Right now I’m staring down the neck of a Corona that I anticipate to be the first in a series of several which I will ingest this evening. Why am I breaking my long-held rule of drinking during the week when I’m not off of work tomorrow?
Because an hour ago I got home from work to find Sammy had vomited all over my kitchen. While I was cleaning that up, Sammy decided to spray diarrhea all over the carpeted hallway of my building. In front of the video cameras. The halls smell like shit, I’m sure my neighbors will notice and I’m the only one on the floor with dogs.
And half an hour before that I plunked down another $650 on to my credit card as I picked Thora up from the vet because her evil stomach sickness came back.
And 45 minutes before that I asked our IT department to put spyware on someone’s computer so we can figure out if she’s illegally sending files to someone outside our company.
And two hours before that I had just returned to my office after a blissful hour lunch with Mr. X, one of the only lunches I’ve ever taken out of the office in my four months of working at the Vortex, to find that “everyone” was looking for me. No, really. They said everyone. In the hour I was gone they fired someone and several hundred calls started pouring in because someone mailed a letter with a mistake – a mistake I didn’t know about and wasn’t a part of, mind you, but I had to listen to the fallout from some of it anyway.
And two hours before that I had finished dropping off 72 boxes of files (no, really, it was 72) with a couple interns and some “labor” as they called the poor underpaid guys, to some plush attorney’s office at Tyson’s.
And 10 minutes before that I was driving one of the trucks up 495 and ran over part of one of our boxes which fell off another truck.
And two hours before that I was in an overheated file room compiling all these boxes, inventorying content and loading them on to a truck three trucks. I was also complaining. Let’s not forget that. I’m very good at complaining. See: blog archives.
And one hour before that I was driving to work this morning wishing I didn’t have to go.
And one hour before that, E and I were watching in horror as Thora shit a stream of blood from her ass. (Look, I know it’s gross. But you know what you’re gonna get over here at Velvet in Dupont, so don’t act like it caught you off guard.)
And two hours before that, (we’re at 5:00 a.m. for those of you in the back) E woke up and ate the rest of my Flips.
And five minutes before that, E cleaned up Thora’s vomit that occurred at 4:50 a.m. while I slept and dreamed about a life bartending again.
And five hours before that I wondered as I showered, if this crushing stress will ever lift so that everything in my body that has liquefied could somehow unliquefy and I could be normal again.
And a day prior to that I found out I had to pack the aforementioned 72 boxes. In a dress. Not pack the boxes in a dress. I was wearing a dress. A $200 dress. And heels. And I had to go to a storage facility which was filled with bees and not air-conditioned. On July fucking 16th when average temperatures hover near 100 degrees.
And a day prior to that I found out that I’m so far behind with work because of other work dumped on me with the very thinly veiled excuse “You’re the only one who won’t fuck this up,” that almost everyone in the entire division is at a standstill until I can somehow figure out how to grow a siamese twin, separate myself from her, have her grow a twin, those two separate and then all three of us can plug away at this work until it gets done.
And a day prior to that, I realized that I still have his number, but decided not to go see Dr. Feelgood.
And a day and 15 minutes prior to that I thought, “Wow. It would be really nice if Dr. Feelgood could give me some SpecialK. (And not the cereal.) I wonder if I still have his number…”
And three days before that my mother sent me some email that insinuated I was a homewrecker. Let’s get this straight, okay? No one can “steal” anyone else’s husband. If you don’t believe me, ask Denise Richards when she really socked it to that tabloid journalist who printed lies about her. It is impossible to steal someone who doesn’t want to be stolen. Besides, I honestly had nothing to do with it. I had another boyfriend at the time. Not a very good one, mind you, but one who kept my mind off any sort of husband-stealing activities. Those of you who know me can just go ahead and admit for the rest that I’m inherently too lazy to steal mail from my neighbor, much less go through the motions of “stealing” a husband.
And a day before that I had the “incident” at Friendship Animal Hospital.
