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.
So of course the water meter reader would show up while all my dogs were out in the yard. I ran out to try to get them back inside or at least stop lunging at the fence and snarling but I was slipping around the dog turd covered hellscape that is my yard in flip flops and sweat pants that are 5 sizes too big and look like those Turkish trousers with the drop crotch and my sad sacks sadly braless, swinging low and comin’ for to carry absolutely no one home except my dwindling dignity. Truly between the clothes and my hair pulled up on top of my head I had to look like a derrange sumo wrestler screaming, “DUDE! IT’S OVER BY THAT OTHER TREE!! NO THE OTHER, OTHER TREE. ” above cacophonous cries of my cantankerous critters. He was very kind and tried to cover the fact that the shocking sight of me looking like the dog shepherdess from hell complete with a grumpy pack of very vocal hellhounds had sent him scurrying in the complete opposite direction from the water meter by saying that he was new to this route and so very sorry to bother me, and he would eventually “get used to it”. Although I’m pretty sure he meant get used to the sight of a portly bog witch and her bad tempered familiars more than the placement of my water meter. He did eventually stumble upon the access but I’m not convinced he could get an accurate reading with all the fearful fumbles and am pretty sure next month’s bill is gonna be a whopper.
One of my coworkers stopped by to say hello and point out that he hadn’t seen me out an about in a while. That he often saw my Jeep in the parking lot but rarely saw me. Oh and by the way he had to chuckle at some of the things he saw in my Jeep. There was a second of terror (which I’m sure showed on my face) as I tried to think of what might have been in my car that would make him chuckle. Recently everything has been in my vehicle from a beat up but lovely tiara to a dying pigeon and huge package of bulk toilet paper alongside the ever present plethora of dog appurtenances so I’m not really sure why my brain automatically went to items of the lewd persuasion but it did, of course. Now I’m no raging harlot but once in a while my virtue IS quite questionable and one or two sordid activities have indeed transpired in my poor defiled Jeep but I was fairly certain any vulgar paraphernalia had been safely stowed away from gnawing pups or taken home for cleaning depending on sanitary demands, but not absolutely sure. Any normal person would have laughed it off or made a joke out of it but as we established LONG ago I am awkward AF and not really capable of rational thought on the fly so of course I went WAY off the deep end of defensiveness and kind of screeched, “why are you monitoring my parking habits?!?”. Because that’s a completely sane reaction. I’m telling myself that he skipped away and snickered at my guileless charm but honestly it was more of a terrified skitter and nervous laughter which, ironically, is often how all those sordid activities in my Jeep usually end.
I was sitting in an after lunch meeting all super sleepy and not paying attention as usual and just half heard (literally) the speaker say something about the contractors in the back of the room. Out of curiosity I turned around and there was no one there and still being sleepy and not very socially savvy I kind of interrupted the speaker and was like “ummm is there someone there other than those obvious to me?” And the guy just stopped and looked at me and was like, “what?” And I was like, “Exactly” and he goes “I said the contractors who HAD BEEN in the back of the room. They’ve left now.” So I went into full awkward I-don’t-know-how-to-get-out-of-this mode and just fake laughed and was like “ohh I thought I was having a stroke hahaha do I smell toast?” (supposedly people having a stroke sometimes think they smell toast) And the room fell silent and everyone just stared at me except for the old guy sitting next to me who waited a beat and then tried to laugh with me but it was pretty obvious it was just a pity laugh. Thankfully the speaker just started talking again like I hadn’t said anything. Still trying to figure out why they let me out alone.
