Went to Panera at lunch. Got my sweater caught in the console getting out of the car but thought I could just yank it out instead of opening the console. It held for a second then suddenly let go. I already had one leg hanging out, sitting on the edge of the seat so lost my balance and kind of tumbled/butt scooted out of the car. Tried to pretend I was looking for something on the ground but somehow lost my flip flop trying to right myself. Pretty sure the Panera employees think I’m drunk.
Once again it’s been a banner week to be me. Monday we found out our boss’s father had passed away and for some bizarre reason my coworkers trusted me to order something for the funeral. Everyone knows I am not the most competent or practical person in the universe so giving me this kind of crap to do is always a bad idea. Thankfully the coworker I share an office with lent a guiding hand and instead of ordering $70 worth of fried chicken and a sympathy clown we decided on Panera bagels and pastries. I got it ordered all fine and dandy and was feeling really proud of myself until the end of the conversation when the sales person said, “thank you for your order and we’re so sorry for the loss” and me being me, I’d already checked out of the conversation mentally and instead of saying something appropriately solemn and polite like maybe, “Thank you” I had to say in my most chipper voice, “oh no problem, thanks a bunch!”. WTF? I’d just spent 10 minutes discussing with this woman what would be the most appropriate thing to send to a wake (apparently flip flop sugar cookies are not as acceptable as plain short bread cookies, who knew?) and then blew off her sympathy like Marsha Brady ordering penis cookies for a bachelorette party.
Then last night I took Donald for a walk as we are both starting to look like overstuffed sausages. I was too lazy to look very hard for walking clothes and there was a pair of Dave’s old sweat pants on top of my laundry pile so that’s what I grabbed. He’s nearly 6 feet tall and I’m barely 5 so needless to say his pants are a wee bit baggy on me which is fine while I’m putzing around but once I put my keys and phone in the pockets they started to drag just a bit. Of course Donald had to poop at the beginning of the walk and he poops something that looks like the giant mound of dinosaur droppings in Jurassic Park so I couldn’t just kick it under some bushes like I do with the smaller dogs and had to pick it up and drag it around with us for the rest of the walk. Then Donald caught the scent of something and used his 100 pounds as leverage to drag me along behind him, one hand desperately clinging to his leash and the other trying to keep my pants up while slinging around a bag of warm dog poo. Pretty sure I’m gonna end up on YouTube for that performance.
Cripes it hurts to be me sometimes.
I almost killed my dog Angus the other day. Not on purpose and not with unattended butter this time but with my more than ample buttocks.
I may have mentioned my dogs are fairly out of control and any attempt and creating boundaries is useless. At this point even if I tried to enforce them they would think I was just playing and then knock me down and try to eat my hair. With my training skills I’m beginning to think it’s a very good thing I don’t have children. They would probably end up being the terror of Phelps and the surrounding counties and people would secretly refer to them as Dahmer and Bundy behind my back. But I digress.
So being the out of control mongrels that they are they tend to think they are entitled to go everywhere with me no matter what I’m doing. For some reason especially when I go to Dave’s house Angus and Donald think they have to go to the bathroom with me and protect me from the shower curtain. While Donald just flops down on the floor and gives the shower the stink eye while making disgruntled huffing noises at it, Angus jumps right on in the bathtub and sniffs the curtain from the back side then rolls around on his back in the tub. Unless there’s water in it, then he jumps back out and prances around like a dainty ballerina trying to dry his feet off by sniffing then licking them one by one. I have no idea why. Because he’s Angus I guess.
So I’m at Dave’s and we go through our bathroom routine, I go to do my business assuming Angus is in the tub like he always is, and not thinking to look behind me to make sure I have proper clearance I go to sit down when what should my lumbering butt cheek feel but a warm, furry little head instead of cold toilet seat.
You know those stories of how distraught mothers, fueled by adrenaline when their child is stuck under a crashed car suddenly have the strength to pull the car off their baby? I have to believe that super human adrenaline strength and a whole lotta sweet baby Jesus intervention saved Angus from being the filling in a tukhus and toilet sandwich that day. I am neither a small woman or a fit one and the only toned muscle on my body is the one in my arm that delivers food to my mouth, seconded only by the one that moves my middle finger to wave at people that irritate me when I’m driving. So it is truly a miracle that Angus is still alive. I almost yanked the paper dispenser off the wall and felt muscles in my butt, thighs, abdomen and ribs that I didn’t even know existed until I tried to suddenly reverse course, like a panicked and frantically unintended Wayne and Garth schwing salute. Angus on the other hand didn’t even notice that he’d almost had a catastrophic collision with a deadly full moon. He happily continued lapping up refreshing toilet water like nothing had happened. Because he’s Angus.
Super long, super gross story here. My sinuses turned septic (<self-diagnosis) earlier this week and I ended up taking two days off. Back today but thinking perhaps I should have stayed home as every little thing seems like a huge ordeal. First I had some weird existential crisis over my breakfast sandwich. Took a bite that was too hot, while simultaneously realizing I had forgotten to put salsa on it and also a bit of egg fell off. I had to sit still for a second and fight tears because I couldn’t think of which issue to deal with first. I did eventually take a drink to deal with my burning mouth but had to wrap the sandwich up, turn away from it and pull myself together for a few minutes just to finish a god damn egg sandwich. Also, it took me an hour process that whole sentence into words.
