Just got laid off.
I swear I am not a bad employee.
Just got laid off.
I swear I am not a bad employee.
Yesterday at work I had to fast till my blood test at 10:10. No human has had to endure more torment. How is it a clock can move so slowly? Oh, I was hungry. Seriously. Kwashiorkor was setting in. Sally Struthers was next to me, doing a commercial about me.
The whole workplace was doing the test. I mean, you didn't HAVE to do it, it was voluntary, but you get cheaper health insurance if you do it, so most of us were. And the other smart people scheduled their tests for, you know, 8:30 or 9:00. Why did I wait till 10:10? Why? Why do I not think?
By the time 10:00 rolled around and I had to go to the testing place next door to work, I crawled over like one of those people in the desert looking for water. And was there a LINE by that time? A LINE. Like we were waiting to go on a ride at Cedar Point. And I like how my example is always Cedar Point as opposed to Disneyland or some other amusement park. Hey. I grew up in the Midwest.
There were orange juice and Nutri-Grain bars for the people--the lucky, lucky people--who were finishing their test, and words cannot describe the lust and envy I had when I watched those people emerge and have some juice. If I could've crawled into their gullets, I would've. Others in line were chatting. One person was talking at the top of her lungs about her medical issues, and how she hates blood tests, and frankly making everyone else a little nervous.
I was speaking to no one. Because at this point I was so food-deprived that I had zero personality left. I was like one of those Macy's floats that had all the air taken from it. I just stood and stared at the ground like I had some kind of disorder.
Finally, FINALLY, it was my turn, and the very nice nurse weighed me (oy), took my measurements (they had to get an extender), and then drained the blood from my body. When I left, I ate a blueberry Nutri-Grain bar the same way Tallulah would have. As in, one bite without tasting it.
I would make a terrible anorexic person, apparently. I have a friend who used to be anorexic, and she told me all about how she ate precisely the same number of calories each day (if I recall, 250) and how she'd go to bed and listen to her stomach rumble. On night one of that I'd be all, "I'm getting up and toasting a bagel."
This is not to say that I have been stable and normal my whole life. See: hypochondria. See: barf phobia. See: panic attacks. I just never got the anorexia gene, apparently.
In other news, now that I've eaten and can think beyond the Nutri-Grain, my lip gloss is here. I got this on Amazon when I was ordering Gentle Leaders for the dogs. As I was checking out, Amazon said, "People who order Gentle Leaders also get this:
Please also note my gel manicure. On week two and going strong.
I guess that's all I have to tell you. Other than the part where the Real Housewives reunion was so worth my wait. Waiting till 9:00 last night was almost as hard as waiting for 10:10 yesterday morning. And now I have to wait for NEXT week for part two. I could watch the Real Housewives every day and never grow bored. Yes, I am deeply intellectual.
Okay. Going to shower and then be late for work because I am playing with Bobbi Brown. BOBBAYY!
I can't remember where I left off. Where was I? Oh! I was busy because I had to go hiking with Tall Boy. Yes.
So, he comes over and somehow the dogs already know something good is going to happen. They're prancing and leaping and Edsel is whining and they're throwing streamers and Tall Boy is trying to help me get their harnesses on, and I speak in Tallulah voice: "Thank youuu, Uncle Tall Boy."
"Uncle Tall Boy," he said. "I sound like a beer."
Do you know I never really thought about how his blog name is a beer name? And I even have a tall boy story, so you'd think I would have made the association. Once in high school, my friend Donna and I were at a burn-out party, somehow. We hadn't started OUT the evening planning to go to a burn-out party, but there we were, and I remember I had on an Izod shirt and she had alligator EARRINGS on, for God's sake. Oh, we were so not fitting in amongst the black Foreigner tshirts and bongs.
"Man, am I ever messed up!" stone-cold sober Donna announced, trying to seem cool. "I just took a Tall Boy!" She totally thought that was some kind of pill, like a Black Beauty or a Blue-speckled Dexie. We had heard of those when the burn-outs spoke, and of course had no idea what they were. A tall boy. Poor Donna.
At any rate, Tall Boy the pill and the beer and I went to the Indian market near me, the one where Pal from MA was annoyed they had no tonic. We got water, and I paid with my ATM and the guy said, "Four dollar minimum."
