots of friends Zannies and Klonopins, leaving me with the lamer scrips until I see my shrink (who did not dump me, BTW). Anyway, Ativan does absolutely nothing to you unless you've never taken any drug ever. Seriously, it's lame. So I ask the pharmacist:

"What's the maximum dosage for Ativan?"

Thick accent: "What do you mean?"

"I mean how many of these fucking things can I take? What's a strong dose?"

"This is 1 mg that is good dose."

"Noo, it's not. One does nothing for me. So how many can I take without overdosing," I say through clenched teeth, as I don't have time to have to Google this shit.

Elan, the pharmacist I know, walks over. "Elan," I say dismissing the other dude, "What's the maximum dosage of this I can take?"

He smirks at me. "The question you need to be asking is what is the dosage your doctor prescribed within a 24-hour period."

"Okay."

"So one every four hours is six."

"Well it says six hours but you could do four hours. So that would be 6 yeah," he says.

"Okay, so no more than six."

What do you think I'll be doing come bedtime tonight?