Thank you all for your kind comments yesterday for the 8 minutes that fucking Typepad was up. They're under another attack and working to keep this dang site functioning. I'd like to take that HeartBleed bastard and smack him right in his medulla.
Despite the fact that Typepad was up for .00002 seconds yesterday, people in my real life got the news fast. All day I was getting the texts and the calls and the personal appearances and the skywriting. It's nice that people like me in real life, although I have no idea why they do.
My Pal From MA called me while I was sitting at my desk, 100% exposed to the world in our delightful open floor plan.
"I'M SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU," she screeched.
"I'm fine," I said.
"THIS IS AWFUL!!" she screeched.
"I know," I said.
"IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO??"
"You can hang up, because 30 people are listening to me right now." The whole room laughed.
My workspace. Private, and also private.
My boss has met Ned, and likes him, and they had plans to play pool together one day. Do you "play" pool? I have no idea. They had plans to participate in pool one day. I told him the news, which was obvious given how often my phone was exploding.
"You know, there's an economic theory," he began.
"I feel like this is going to be super-romantic advice," I told him.
"I forget who came up with the theory," he continued, ignoring me. He talked about three-wheeled cars, and I am pleased to tell you he sent me photos of three-wheeled cars, then he told me about how some people like a three-wheeled car and some need four wheels.
"Okay, Grasshopper. I'm waxing on and waxing off, here, and I have no idea what you mean. I should date a three-wheeled car? Dating is like being run over by a car? You're TIREd of hearing about my love life? What?"
I still have no idea what he was getting at. But now I know there are three-wheeled cars.
At lunch, The Poet was kind enough to offer to have lunch with me. I'd really planned on going home for chicken salad and pain.
Lunch with The Poet was far superior. And tandoori chicken! Of which I had four bites, because heartbreak.
When I got home at the end of the day, I had a note on my door. My sweet friend Dot had sent me something, and it was next door at my neighbor's. (I already told this story to Faithful Reader LaUral, and she said, "I thought your neighbor was Peg." "Yes, she IS my neighbor," I told her, "but the Earth doesn't just FALL OFF after my house. Someone also lives on the other side of me.")The point is, HELLO KITTY FRUIT! Look. HELLO KITTY PINEAPPLE HEAD!
I was busily admiring the Hello Kitty pineapple head, because who wouldn't. "Thanks for minding my fruit. Would you like a piece?" I asked my neighbor.
"No. Is it your birthday?"
"Nope. I broke up with someone. My friend sent this because she feels bad for me."
"The guy with the car?"
The guy with the car. Yes, as opposed to that Amish man who was often here with his buggy. Plow my fields, Jedediah.
"Yes, the guy with the car."
"I just broke up with someone too. I always knew she'd break up with me."
We gave each other the "What're ya gonna do?" nod for a minute.
"You should come sit in my hot tub one day, have a few drinks," he said.
"Yeah, okay." I was turning Hello Kitty head to and fro. I was halfway through my yard when it occured to me, was my neighbor hitting on me?
His HOT TUB?
What is this, 1979?
His hot tub?
I had my student after work, so I screamed over to the library. Sometimes what I do is tell her about my day, and then she picks out any time she hears hyperbole, pun, personification, metaphor and simile. You can imagine the richness of these in a story from me ("my heart is a used-up wrapper scurrying alone across the deserted fairgrounds").
My student looked at me for a minute, after my dramatic telling of my day. "I've got breakup songs on my iPod. Write these down. And tell him to stop acting like a doo-doo bug."
"THAT WAS A SIMILE! Sort of!" I shouted gleefully.
She also got me another cell phone case. A few weeks back she gave me a sparkly one. Last night I got this.
"Orange you glad I'm so annoying?" I asked.
"Pun," she sighed, resigned.
About an hour later, we were both looking at my phone screen, because we'd Googled examples of something. She'd read a passage, or I would. Pal From MA texted me. I don't know about you, but when I get a text, it pops up on whatever screen I have up.
I'M SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU, screeched her text.
I LOVE YOU. Was her follow-up screech.
MY MOM IS WORRIED TOO.
Dawgs, after the SIXTH TEXT, I wrote her back. Thanks for worrying, Pal, but I'm with my student and we're using my phone right now. Talk to you.
OKAY, she texted back. Does she set her phone to screech font, or...?
I REALLY HOPE YOU'RE OKAY, she texted again.
"Oh my goodness. Do you need to leave?" asked my student.
When our not-at-all chaotic session came to a close, I got to my car and there was a note on my windshield. Oh, great. What had I done wrong now?
You guys. Someone had dinged my door with theirs, and gave me $20 to repair it. How nice is that? I couldn't even SEE any damage.
It's good to know that even though your heart is an old wrapper scurrying dustily along a deserted fairground or whatever, that there are still good people in the world.
It's good to know that some people need three-wheeled cars.
It's good to know your screechy pal from Massachusetts cares.
It's good to have friends.
