So, I haven't been writing much. and that's because I must have inadvertently picked up the tiki doll those Brady kids ditched. It's here somewhere, I just know it. Here's a sampling of the antics.
physical therapy. Oh, save me. Seems the old cruciate ligament tear/rupture is a common injury for active dogs. I could write a book on it. And I knew the odds were against us. One bum knee means the other is more likely to go. Rico's went last week at the dog park while he was trying to escape the rabid humping of another dog. My life just can't get any more absurd. So, I don't get paid for this morning, because I'm a freelancer. And I leave the (a little too nice?) animal hospital without a dog, but with a $2,200 vet bill.
2. On my way to work, finally. I have no cash. I never have cash, but I need it to park in the lot next to my current job. So I (who normally can parallel park quite fine, thanks) embarrassed myself beyond redemption (we're talking over the curb) right in front of the bank in town. Full view of tellers, snickering passers by, I'm not joking. Upset from the vet bill that I should be able to LIVE IN for that price, I almost took out an old man ON THE SIDEWALK. So, I drove away, humiliated and unable to face the bank audience -- even just to hit up the ATM and get cash.
3. I drive in to the city thinking I'd just find an ATM somewhere near North Station. How long have I lived here again? Parking in Boston? So, not only did I NOT find an accessible ATM nor a parking space, I wasted another 20 minutes (cha ching!) driving around in circles trading unpleasantries with the other appropriately nasty Boston drivers.
4. I drive to the lot I usually park in. (Where the guy who runs it regularly tries to short me a dollar in change.) I do my best kind face and explain I need to run over to North Station and use the ATM to get cash to pay. He lets me. Thank God.
5. I RUN to North Station (it's after noon). I try three times to get cash. Two people line up behind me. Remember, this is Boston on a weekday. People are pissy. I finally look at my card and realize it expired a week ago. I can't remember getting a new one. Shit.
6. I've only been at this company for a month, but I try calling the only person I know well enough to grovel for 10 bucks. (I have five I dug out of my car "emergency" stash.) She's in a meeting. Fuck.
7. I slither back to the parking lot (all my stuff is in the car still) and tell the parking attendant I swear I'll be back out within half an hour to bring him the other ten bucks. I explain my card had expired. I tell him about the vet filled morning. I tell him way too fucking much (because I'm from Michigan), and I think he just either wanted me to shut the hell up or he actually took pity on me, because he told me not to worry about it. He offered a pat of one of the gold religious necklaces around his neck. I took him up on it.
8. I finally get in to my desk and spend a few hours working like crazy trying to catch up. Miraculously, I do.
9. I go downstairs to the little organic coffee shop to reward myself with a mocha (skim!) and come back upstairs. The door has a keycode, which I punch in with my left hand. But there's a timer on it, so I try to grab the HUGE heavy glass door with my right hand (holding the aforementioned mocha). I drop my mocha (medium sized) all over the carpet. Right in front of the office doors.
10. A roll of paper towels later (and many onlookers), it looks exactly the same. A big brown spot. (Right about this time, I realize that my all natural deodorant has given up the ghost. I'm horrified. Omigod, that smell is me.) I have to (again, slithering, and now, odious as well) go tell the office manager about the huge statement mess waiting to greet clients in the front entry way. She, by the way, already thinks I'm an idiot. (Last week I sent her some of my writing in an email attachment instead of my timesheet.) She informs me that carpet was just cleaned over the weekend and gives it her best effort not to freak out. Oh, the horrors.
11. I offer to bring in some Resolve and a scrub brush the next morning (because I'm from Michigan, and I seriously do not know when to shut up). She purses her lips and tells me she'll ask the cleaners to "see what they can do" that night. I may bring in the carpet cleaner anyway, just in case.
So, and you? In the market for a tiki doll if I uncover it?