The past two weeks I’ve been assisting various work groups with interviewing employees. This is something I honestly love doing. I most prefer it to my regular job. However, what I do not like is interviewing a person when there is a 2” cockroach roaming around on the floor behind him (the interviews were taking place in an industrial setting). I find that extremely distracting, and am more worried about finding the closest points of egress than listening to Mr. Applicant discuss his qualifications. Sitting on my legs through a whole interview also makes me cranky, but what if that roach decides to crawl up my pants leg? Then where would we be? Out the motherfucking door, I’ll tell you that much.
It makes me cry a bit on the inside knowing how terribly infantile and girly that makes me to lose my cool during an interview. Especially when I get all pissy when an applicant made a crack about having his boss pay for my pedicure when he was demonstrating a mechanical skill as part of his interview (it involved him teaching me how to replace belts on a piece of machinery). Hi! I scream at the sight of a roach, but don’t you dare get all sexist on me when it comes to my goddamn fingernails! He did not get offered the position—I swear it had nothing to do with his comment. I’m a professional!
After work yesterday, I visited with EM. It’s been a long time. I bet you forgot she existed. That’s what happens when someone improves her station in life—she makes more money and is busier. Bitch. After catching her up on almost three months of happenings, we hugged and I ran home to put ET outside so he could get some sun on his back.
Driving home, I thought of Blue. I didn’t get to chat with her all day, which left me feeling a bit dreary. I thought about how she has twice brought me flowers. I love her for that. I know no other person who brings flowers for no reason at all. She’s brilliantly sweet like that. I get to see her tonight. Perhaps I’ll think of something lovely to bring her—if I knew how, and had a few more hours left to fritter away, I’d make her a thousand origami cranes, and shower her with them when she opened the door. I think that would express my love quite nicely.
Or I can just answer the door sans pants.
The AC in my car is intermittently working. It’s been in the triple digits and I own a black car. I may complain all the time about how cold buildings are, and that my thermostat is currently set on 86, but no AC in the car is even a bit much for me to bear.
Ivy Vyne is coming for a visit (YES!), and she told me she is fine with this situation. I think it might be better if she reserved judgment. I’m worried that her delicate New England skin is going to melt right off her, and I’ll be driving her bones around town this weekend. At least I won’t have to worry about accidental drowning, if she’s already dead before I get her in to a river.
CSP kindly came over last night and mucked around behind my glovebox (that is not a euphemism…in this case) where there is some filter, which he cleaned for me (Side story: Last week I ate some crackers I had stored in my glovebox, and I almost fainted from the foul taste of exhaust, and now knowing there is this filter existing directly behind the glovebox certainly explains a lot). The filter was barely dirty, just a couple leaves and seeds; thus, we both agreed it probably wasn’t causing the problem. All the same, it was really cute watching him grapple with the glovebox.
Last week saw the successful passing of another birthday for Wikus. He was feted in style, by which I mean he was given many fine gifts (Blue’s being the best since she picked items up from an Asian grocery store like squid crackers and a blue drink that warned, “A white poeder at the bottom is not a default. Please agitate slowly.”), and all the alcohol he could swallow (always an impressive amount). Sadly, this liquor consumption left Wikus quite hung-over on Saturday and he could not make it to the Urban Family Get-Together at C&L’s, which was a shame because it was very well attended.
The theme was food cooked with booze, which is harder than cheese themed, but obviously very popular with our group of friends. I left the cooking up to CSP (my role in the kitchen is to stand around looking pretty, which everyone agrees I do quite well), and he did a magnificent job with a scotch-maple chicken (the recipe couldn’t be easier, yet, I bet I’ll never make it on my own). At the party people kept exclaiming how wonderful the chicken was, and asking who brought it. And yes, that was my hand that shot up in the air—not my fault that CSP was too busy watching soccer in the other room to lay claim to his accomplishments.
I got drunk too quickly (who do I blame for this, because I really felt kind of cheated?), and had to go home early. Thankfully I had a ride, and actually, it all ended quite well considering that there are so many fuzzy bits to my memory. There may have been a bit of pot-valour involved, which was just a matter of being honest about my feelings. Luckily, they weren’t squashed, and I went to bed a very happy, and tipsy, lady.
1 comment:
Last night, I was making dinner for me and the boys, and there was something between my eyes and the wok. I assumed it was a stray hair, except it seemed to have more girth to it--yes, I have girthy hair, but not quite this much, and no, I'm not referring to the urban dictionary definition of girth--but it was too close to my eyes to really see. So I brushed it aside, and--SCREECH!! IT WAS A SPIDER, SPINNING A WEB DOWN FROM THE FRONT OF MY HEAD!! I not only screamed, I did some kind of "get this fucking thing off of me" dance which looked like strange squirming convulsions, all while I threw off articles of clothing and continuing to screech. I still don't know if I might have flung the spider into the wok and served it up for dinner, because by the time I was able to cease my convulsions, the stir-fry was burning and I had to get things done quick. My point is: I'm a bad-ass chick, but toss a spider in my path, and I become a cartoon. I'm glad you didn't find any cockroaches crawling up your pants leg.
Post a Comment