On my first day back at my old workplace, where I am now freelancing--
--and YES, people who know me in real life, I am working there every day. That is why I am not stampeding to answer your calls and emails and so on. Because I'm working. Now everyone has to adjust to my new schedule, because if you knew me in real life, since February I've sort of been in suspended animation. Send me an email? Here's a reply four seconds later. Text? Textbackatcha!
Not anymore. And I'm doing the thing I always do, which is not taking my cell phone to work. I live six minutes from work, and I can see my email at work. I'm not gonna yak and text while I'm there. I always have fewer phone minutes used when I have a job.
As I was saying, before I got off on THAT disclaimer, the very first day I saw my old friend/coworker Debb Killjoy, the one who sent us all an email about what margaritas do to your body the afternoon everyone was going out for, you know, margaritas. Her license plate reads: "Hike & Run" and I have always told her I'm getting a "Sit & Eat" one and parking next to her.
She's the one who goes to the vending machine for gum.
Gum.
Despite all this, I like her anyway and was delighted to see her and Vilhelm Oyster. Really I like everyone at my old job. They moved The Poet upstairs, to which I say, what about MY needs?
MY POINT IS, and ohmygod I'm annoying, Debb Killjoy was ill. She was suffering from a terrible cold. This I learned seven seconds after returning to the workplace, and naturally all thoughts turned to me.
"Just a matter of time before I get this stupid cold," I thought, as I made out with Debb.
But see. I didn't even get to make out with her. I mean, seriously, all I did was stand in her doorway and guess. GUESS.
I have a cold.
Oh, I feel miserable. And we're only in the first days of it! The tingling nasal passages, the aches, the sore throat. And it just goes to show you, you can hike and run and eat gum out the vending machine and you STILL get colds. So why bother.
In other news, I took my achy self to the grocery store last night to buy inserts for my shoes because yes, my heel is still effing killing me. While I was there, I picked up some strawberries and an avocado, which if I just had to live on two foods, they'd be it. None of the avocados were terribly ripe, and if you wanna piss me off, offer me ALL UNRIPE AVOCADOS and nothing else. And I understand I could be in Biafra and looking forward to maybe eating a fly later, okay?
I also sort of understand there's no Biafra anymore, is there.
This does not detract from the part where I still hate unripe avocados, and it was all I could do to drag my nasally ass to the store and THIS was my reward. Hard unforgiving avocados.
Anyway, I got one, an avocado, I mean, and set it on the counter to ripen. Usually I put them in a paper bag to enhance the ripening process, but I was to delirious with my cold.
Well.
Guess what. And get your keyboard ready so you can FREAK OUT.
The dogs ate the effing avocado off the counter.
Aaaaaand, go! "JOOOON! AVOCADOS ARE POIIIIIIIISON TO DOGS! POIIIIISONNNNNNNN!"
I know. You told me that already. You also told me that when Tallulah ate a peach, and when Ned brought me lilies. And yet? Here these idiots still are. Eating my stuff.
I mean, it's been at least 12 hours since these jerks must've done this. They seem fine. In fact, I kind of wish they'd fall over dead as we speak. I LOVE avocados. Goddammit.
And finally, the last stupid thing that happened is I went to bed last night like a normal person, trying to get my rest to stave off this impending pneumonia that's coming on, and at ONE-THIRTY IN THE #$@ morning? I hear BEEP!
BEEP!
....BEEP!
Just a few weeks ago, Marvin's stupid carbon monoxide alarm beeped at 4 a.m. I had to figure out what was beeping, climb into the attic, curse the day Marvin was born and unplug it. Guess what. The @#*%#* thing was beeping AGAIN, and THIS time it took me FOREVER to figure out that's what was beeping, because I kept thinking It couldn't POSSIBLY be coming from the attic because I already unplugged that thing, carbon monoxide be damned.
But no. The part where I'd unplugged it rendered it useless for awhile, but now the BATTERY was beeping at me. So I took it down the attic stairs to find the #&$&$@$ battery in it, when
BEEP!
I swear to you. I SWEAR. The smoke alarm in the bedroom started beeping. I am not even making that up. HOW COULD THEY BOTH BE BEEPING AT ONE-THIRTY IN THE EFFING MORNING? And no, the house was not on fire. I think I would have figured it out by now if it were.
Mysteriously, the smoke alarm in the bedroom is now just hanging by some wires. Not sure how that happened.
Finally, I took my achy self back to bed, and as I passed the attic, shoved it to close the attic door.
Guess. JUST EFFING GUESSSSSSSS!
The attic door is stuck. It won't shut. The things are broken on it or something. I mean, I think that attic door is probably 62 years old, as is the house, and it probably just got sick and tired of carrying on, much as I am at this juncture. And let me tell you what. It's evenings like last evening that make me want to beat Marvin with a slotted spoon. I HATE having to figure all this crap out for myself. In the middle of the night. With beeping.
June's life. Now with beeps!
