By the end of yesterday, I hated everything and my dogs feared me.
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When we last left each other, kissing at the train station--and thanks for running along the length of the depot, there, while I pulled away--I was about to work before work, and work I did. So then by the time I got to actual fake work, I was already tense and snappish.
Then it was that kind of day where every time you thought you might be able to, you know, breathe or pee or something, someone ELSE would come up with more work.
I had decided that at lunchtime, I would (a) put gas in my car because I was totally Jackson Brown runnin' on empty and no, really, you're welcome.
(runnin' bliiiind! runnin' into the sun cause I'm runnin' behind) (why do I feel like that song is on Hulk's sad iPod?)
Then (B), and yes there IS a (b), for once, I thought I'd go to Target and get my prescriptions filled.
I WENT DOWN TO THE CHELSEA DRUG STORE! TO GET MY PRESCRIPTION FILLED.
Honestly, there is no one more annoying than me today. Maybe later I'll come to your house and Yoko you.
Finally, I was gonna take my car to the car wash, talkin' about the car wash yeah, because Ned and I are about to drive 26 hours round trip in that fur-filled disaster of a car, with spilled soda in the cupholders and god knows what on the floors.
Ned offered to take HIS car, as he is a normal fairly tidy person, but I have satellite radio. I am sorry. Once you go satellite, you don't go back. Although it occurs to me that Marvin is probably done spotting me the cost of my satellite radio every month, so maybe I WILL be going back if I can't scrape up that $13 a month.
Speaking of Marvin, which do you think would be nicer? If I burst into his wedding ceremony singing The Rose, seeing how he likes my voice so much, or if I just beat on the windows with:
ELAINE!
ELAINE!
ELAINE!
THE POINT IS, good gravy, I screamed off to DO those things at lunch, and while normally it'd take me less than five minutes to get to the gas station, it took 10 yesterday.
Listen. Will you people STOP SHOPPING FOR CHRISTMAS GIFTS? You get in my way, and it annoys me. Plus also, they have a THING now at my gas station, I am not making this up, where they pump the gas FOR you. I realize this is how they did it in the olden days and that they're for some reason trying to drum up business with it, but guess what's faster. Is it faster when I get out and do it myself, as opposed to the 15-minute we're-in-the-South-so-we-have-to-chat thing I got going on with Gassy Pumper, over there?
So after hearing about my gas pumper's THANKSgiving plans, as they say it here, and after hearing his thoughts on Michigan and how it seems cold there and so forth, I had THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES to get to the Chelsea drug store and so on.
Dear People. Did I NOT JUST ASK YOU to stop EFFING SHOPPING for Christmas, and did you NOT LISTEN, because WHAT WAS CROWDED? Was it Target? Holy mother of Jesus with a lemon and a little honey. It was like I was in the marketplace of some developing nation or something. There were people selling crap on blankets on the floor, and making masa and holding babies on their naked backs. I mean, give me a BREAK, Target. Is it really necessary to have a SALE right now? You've already got us. We have no choice but to shop at you. Cut us a break.
I fought my way through the crowd with my shield and sword and finally got to the pharmacy counter.
"Gardens. I called earlier."
I'll tell you what. I am at that counter constantly, because I'm old and I gots my ailments. And believe it or not, the pharmacy tech is named Anias, like Anias Nin. And yes, her parents named her for Anias Nin, which is lovely and all, but how would YOU feel when you discovered you're named after a soft-core porn writer? I mean, I understand she's French and everyone French is pornographic, but we're Puritans. It has to be horrifying.
Anais could not find my prescription. We had to call over Mr. Anemone, which is another name I am not making up, and they both searched everywhere like when I hide a treat on Edsel.
"Oh," Mr. Anemone finally said, squinching his tentacles this way and that, "You can't get that till tomorow. Your insurance."
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.
The car wash at that point was out of the question, as was eating, although I scooped a little masa before I left Target. After an equally harrowing afternoon at work, I headed back to the car wash place, where they were vacuuming and cleaning up and THEY HATED ME for coming in 15 minutes before they closed.
Then I screamed to the mani/pedi place, because I haven't done my nails in literally months, and maybe if you're some sort of no-nonsense tomboy (and really? why?) this doesn't seem like a big deal, but I practically had goat hooves going in there. Am used to lovely groomed hooves.
I decided on a gel manicure and if you haven't gone gel yet, leave this post and go get one now. The only drawback is the bottles aren't see-through, something to do with the chemical makeup of gel polish, so you kind of gotta look at the handle thing--what's that called?--where they've kind of HINTED at the color with this strip of paper they wrap around, there.
So I picked gray, which is a trendy color and you know me. I'm practically Lady Gaga. Except when she started, you know, putting it on? It was green. MY NAILS ARE GREEN. Green. At least it's fitting that I will see Hulk this week.
Green.
My toes are a normal red, which is good, except when I got home I put my feet under an afghan and smeared them. So to sum it up I hate everything.
Believe it or not there's more to this stupid stupid stupid story, but now I see I am late for WORK, which means THIS day is probably going to be JUST AS FUN AS YESTERDAY, but to summarize, when Ned called me last night I had to search for the phone cause I'd thrown it across the room trying to reach Time Warner cable.
Don't even ask.
June, crankily out.
