My house has turned in to an animal hospital. Mattress is the only one who is not being poked or having liquid shot in to his unsuspecting maw. However, he managed an impressive amount of vomit on the hardwood floors yesterday (The Boy feels that the cat's stomach acid will immediately eat through the floor and the foundation and we'll all die). So it is probably just a matter of time before we are shoving a suppository up his big furry ass. ET is getting a shot, Whoopis gets shots twice a day and The Bear is now getting liquid shot down his throat to see if we can get rid of the blood in his poos. Damn kids, always making my life so hard, and none of them will go grab momma a box of Cheez-Its. Ungrateful bastards.
A couple of years ago I attended an ex-boyfriend's wedding (different worlds completely crashing together on the coast of Lake Michigan), and I stayed with this wonderful woman whom I had never met before (I wasn't even on drugs yet, and I managed because she was so awesome and open with her home). She is going through something really horrible right now. Something I have yet to experience, and I just ache for her. The amazing thing is how she is able to write these painfully raw posts on FB expressing where she is at in her grief and anger. I'm proud of her and impressed. She is turned inside out and letting us all see her broken self. There are so many people reaching out to her, which is a testament to her greatness. I wish I could give her a hug and hold her hands while she cries. So, Twin (The Boy thinks we look like sisters), if you ever read this, know that I am thinking of you.
This afternoon our network connection at work croaked. When it came back up, I could not access any of my files. I managed to remap everything without having to call the help desk. This really is no big thing except I was beyond relieved that Ex-Cop and company were not there this afternoon. I would be forced to pretend that I had no idea how to fix the computers.
My cool work pals gave me this gorgeous orchid (phalaenopsis). Since I don't normally go to work with a camera (okay, that is not strictly true, since I used to all the time when I sat outside during lunch), I can't show the delicate pinky beauty. I'll try to rectify this tomorrow. They gave it to me for Administrative Professional Day. How silly is it that such a thing exists? Yes, I am an administrative professional, see me stand tall and proud. They all laughed at me when I asked a bit sheepishly if they were responsible for the gift, or if (the horrors) it was Ex-Cop (he was the only one in sight, and I was completely freaking out at the thought it could have been him--imagine the moratorium I'd have to put in place on shit talking for him being so nice). Luckily they weren't cruel, and just said, "Really? Seriously? Him?" I totally insulted them by asking. Sorry guys!
Every night when The Boy has left me to my own devices, the phone rings multiple times throughout the evening. Per my usual laziness, I don't even bother to get up and see who it is since it is usually an organization trying to get money out of us. The Boy is very generous, but now we have every non-profit that exists calling our house every single day. Lately, and this only happens when I'm home alone, a call comes through that makes the most obnoxious droning beeping noise when the answering machine picks up (yes, answering machine, The Boy must be able to screen his calls). It doesn't stop. It just goes on and on and on. It's so shrill and angry. This sound abolishes my laziness, and forces me to go and turn off the damn machine. I really just want to throw the home phone in the trash. I don't ever want to hear a phone ring again (my cell is on permanent vibrate mode). But no, The Boy works from home and feels that the phone is necessary. Lame. I'm sure he could still do his jobs without people calling here. I need to be his boss so I can lie down some strict rules.
I just realized that I haven't looked in a mirror since I left for work this morning. My hair looks so nice today. It's raining, so I don't understand how this is possible. Most days I look at myself and sigh over the fact that it is very obvious that I haven't had my haircut since my visit with Frijole and Fink-Nottle in November. Then a day like this comes along, and I second guess myself and think that maybe I should let my hair grow and grow and grow. Life is hard for those of us with curly hair. I never know when my tangles will be throwing tantrums.
Time to work on a design for a mosaic idea that's been floating around in my head for a few weeks.
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