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 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.
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.
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.
Unfamiliar soldier (US): Hi Beth! I’m blah blah blah from Charlie Company blah blah blah and I own the students in blah blah blah and I just got here blah blah blah. (If I don’t have to deal with you on a regular basis and you don’t come bearing gifts I’m not going to bother to remember who you are or what you do. It’s not your fault, I’m just that lazy. And kind of an asshole.) I’m just going around getting a feel for the place and learning who everyone is…
Me: (interrupting) Oh you’re a good person then! I rarely leave my cube or care what everyone else does.
US: (Looks startled then laughs like I’m joking) Oh well it’s good to get to know the people you work with. So what do you do?
Me: (deer in headlights: wait, what do I do again? Dipshittery on Facebook isn’t my job! Say something!) ((Babbles incoherently about education and training development)) So feel free to stop by anytime. Especially if you have snacks.
US: Oh do you bring in snacks a lot?
Me: No, I meant you. You bring snacks.
US: (Looking increasingly uncomfortable) ((laughs nervously)) Oh, ha, yes. What kind of snacks do you prefer?
Me: Oh I’ll eat anything but cheese is always a good choice.
US: Ha, good to know. (Bolts like a rabbit)
And that boys and girls is how you use advanced social awkwardness to alienate coworkers and get a reputation as an addlepated nut monkey. You’re welcome!