I hate places that have a minimum for taking your ATM card. Just take my damn money, you yahoo. But I really like the guy who is ALWAYS working the counter at the Indian convenience store, and I should learn his name, because somehow we always get into philosophical talks about life or candy bars or something.
So Tall Boy grabs this bag of something called Veggie Thins, and you know how I feel about the word "veggie." Or nonword. But did I ever mention his vegetarian status? So grabbing a beef jerky wasn't going to happen.
In the car, he opens the bag and offers me one, and I am sorry to tell you they were PIZZA-FLAVORED vegetable sticks. "God, these are disgusting," I said. "I know," crunched Tall Boy. "You want another one?" "Of course."
"Aspire to inspire before you expire," said Tall Boy.
Anyway, we finally got there, but not before we somehow got into a conversation about Colonel Sanders, in which Tall Boy referred to him as "Sanders," like they go way back. We were maybe five miles from the site of the ludicrous mountain and the dogs were already hysterical. I think they remembered going there months ago. Do you think that's possible? Because they were berserk, and Edsel was barking his 3949394-decibel bark, and basically I was delighted I had come up with this whole idea.
We get out there, in the woods with the mountains and the trees and the deer, which we saw (pretty!) and it was sunny and lovely and immediately Tallulah pooped.
"Geez," I said, getting a bag.
"Do you really have to use a bag when you're out in the woods?" Tall Boy wondered. "YES!" I said. "I don't want others to deal with it. There's a trash can up here, I think."
So there we were, and did I mention the whole place is called Hanging Rock, so this whole walk is upeffinghill, and we were going up up up, and minutes were passing, and I was huffing like I was 98, and oh! No trash can?
Seriously. It's a public park. Or something. NO TRASH CAN? ANYWHERE? Tall Boy had the dogs, and I was retaining the water (love self), and now I had this awful grocery bag of poop. And minute after minute passed with NO TRASH CAN.
"Woodsy Owl would be annoyed," said Tall Boy, who is 86 feet tall and who was having no problem schlepping up that mountain in three steps. "Give a shit. Don't pollit."
Okay. I don't know why that struck me as so effing funny, but then I was retaining water and holding a poop bag and schlepping up a mountain AND giggling, and how we ever got to the this-is-good-enough place near the top is beyond me.
Oh! And one more thing and then we'll get off this hill. On the way down, a group of boys passed us, and one kid (maybe early 20s) held out his hand to pet Edsel? And Edsel SNARLED at him! You guys! Edsel!
"I'm so sorry," I said to the guy. "He's never done anything like that before."
"Maybe it's your hood," offered TB. So the guy pulled off his hood, held out his hand again, and "Rrrrr ROW ROW ROW!"
Oh my GOD! What was with Edsel? You know how simpering and lovey he is! What happened, there? Does anyone have a clue? Humiliating.
You should have seen his "Edzul bad ass" stomp when he walked away, too. Holy cats!
At any rate, once we got home, to base camp, as it were, we dropped off the dogs and ate 4949302 pounds of Thai food. They gave us this plate that had squares of leaves, maybe a cabbage leaf? And around the leaves were teensy plates of different spices, and you put those on the leaf and at it. I cannot begin to tell you how delicious that was. Perhaps it was the 949 calories a minute I had burned rappelling.
Anyway. Then last night Faithful Reader Laura came over.
Today I have my blood test at work to see my cholesterol and lipids (prediction: I am all lipids) and so forth, and my particular test is not till 10:10, which means I have to fast till then and I am already irritated. However, in five to seven days I get a full report on my health, including a rating from 1-100 on how close I am to death. (Prediction: How can anyone be alive with this diet? You are a one.)
Okay, so I will shower now. Did I mention I am hungry? And wishing I could have some of my half/caf coffee? Or maybe some nice chicken from my close pal Sanders. Okay, going now.
We had our usual routine this morning, where the dogs immediately burst outside like the house is on fire, and then when they hear me feeding the cats, through the wood and the brick and the five rooms from the back yard and the insulation, they want right back in. Then after they eat, the house is apparently aflame again.
So they were on their second trip out while I checked email--and can I just say, if you have emailed me and I have not answered? I am sorry. I am getting several hundred emails a day and I was trying to be all good and answer them (I mean, they're not all related to this blog, my email. I just mean in general) (although most are from this blog, actually. I KNOW! Who's hoity-toity all of a sudden?), but sometimes I just cannot. I know I sound like a tool.
