This is me today:
As I type, I'm "working from home," while a plumber replaces my entire kitchen drain and garbage disposal. I knew the fuckwads who used to own this house didn't install it right, which is why periodically my sink turns into a foul-smelling, brackish, grease-film-covered cesspool. Like it was this morning when I went to make coffee. I hope he puts a big-ass red bow on it when he's finished, because it's my six hundred and forty fucking dollar Christmas present to myself. Ho fucking ho!
And then there was the meeting last night of one of the groups I volunteer with, at which the discussion suddenly and horribly turned to Deputy Joe .... and his girlfriend. That's right, girlfriend. With no small measure of effort, I stifled the urge to yell, "Girlfriend??!! He doesn't have a girlfriend!!!"
Oh, but he does. I tried to maintain composure while one of the members of the group recounted her conversation with the two of them at a Function a couple of weeks ago, in which Deputy Joe told of his plans to return to some impoverished third world country with her for a few weeks after the first of the year. Another member of the group, a contractor, piped up to add that the girlfriend called him about getting a quote on some work at his house.
His house?? The one that may or may not still have a pair of my underwear lost in it? The one with the floor from which I collected my clothes at dawn a matter of weeks ago???
That mother fucking goddamn slimeball piece of shit.
Of course, while this was all going down, I was sitting directly across the table from Bob Sanders, and therefore stifled the urge to begin violently stabbing my notes with my pen.
Since I'm "working from home" today, I had the chance to do some research on this...person. She's a member of a Family of Note, is an incurable do-gooder who loves children in third-world countries (which, I'm sure, she helps with the Family Money, because her teacher's salary isn't going to finance all those trips), and--get this--wears pigtails. Low on either side of her head, braided. Maybe Piggy only did that once, but even once past the age of 13 is completely unacceptable, particularly when there's a camera in the vicinity.
It's noon now. I think it's beer o'clock.
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