Then had some sort of aneurism trying to talk to hot Colonel. I brought tea and tea cookies in for National Tea Day and put up a sign that said so. Hot Colonel came by and says, “Beth, is it National Tea Day?” Christ, has he not met me?? That is so not a question to ask a jack ass. BUT, it was also HOT flipping Colonel who by the way is also my boss’s boss’s boss. Never mind being adorable AF. So my poor festering head was trying cope with A) Hot colonel talking to me and saying my name in his oh so amazing way. B) Hot Colonel asking me a Captain Obvious question that normally I would have snarked all to hell and C) trying to respond in a coherent manner to basically the head of my chain of command. You can probably guess how well that went. I just stared at him, drooling like a pot head staring at a fresh bag of Doritos after finishing a solo fatty. I may have scratched my pit. I did finally manage to say, “Yes……sir.” And then he thankfully he took a hand full of cookies left. Pretty sure he thinks I’m high.
Also, there’s a funny taste in the back of my mouth that kind of suggests my sinuses may be bleeding. Seriously, I think need to go home.
There’s some sort of excitement going on in my ghetto neighborhood tonight. There are rural fire trucks and cable guys everywhere. I’m guessing a cable line came down but the meth makers are worried about their product and keep calling the rual fire department. They keep showing up, drive around for second and then leave again but the cable guys are still here. Was standing at the window with my dogs watching the excitement of meth heads scrambling to hide their stash when I noticed one of my neighbor ladies. She’s either a tweaker in her late twenties or a normal person in her late fifties. Either way she still does a pretty good job of rocking what she’s got. I saw her come out of her house, dressed like a normal person after work, sweats and a tshirt and pony tail. She surveyed the situation and went back in only to reappear a few minutes later in cute but tight capris and a sleeveless shirt with her hair down and flowing and standing in one of those cute girl poses with one knee sort of bent. Not to be outdone when the Gods of man meat are smiling down on me and practically delivering potential afternoon delights to my door, I sashayed out onto the porch in my own super sexy wear, aka sweats I stole from my ex boyfriend who was 6 ft 4 and 400 lbs. Just imagine a super white sumo wrestler with a goatee and redneck accent and that’d be him. So you can imagine just how seductive this getup really is. (Or how unseductive he was.)The crotch of my sweat pants sags down to my knees and are held up with a safety pin. And being outside braless isn’t really doing me any good as this shirt looks like something I bought at Ozark tent and awning. So I’m just standing here hoping the breeze will blow my way and at least sort of show off my pendulous bosom in the right light. So far I haven’t captured me a hunky fireman but my efforts (or my dogs) did earn me a wave from one of the volunteer fire kids so I’m still calling this evening a win. Bow chica wow wow ya’ll.
And while this sweet clusterfuck was unraveling I had texted work to make them aware of my situation. I expected some snarky response but was relieved that they at least had mercy on me. Or did they? Of course not. Sure enough when I get to the office Cowoker McSnarky with the photoshop skills hands me this masterpiece. Then my boss is yelling, “Too bad, this is on you!!!” and I’m yelling, “I KNOW!!” and now I’m totally feeling like a less competent version of Rodney Dangerfield. *sniffle* No respect!
I had a unpleasant stomach bug over the weekend and haven’t quite bounced back to my normal, sweet, sparkly unicorn self (< ha ha, sarcasm) and am crankier than Kardashians denied access to a camera crew and wealthy black men. It’s been really hard not to throw the eff word around like glitter at a strip club. I’m normally pretty good at pretending to be interested in what my coworkers are saying. It’s usually not that hard to say, “oh really? And what did she say to that?” and then follow up the appropriate uh-huh’s and sure’s when internally I’m thinking, “You are dumber than a box of hair and I wish I could kill you with fire.” But even that’s been tough today. The most I can muster is a dead stare that apparently says I want to eat your soul with grape jelly and biscuits judging by the way people have started to avoid speaking to me. I honestly don’t mean to be a soul sucking harpy. Usually I’m such an ADD riddled flake that everything is entertaining in some way but since my surprise colon cleanse I’ve just been a big ole pile of angst and loathing. A human grumpy cat that just wants to shout NO! at everyone and conspicuously close the elevator doors on people trying to catch it and openly pick my nose while other people are trying to eat. I’m sure it will go away in a day or two but until then y’all should probably avoid inviting me to dinner.
In an attempt to fight feeling frumpy I went shopping at one of those chain stores that seems to market to women much younger than me. Because nothing says not frumpy like stuffing yourself into Jr size clothing. Thankfully better sense prevailed (rare for me) and I just bought me a nice new belt. In my rat like fervor for all things shiny I got one with a giant cluster of rhinestones on it. Have been walking around all day basking in my own less frumpy fabulousness till I went to the bathroom and realized my lovely new belt had slid down under my muffin top and was making me look like I had an oddly high beer gut. Like someone’s middle aged dad in drag. Also, my shirt had bunched up under the belt on one side. So I guess it was like a drunken, middle aged dad in drag. That was bad enough but then I went and flopped back down in my office chair, sinking into a slouch because I no longer felt fabulous. While hunched over my dangly necklace caught on my belt. I went to reach for my drink and it suddenly let loose and popped up in my face and startled me into making an odd barking yelp noise. Then I got my skirt wrapped around the wheel of my chair and almost pulled it off when I stood up. My skirt, not the wheel. Thank goodness my coworkers are gone because many expletives were uttered. Many pirate ancestors were made very proud. Also, my giant gaudy belt keeps knocking against my desk every time I move. Thunk, thunk, scrape thunk…. all damn day long. Today is not a bueno day. Sniffle.