Because I am chronically lazy I still haven’t taken the dog crates out of my car from the last rescue transport a few weeks ago. Because I am not very bright I decided to go grocery shopping anyway. And because I lack common sense instead of just putting the groceries inside the dog crates I put them on top which was a sure recipe for disaster because I also lack even basic driving skills. Sure enough on the way home, for reasons I’m too ashamed to mention, I had to stomp on my breaks. The giant tub of butter that I had placed precariously just behind my head went flying and surprisingly missed me, hit the stereo, flipped the station and forced me to watch my life flash before my eyes to the dulcet tones of Neal McCoy’s Billy’s Got His Beer Goggles On. Fuck me. Once I got my shit together well enough to continue on I had to wonder why the lofting Land O Lakes hadn’t killed me because of all the people you can think of that would be killed by a big ass bucket of flying butter you know that would be me. Everyone who knows me knows that would be me. Anyone who has ever met me and heard me speak knows it would be me. Absolutely no one would be surprised by that. Not even my second grade teacher who hasn’t seen me in 40 years would be shocked. So honestly all I can think of is that it’s some sort of autumnal miracle.
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.
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.
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!