Anyway, my point is, I was in here doing stuff when, "WOOF." It was Tallulah. It's always Tallulah. Edsel would run around like a demon in that yard for six hours, except Talu gets bored. And God forbid he let her out of his sight.
"I HEAR you!" I said, while I put dishes away and threw in some laundry.
Oh for the love of all that is holy. Except for that one NOTABLE time, I ALWAYS let her in, so do we need more than one bark? I mean, okay, if an HOUR or something has gone by, freaking remind me. But this every-19-seconds thing is obnoxious.
I go to the door and JUST when I get there, the Schnauzer and Lab behind us got let out.
"Smell Lu!" And off she went to go play with them. Oh, I was irritated.
(Once I let her out at lunchtime and went to work. I forgot about her. And she was in the back yard, in the 65-degree weather, for four hours. You'd have thought I'd thrown acid on her family. I got the silent treatment for a week.)
In other news, guess what.
Anyway. Hello, the 16% who read me on Saturday! What are y'all doing with your bad selves today? I am recovering from my big night out of partayying till 1:00. Woo! Twenty years ago, 1:00 would've been an early night. Sad.
Right after work, the new girl, Poochie, came over. She lives kind of outside town and has hens and goats and cats and dogs and yes, she does have EVERYTHING I WANT. Except she doesn't have a teacup pig, which I still desperately want. At any rate, like me, she was interested in meeting my pets, because it's fun to leave your 50 animals and meet new ones. I don't KNOW why. It just is.
So anyway, Poochie stayed a couple hours and we talked and played with the animals and I offered her no food, as I had a can of tuna and a box of flax, and yes I do understand I suck. I did have wine for her, which Lily drank.
After Poochie left I put on my iTunes, which do not contain a bunch of hits from the last time I went out, during the Clinton administration, or anything, and got all ready. Poochie told me to wear something swingy, and what I discovered is I own nothing swingy. Why? Why is that? So I wore black and pink sparkly jewelry. Because I am annoying.
Here is me guiding my coworker, The Spanish Editor, to my home. She had on lots of sparkly brown, which at least wasn't as making-June-look-boring as sparkly turquoise.
We get downtown to this club, and about 15 of her friends are set to meet us there. There's a huge line outside, and everyone in said line was about seven years old. "I donnn understannn!" she said. She is from Colombia. Do you enjoy my accent? If you were here, I'd sound Finnish. All my accents sound Finnish. "When we come here udder time it fill with people our age. Thirty, forty, not 15 like tonight!"
"Maybe they have different music on different nights," I offered.
"Jesss, that could be." At this point I'm making her sound like Speedy Gonzales. "But ebery udder time, it Saturday night, like tonight."
We both stood there in the street for a second, looking at each other in horror. "OH MY GOD! Eeets Friday night! OH MY GOD!" We giggled among the youngsters. Then we talked about how be BOTH fasted on Thursday this week, thinking they were having these insurance (INsurance) blood tests, but it turns out there was a MEETING about the INsurance and the test is Monday. I was so glad somebody else was all starving and peaked all morning and it wasn't just me.
So we ended up going to this bar right near my house. Dudes. It's RIGHT NEAR MY HOUSE, and it has multiple levels, and dancing, and a band, and outdoor seating with couches and WHO KNEW? I could walk there. Who needs to get out more?
After, she came over and I read her tarot cards, because that's apparently my trademark for getting babes back to my place.
The Spanish Editor is an interesting person. She used to be a journalist, and has been all over the world. She's one of those people who, if she has extra money, will spend it on having fun. I demonstrated for her my Botoxed forehead. Enough said.
All this socializing has exhausted the Eds. I like how a puff of fur has fallen off of him. Honestly, things don't look this filthy here till the camera flashes on them. Look at that bookshelf! Guess I'll, you know, dust today.
I have a date tonight, but in the 39495589020 emails I have exchanged with said...date, we talked about my blog and I said I didn't want him to read it, and he said (a) it feels like my private business and he won't intrude on it and (2) he doesn't want to read about how much I detest him, should I do so. I believe his exact quote was he was worried he'd see, "I've been spending time with this total rube. GOD." Which would be impossible for him to read because have you ever heard me say, "rube"?