In the last two weeks my trusty old microwave finally met it’s maker, my dryer went wonky, one of my tires shuffled off its mortal coil, my prescription that I’ve been taking forever and was always completely covered by insurance suddenly costs $20 and the pharmacy said when they ran my insurance it said my coverage had ended. (it hasn’t and a phone call fixed it) and I finally got around to being a grown up and switching my Jeep insurance over to the same company as my house and was supposed to get a lovely refund for switching but my gooey tub fart of a mailman (that’s a story for another post) sent it back as undeliverable even though the agent read me the address on the envelope and both my name and address were correct. (Same guy that didn’t want to deliver my 40 lbs of dog food so put a note on my box saying it was too full to deliver that package of 40 POUNDS OF DOG FOOD THAT WOULD NOT FIT IN AN EMPTY BOX TO BEGIN WITH.)(( And there’s still more of his shenanigans for another post.)) I really REALLY want to feel sorry for myself but there’s a naggy little bitch of a voice in my head (that sounds a lot like my mother) reminding of all my shady behavior, especially the frequency with which I bellow profanity at other drivers and death stare people that get in my way at the grocery store or how I always, always, always give an extended honk and flash the bird or make throat slitting gestures at my siblings when pass them in town and past affinity for married men saying this might be karma and at least it’s not cancer and maybe I should just thank my lucky stars all of these things were easily fixable. Man that voice needs a good swift kick in the meat curtains. But all this shit does give me facebook fodder so yay for silver linings. Or something.
I eat breakfast every work day at the same time. Not out of any neurotic OCD obsessiveness, that’s just crazy, but from pure introvert obsessiveness which is totally sane and relatable. At 10:15 every morning the snack bar is almost completely void of the scourge known as “other people” and there are plenty of quiet corners I can hide in and happily devour my grilled cheese sandwich like it was a dairy covered lover complete with soft but inappropriate noises of appreciation, ecstasy induced eye rolling, leg shaking and prolific licking of the fingers with cringe worthy slurping noises. It’s my scheduled 10 minutes of unadulterated joy every day and while it will probably land me with several sexual harassment complaints at some point for now it’s “my precious” and anyone that disturbs it instantly earns a place near the top of my wish list for when we finally institute the purge. So imagine my face when I’m settling into my quiet corner in the huge and empty cafeteria for my daily dose of cheesy euphoria when this low down, no good, shit mitten, muff scratt, tub fart, warthog faced, Shrek looking bag of bitch had the nerve, the nerve I say to Sit.Across.From.Me!!! There’s a whole open goddamn dining room the size of Donald Trump’s giant floppy ass that’s emptier than a condom machine after seventh fleet shore leave but this puerile cunty big balls decides forcibly inserting himself into my quiet place during love sandwich mastication time at the very next table seems like a swell idea. AND THEN doesn’t even have the decency to turn his back to me but sits facing me like some sort of social decency deviant. Dude!!! I sat there stink eyeing him like a disdainful meerkat thinking I could silently make him uncomfortable enough to move but apparently not because as god as my witness THAT MOTHERFUCKER SMILED AT ME!!! What kind of psychopath does that??? And before one of you soft hearted snot rags @’s me with a, “maybe he was lonely” you can just stuff it. Let him get drunk and call 900 numbers and government officials like the rest of us instead of terrorizing attractive (sort of) young (vaguely) women during their daily conjugal cheese visit. For crying out loud there is not a bag of dicks big enough to even respond to that nonsense.
It’s bowling night and I’m shitty as ever
but I also I can’t find my Easy Slide which is powdery stuff that helps you slide. Shocking right? Finally gave up digging through the doorway to Narnia that is my purse and went to go buy some only I’m old and kind of a flake so for the life of me couldn’t remember the name. The only thing that came to mind was Astro Glide because apparently I’m also kind of a perv as well as an old flake. To be fair it’s the same concept but for a completely different sport. Thankfully my brain engaged just enough to keep me from actually saying Astro Glide but still not enough to save me so there I stood just repeatedly saying, “Do you have any, umm…umm..” and turning beat red because sex lube was all I could think of while staring at a kid young enough to be my child. Eww. Finally got my shit together enough to stutter, “sly stuvv.” Dougie Howser just looked at me like I’d taken one too many hits for my glaucoma but figured out what I meant and finished the transaction without further trauma but what the ever loving fuck is wrong with my damn self? You’d think I was a geriatric back alley hooker instead of a mild mannered middle aged former librarian.
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.