So my day today:
Blew ass.
Started off kind of ok. Called in and took a vacation day, as I have 8 copy paper boxes to fill with things from our kitchen cupboards. Then I proceeded to sleep, perchance to dream, until almost 11:00 a.m.
I got up and checked my email, chatted a bit, and then got into the shower, because any day that starts out with a little Rosemary Mint shampoo and a rousing version of “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend” is always a good day.
Yes. I sing in the shower. It keeps my mind off of slicing my wrists open with my Mach 3 due to large car repair bills.
While I was in the shower, I heard noises in the house at large. It was my mom. And her work partner Roger. And I was showering with the door open, now basically trapped in my bathroom naked. Because the kitchen is between the bathroom and my bedroom.
Groovy.
So I scrounge a pair of boxers and an old fugly tshirt from the hamper and throw that on so I could walk through the kitchen and maintain my dignity. I got dressed and then my mom wanted me to go and pick out the colors of paints for the various rooms which now are in need of color. The three of us piled into Roger’s truck and I picked out some Ralph Lauren River Rock in Granite for my mudroom (because we can no longer call it a breezeway, since it doesn’t have windows at both ends anymore), White Orchid (which is fancy talk for Almost But Not Quite White) for the kitchen, and Light Taupe and Worn Glove (which is just darker than Light Taupe) for the bathroom, which will have an antiqued look.
At that point, it was two in the afternoon. I had not had anything to gnosh on. I had not even one drop of caffeine. We passed the Starbucks drivethrough, home of Starbucks Guy, and I’m certain that had I asked, they would have gladly made a Caffe run, but there was just something so sophomoric about driving through with my mom and grizly old Roger, three of us squashed across a huge truck’s front seat. I envisioned myself pathetically waving to the Starbucks Guy and decided that I could wait and drink a Diet Coke when I got home.
Which I did. And ate some leftover pizza. And surfed the goddamned Internet for three hours until it was time for me to pick up Esteban and go retrieve the Monte from the car hospital.
It’s snowing and Esteban had left me the truck.
I really hate the truck. I used to like the truck but that was when I hated my 1986 Pontiac 6000 college car with an intense passion normally reserved for Nazi War Criminals and the Olsen Twins. Back then, pre-Monte, I would connive to drive the truck, with it’s working air conditioning, working cruise control, and power windows, not to mention its cancer-free paint job. It’s all relative, people. Now I have one of the smoothest rides around, black leather seats that hug my ample bottom exquisitely, tunes that can be changed by the slightest flick of my thumb on the steering wheel. It is a ride to die for. It makes me a little hot just thinking about it, actually.
I really love my car.
And really hate the truck.
To make matters worse, we’re having our first real snow today and the truck handles like a lead sled in slippery conditions. You must begin turning the steering wheel half a block before you actually intend on turning, or your life may be in jeopardy. That truck doesn’t actually want to move. It would rather stand in our driveway, looking stately and masculine, flaunting its large tailgate at the little S10s that buzz around our bedroom community like gnats.
Maybe it just dislikes being driven by a woman. “Where’s the love?!” I whined to it, but the truck remained taciturn, spinning its wheels in two centimeters of slush, absent of ballast.
I called Esteban when I was a block from the lab and he met me out front, where I promptly scooted out of the driver’s seat and into the passenger seat.
I hate that thing.
But, I have the Monte back. The Monte adores me. The Monte knows how much fun we have together. The Monte can’t wait to drive through Starbucks tomorrow. The Monte is excited that we’re going to Milwaukee this weekend and get to drive fast for long periods of time and try out the new fat tires and sweet suspension.
Number of kitchen cabinets emptied: Zero
Number of corn dogs eaten: three
Number of Diet Cokes consumed: three
Number of inches of snow that have fallen today: Four
Feet of sidewalk someone must shovel tonight or the city will bust our asses: 132
Feet of sidewalk I intend on shoveling tonight: Zero.
Number of vacation days wasted: 1