So I will not say much about my date. Going on a date. The end. (Ohmygod he is really cool. Okay. Done.)
When I started this thing five years ago, I had no idea this dilemma would come up. I didn't ever think I'd be divorced and dating again and having to worry about my blog. I mean, obviously. How could I know all that? But it is kind of a thing, because it takes up a lot of my day, at this point, and I'll be all, "One of my commentors said..." like that's just a thing people say. But how scary to be someone walking IN to all that.
I should get up now but Iris is asleep on my arm. I will post and you 16% better say amusing things, because it looks like I'm stuck for a whole purry catnap.
I overslept today, although I didn't JUST wake up or anything, which would be pathetic. A few weeks ago, my good alarm clock stopped, you know, alarming me. It still tells the time, but the alarm stopped going off, which is an issue. And you know who doesn't care if I get up? My dogs. They just burrow in and keep with the sleeping, is what they do.
So I went to Target, as I am wont to do, and got me a Hello Kitty alarm clock for $9, which is delightful, except it has no snooze. So every morning at 7:00 Hello Kitty wakes me up and Hello Dogs burrow in and we sleep another half hour till I go OHMYGOD and bound out of bed.
Today I turned off the kitty who greets me and woke up at 7:54. I am supposed to be at work at 8:30. Nice. Looking groomed and put together today. And not at all haphazard.
Therefore I just ordered this:
It's a Pink Moonbeam clock, which is just like the clock I already had whose alarm stopped alarming, except that one was blue.
I think "pink moonbeam" might be my favorite pair of words in the English language. Along with "free kittens."
While I'm writing this, my $20 kitten (they were having a special at the shelter when I got her, did I tell you that? I didn't get a discount because she's blind of anything) is BUGGING ME. First she was biting my necklace, and now she's biting the camera cord.
Bugging. Lucky that she is a muffin muffin muffin wif white feets.
Note I still have a wrinkle in my forehead. Am waiting for Botox to kick in, and because it hasn't, have convinced self that botulism is spreading my throat as we speak and all day I keep asking myself, "Am I breathing?!" It's fun to be me.
Tonight, if the botulism doesn't kill me, I'm going dancing with some of the Spanish editors. At work we have regular English-language editors, and then we have these editors who come from all over, who speak Spanish and can edit Spanish.
Guess who's more fun, in the grand scheme of things? Sometimes a bunch of the Spanish editors will be talking, because in general they're more sociable than the English editors, (and perhaps you picture me as someone who flits from desk to desk all day, just visiting. I am not that person, in fact. My job requires QUIET and NOT BEING BUGGED, VILHELM OYSTER, MY ANNOYING COWORKER WHO IS NOT AN EDITOR!!!) and I'll walk by them in my inevitable outfit of gray. Or black. Or black and gray. And I swear to you all of them, the men and the women, are wearing
and they all smell really good. Good cologne must be a thing when you're, you know, not a boring editor of the English.
Anyway, we're going dancing someplace I've never heard of and I am excited.
Oh, and in other news, I might be a lesbian. I may have been watching that show where Tabitha takes over ("ova") salons, and now inexplicably she is taking over other businesses, and the other day she took over a gay bar in Long Beach. There was a woman bartender, and she was kind of manly, but not Chaz manly. But dudes, she was so hot! And like 25. So not only am I suddenly a lesbian, I am a letch.
Does that make me, you know, bi? Should I go back and change my status to bisexual on that dating site again? Seriously, every time they showed her, I was all WOW! That woman is appealing.
The first person to say, "Not that there's anything wrong with that" gets sold for $20.
I guess I had better go to work again and monitor my breathing for the effects of botulism. Because I'm delightful and fun. Oh, and if I live, the new girl from work is coming over tonight. That's before the Spanish dancing portion of my evening. I know! June. Packing her schedule and liking the ladies since 2012.
Naturally there'll be photos, and y'all missed her SO COOL turquoise high-heeled Mary Janes yesterday. No, she is not a Spanish editor.
DID MY THROAT JUST CLAMP SHUT? I guess not. ...This was so worth the money.
P.S. If you did not read the comments yesterday, you missed about 959954 people discussing whether Mary Tyler Moore throws meat or danish into her cart in the opening sequence. See what earth-shattering news of the day you're missing?