So there you have it. The events of the last two weeks that have resulted in my having to medicate with alcohol. I’ll see you when the sun comes up. Maybe.
a year ago tonight, someone Mr. X and I used to work with called me and told me that Mr. X and I were the subject of a very racy rumor. So I texted him: “Hey…did you hear that you and I have been sleeping together for years, apparently? I wish someone had told us. I’d like to know how it was.”
So begins the texting. It started slow and awkward, but each text crossed the line a little more and then a little more. Each of us too chicken to pick up the phone, we had a “conversation” that lasted from 11 p.m. until 6 a.m.
I’m not sure at what point in the last 365 days that I “knew,” but I just knew.
And I’ve never looked back since.
Frankly, I’m impressed that it’s just Coronas that you’re drinking. I’d at least be going for some mighty hard liquor.
Hope Sammy and Thora are better soon and that the incompetent fools at your workplace somehow grow back their frontal lobes.
And happy anniversary!
With the past, I have nothing to do; nor with the future. I live now. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
cheers to not looking back sugar!
Me thinks you should be hitting the beach with me for some bickets O Orange Crush or whatever floats your boat.
Good lord– if you hadn’t ended that on a high note, I think I would have needed to go have a drink for you. Hang in there…
I’m with mysterygirl. I was ready to whip out the bong to drown my sorrows over your shitty last two weeks. Instead, I will whip out the bong to celebrate your being in love and the impending healing of Thora and Sammy. Hope they start feeling better soon!
Really, are Vets in DC THAT incompetant? I would have brought the dog back and told him/her that the dog Isn’t better, that $650. is a lot of money NOT to treat an illness and that they had better take her back and make sure she’s O.K. BEFORE releasing her and NO, you will not be paying them any more- they already got paid- they just didn’t help the dog one bit!
As for work,it truely sounds like you are paying your dues- in spades. If you are right about the mole- make sure you get an assistant to help you out- that would be appropriate- and you want to hire/fire them- that way you’ll find someone as competant as you are. Hang in there- better days are coming.
Wow. Have a beer on me.
I think I’m going to go back to sleep.
Wow. Let me know if you need any help with Thora and Sammy. And if you need to spice up the Coronas (with hard liquor), I’ll teach you how to make a yummy “Michelada”, the best invention ever, since it mixes beer and tequila. Delish!
And then, and then, and then….. lord I thought it would never end. But then again, I’m sure you thought so too. Hopefully you get a break by 5 pm today, which is the official ending to job hell, for at least a couple of days, until Monday rolls back around.
And happy anniversary. Who knew? Yep. I know.
I heard that rumor.
Poor babies (all three of you).
I have tequila. The good shit. It’s yours if you need it.
I remember that day last year. That was a good day for you, as were the 360-something that followed. Happy *Anniversary*.
That must be a very special batch of Corona – I would have whipped out the St. George’s Absinthe and had a proper cocktail after all that. Hope the pups feel better quick and that your competence won’t be compensated with a crushing workload for much longer. I’m so glad about you and Mr. X. Also, you’re not alone on the mom issue – my mom’s filter has not been functioning well for a while now. Moms have no idea how damaging their words can be.
“Oh it’s a beautiful thing,
Don’t think I can keep it all in
If you asked me why I’ve changed,
All I gotta do is say your sweet name”
anyhow, if you’re ever in d-town, i gots the K for ya. oh the joys of having been a working cowboy/barn manager. seriously. i have shit that we used to use to get past the drug screens at auctions. we used to squirt some of it into our cokes/coke at the barn after we got beat up by the ponies. heh. but seriously, i need to get rid of this stuff, it’s just taking up fridge space.
Damn, woman. What a life you lead.
Oh wow, woman. Sounds like you need a trip to my bar… not only will I liquor you up, I will remind you why you DON’T want to go back to bartending at all.
Be careful about being too indispensable at your job…
Mom’s really only looking out for your best interests, in her own passive-aggressive way.
The Playaz find that bedding with a married woman will only get you shot at (not that that would stop us, but still).