Marvin suggested I paint black spots on Edsel and give HIM to the firemen for saving my life the other day. Now, see? That's why Marvin makes the big dollars. Allllways thinking.
What a valuable asset to a fire Edsel would be. "Oh! Oh Edzul God! Oh no! Edzul flap paws uselisslee! Maybe we play wif Edzul blue toy now?"
No one has Dalmatians anymore. Why is that? My grandfather had them. Somewhere there's a picture of one of their Dalmatians lying on the couch, and me using it as a pillow so I can read. The dog looks all, "Okay, I DO this because I know you kick my spotted ass to curb otherwise, but NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT."
Do you like how my story has progressed to the firemen saved my life? Who can take a nothing story and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile? Well, it's me girl and you should know it.
Speaking of old TV shows, AND I JUST WAS, stop being so young, I was next to a woman at work who had one of those commuter mugs, and it had a giant cursive L on it. "Oh, are you Laverne DeFazio?" I asked her, loving my own self as per usual. Loving me is easy cause I'm beautiful.
"?" said the poor girl sitting next to me, who just wanted to learn about our sign-up process for health insurance this year.
"Laverne. Laverne on Laverne and Shirley. How she always had the L-- Oh my God. Oh Edsel God. You're too young to know who that is."
It had not occurred to me until that moment that anyone would NOT know the ins and outs of Laverne and Shirley's lives. I mean, I refer to them so often. Basement apartments, obnoxious neighbors, boyfriends who go from rags to riches, milk and Pepsi. There are so many reasons to think about Laverne and Shirley. And now there are legions of actual adults with actual jobs NOT KNOWING WHO THEY ARE. It's like I'm Ethel Mertz talking about my days in vaudeville.
Actually, I mention them at work a lot, because remember my last job, where I got laid off with 40 other people? I see SO MANY of those people at my new workplace, and I often say, "This is like when Laverne and Shirley moved to LA, and then so did everyone else from the show, so even though they were in a whole new place, hey! There's Squiggy!"
In fact, just the other day I ran into the artist (copy editor) formerly known as my next-cubicle neighbor, Jane West. She now sits two floors up from me. "Oh, hey! Your hair looks good!" she said. "Is it darker? It was..." she struggled to describe it for some reason. "It was more...blonder before."
"What exactly do you do for a living?" I asked her. More blonder.
Anyway, I have to go. We get this thorough health check thing at work today for our insurance--INsurance, as they pronounce it here, and the other day I heard myself say it that way and got annoyed with me--but before that I may or may not be getting Botox. So we are supposed to be fasting and yet I will have botulism coursing through my veins.
Cannot wait for my results. "Everything looks good. Except you have a mild case of botulism."
And in case you wondered if Lily is still pretty, she is. Also she adores the webcam, still. NO ONE LIKES THE WEB CAM. She's just like Laverne's stepmother.
Here is the photo I meant to put in. I could see, like, literally the size of a thumbnail when they showed me photos to plunk, and all I could see was blue and white.
Anyway. Last night Iris and I watched a rerun (and I will not show the opening song of What's Happening again, and for that I am sorry) of The Real Housewives, so we could catch up on the season finale. Who sobbed like an idiot during Pandora's wedding, as though she has known Pandora all her life and has been just waiting for this day? Geez, Iris. You're a cat. Get some dignity.
The reason I couldn't watch my regularly scheduled Real Housewives, or houzewives, as Kyle pronounces it when they show next week's episode ("Coming up, on the Real Houzewives...") (which is better than Vickie, who says, "Prevusly on the Real Housewives." Do I ever get resentful that they have millions of dollars and I don't?) is because I was bowling. You never see the real houzewives bowling.
And by the way, the first "I never watch the real housewives of anywhere" comment gets a piece of teensy Iris poo mailed directly to their door.
Could someone PLEASE make me a list of all the things I'm supposed to send to everyone? I know I am supposed to send a yodeling pickle to Funny in My Mind, for some reason. And Joann said I promised her an inflatable swan or something. Who else?
Anyway, yes. I was bowling. We had a fun night at work, because now we have a fun committee at work, which I volunteered to be on but they wouldn't let me be on it. I resent that. What did they think I was gonna DO?
Botox night at June's work! Hey everyone! It's partner swap night! Be here with your keys at 10 p.m.! (For the record, I'm the EDITOR of the company NEWSLETTER, so pfft! to the fun committee. Pfft! Not resentful and bitter. No. NO!)
New girl came, and guess what she had? GUESS WHAT SHE HAD?????
Has she been put on this earth to torture me with good things? I have been coveting the Hello Kitty bowling ball since 2005, when Marvin and I lived right near a bowling alley in LA. And she just SHOWS UP with it.
Anyway. I just want you to know I bowled 105!!! For me, that is excellent. I emailed this photo to my father, who asked, "Now, was that all three games added up?"
Oh evvvveryone's a comedian. That was the best score I got, though. I got tired of lugging those seven pounds after while. Working out is hard.
While we're on the subject of highfalutin' things like bowling, let's not forget my finances. I paid off the credit card with the highest balance on it, so thanks for your advice yesterday. It currently doesn't have interest, but in a few months it will have terrible interest unless I pay part of it. It's the kind of credit card that is interest-free, per purchase, for 12 months. It's the vet credit card.
Who has to stop playing with her new app? Also, I had a DREAM about Pinterest last night. I am pathetic.
Seriously. I need to get out more. But even if I get out I can bring my phone and continue playing with this app.
Are we absolutely certain I should not have taken that windfall and used it for therapy? Or a few weeks at an asylum? Do they say "asylum" anymore or is a nicer euphemism used? "Place for people who put their pets' heads on old pictures." Is there a politically correct term for that?
Okay. Going. And by the way, next time I get married I want every single thing Pandora had at her wedding, down to the last pink sparkle. Someone show my mother what Lisa had on, because my hippie mom is gonna have to sport that. It involves a tiara, mom. Just to warn you. Oh, and the wedding cost a million dollars. You're paying for my next wedding, too, right?
Okay, really going. Before hippie mom pops a cap in my ass.
It has old photos and then you put your own face in there.
Apps. The new way to find yourself looking up seven hours later, going, wait, I'm supposed to be just be HOME FOR LUNCH! Crap!
I always kind of wanted my hair to do that wavy '40s thing. It's almost a mullet.
Anyway. Today I am actually asking for you advice, but JUST ABOUT THIS, so for those of you who cannot wait to get back on and tell me about how repugnant my personality is, forget it.
Remember a few weeks back, when I killed myself to edit a statistics textbook? I got paid for it, and now I can:
What would you do? Or maybe the better Q would be, what would a sensible person do?
I must go to work now and pray that there is nothing to do all day, because not only do I want to play with my hair app, somehow I said, Oh, maybe I'll sign up for Pinterest, and WHO WANTS TO DO NOTHING BUT PIN INTERESTINGLY ALL DAY NOW? Holy cats.
Okay, so advice, please. Someone tell me to blow it all on shopping, because my wardrobe kind of looks like Door Number Three up there.
So, last night I was here, minding my own business, and I love it when people start stories that way. I mean, how many times are you minding someone else's business? Granted, right now you are sitting there minding my business, but whatever.
So, last night I was here, with my binoculars pressed to the window so I could see Peg undress or what have you, when my smoke alarm went off.
I mean, it was awful. You know how it is. Surely yours has gone off before too. Why do we have to have smoke alarms? Can't we just set on fire like the old days?
God. It was obNOXious. So I climbed onto the coffee table and tugged it this way and that till finally I pulled the thing off (official term) and got the battery out.
Dude. It KEPT MAKING THE SOUND. And did I ever tell you that Tallulah is deathly afraid of the smoke alarm? Back when I had a microwave (aaaaand here come the "You don't have a microwave?" comments), it used to set off the smoke alarm on a regular basis for some reason, and Talu was just a pup and it resulted in her developing a phobia of the MICROWAVE, for heaven's sake. You'd go to pop in a potato and she'd shiver her timbers.
I had no idea why the damn thing would keep going if the battery was out, so I got the scisssors, ripped the WHOLE THING down, and cut the wires. I mean, if you'd had an ear-splitting E going on for 15 minutes in your house, you'd risk shock at this point too.
When Francis was a kitten, his mew sounded exactly like he was saying, "eee." Perhaps Fran was back to haunt me. Really loudly. Which would be like him.
OH DEAR GOD. So finally I called nonemergency 911, which I think is 311, I forget now. I had to Google while 850 decibles of E were going off in my medulla.
"mdmfke gmfme eirngns," said the operator.
"WHAT?" I screamed. "There's an alarm going off and I can't hear you!" Because by the way?
I was ready to kil everybody. The alarm inventor, whoever invented fire, the people who brought me the letter E, everyone. Or vryon.
The nonemergency woman at 311 finally bellowed that the fire department had to come over because you never knew why a smoke alarm would be going off. Maybe it was one of those invisible, not-hot, smoke-free fires we've heard so much about.
Wait. Firemen? Who stampeded to her makeup table and primped to the tune of EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE?
I am happy to report that should I ever have an actual fire that needs putting out (hooo-hah), the fire department is over in a jiffy. I would also like to state for the record that not ONE NEIGHBOR has called to check on why the damn fire department was here, although perhaps it was impossible to miss The E! Network, over here.
Why are all firemen cute? Honestly. And they were all huge. Four of them, and they took up the entire living room. And you know how Edsel is. He loves people coming over, and he really loves men, and he REALLY REALLY loves manly men. In fact, when I was briefly dating a fireman (yes, I did think of calling him, but it seemed like a rude thing to do. "Hi! We haven't talked in months. Will you come fix my E?"), Edsel crawled up on the guy's lap, curled into a ball and fell asleep. He has never never done that with me.
"SO I GUESS YOU GOT A SMOKE ALARM GOING OFF!" Cute #1 said.
"OH, DO I? YOU'RE THE EXPERT!" I said, loving my own self. I was at this point in full makeup and had lifted and separated myself in my bra. I'd also thrown all my laundry and magazines and dishes that had been strewn about into the spare room, and prayed to God the fire was not in there.
In the meantime, Edsel had tied on my hottest hostess apron and was serving drinks. Oh, you should have seen him waggle and simper and smile at everyone, and to my dog trainer's credit, neither cur jumped on a single fireman.
The cats had dug to CHINA, so traumatized were they.
Anyway, they, too (the firemen, not the cats) couldn't figure out why the alarm continued to EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, and they asked if I had any other alarms in the house.
Had they not met Marvin? I have carbon monoxide alarms, weather alarms, burglar alarms, alarmists--you name it. Sadly, they asked if I had a CO2 alarm and I said, "No, but I have a carbon monoxide alarm." Later, mortified, I Googled it.
Dudes, they went in the attic, they moved furniture, they COULD NOT GET IT TO STOP. Then Cute #3, who was wearing a wedding ring as ALL OF THEM WERE, and COULD YOU THROW ME A BONE, GOD? said, "Oh! Look!"
Do y'all remember that stupid stupid stupid pad I bought a few months back? It was supposed to remain on the couch and beep when dogs jumped on it? That dumb thing never worked on the dogs, as they would just contort themselves to avoid it, so I put it on a shelf. Well, somehow it'd fallen over onto itself, AND THAT IS WHAT WAS BEEPING!
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," I said, humiliated. The firemen laughed. All four of them. With their white teeth. I told them what it was, and said, "It doesn't work."
"Well, technically it WORKS," said Cute #4.
Then they noticed my smoke alarm on the table, and the fine collection of wires hanging from my ceiling, and after yelling at me for potentially shocking myself (I look at myself naked every day. Nothing's shocking after that), they commenced fixing it. Cute #1 turned off my breakers, then they all shone flashlights on the smoke alarm while Cute #2 wired it back up. I noticed Cute #3 holding Edsel's toy behind his back and playing tug-of-war with Eds while he flashlighted, and I decided that's the one I'd marry if he WEREN'T ALREADY MARRIED.
AGAIN, God. BONE!
Finally, my smoke alarm got finished, and I thanked them all and Edsel handed them the poem he had written them--Too Fyremin: I LOFF YU! and they were ready to go.
"Is this the dumbest call you've ever had to make?" I asked. I remember The Fireman who I dated complaining that you never see a cat skeleton in a tree.
"Mmmm. Second-dumbest," smiled Cute #3, as he manfully swung out my door.
Now I am obsessed with what could have been dumber. Do you think he was just being nice? Or blowing smoke up my--oh, never mind.