*Make My Day
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..The truth...from a certain point of view...
Sometimes I really think Mondays need to be outlawed. Lets just go directly from Sunday to Tuesay. Mondays are evil days. More bad news comes on Mondays than any other day, or so I've heard. I dont exactly have any statistics other than my own experience to back that up, but it sure feels that way. Work was slower than a snail with a broken leg, and yet that was somehow faster than the traffic on my way home. Apparently one of the more brilliant members of our local road deconstruction crews decided 5pm was a great time to limit west bound traffic on Main Avenue to one lane. IT took me 45 MINUTES!! to drive a distance that on a Saturday morning with little or no lites takes less than 10 minutes to drive. Of course then I dont have to make 10 minute stops every 30 seconds. I think I could have almost walked it faster. (YOU know traffic is slow when people in wheelchairs can pass you). Fortunately J* , Warren's day care was understanding. ONce I crossed the 45th street border, it was easy breezy, mac and cheezy. And considering all the deconstruction going on here, there wasnt' really any other way to go. I can't even freaking get to my own house.
On another front, (and those of you who have extra sensitive senses may want to skip this paragraph, it involves misuse of basic body functions) we lost another employee at work. Not a death loss, just a get your ass outa here loss. I have no idea what the story is, and I dont 'really care. We always know when some one has been terminated, as they send out and email that says John Smith is no longer employeed here. That isnt' really important, its just a bizarre coincidence to the rest of my rather stinky story. I read the email and didnt' think anything of it. I never knew the guy and it wasn't my business. But then later I hear one of the guys at work talking about a sign on the men's room "Watch your step". This caught my attention as everyone else was listening to him. So I turned around. He went to the bathroom, for reason's most of us go to the bathroom, but quickly decided to use a different room. Apparently the reason for the sign, is well, (and this is the kinda of thing one expects at kindergarten or reform school or something, not a place where everyone either is, or attempts to act like an adult) that some one had went to the men's room and left a umm "lincoln log" (use your imagination..) on the floor and either he or some one else had stepped in it (literally) and there were now "tracks" all over. Okay.
Last time I checked working this job required at bare minimum a high school diploma or the equivalent, as well as being old enough to work with out parental permission. These two facts alone should precipate the abitlty to manage ones bodily functions in a discrete and hygeninic fashion. So one can assume it was not an accident. I know occasionally people have to bring their kids to work, but I would assume such kids to be old enough to be potty trained as the work we do requires dealing with clients continously. And that one who would have kids, would also have the decency to clean up after such kids. This leaves only one other explaination. Apparently somebody either has issues, I dont' even want to think about, or an incredibly bizarre sense of retribution, not too mention symbolism. When I left work, the sign read out of order. I am not even going to bother asking. Although it was the running joke all over the office today.
Of course that also meant an entire day of conversations focused on bathrooms and body functions. Good thing nobody in our area is squimish. And most women admiting that they like me, if forced into a disgusting bathroom stall, will clean it up before leaving, less the person waiting, get the mistaken impression that I did it. "umm It wasnt' me okay". I know there is (*& but I didn't do it. Maybe later I can write about a former coworker who couldnt' pee if there was anyone else in the room. Even in a public bathroom. If someone else game in, she would have to leave.
Know that we've totally killed your dinner, breakfast or 2 am snack I'll return to less stinky topics.
After battling traffic, I was too tired to deal with cooking at a house which may or may not have running water, so Col Sanders made dinner for us. It was actually quite good, as I got to spend the whole meal listening to Warren (aka Walter Mitty) spin an outragious yarn about digging up with a payloader, and going under the bed rock. It was better than it sounds, but I can't remember the details. Then he went outside an played while I watched Angel and attempted to figure out what the bleeping I was watching, haveing miss every episode before this. It was actually good even if I only had half a clue. Although I will say, what ever Charisma did to her hair, its not working girlfriend.
I also have some other things on my mind, but before I come out with any details I want to work out some things in my own head first.
Prequels ~ Sequels
Music of the mind: :
~*~Have you read these~*~
~ Ode to a child who is no more ~
~ She's baaack ~
~ testing ~
~ Facebook me ~
~ Bleech ~
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In every neighborhood there is at least one house that all the neighbors gossip about. This is a diary from the woman who lives in that house. I am a single mother in her mid thirties. I live in North Dakota with my son, Warren.
I tend to be a bit of a slob, and am the opposite of a girly-girl. I am geek girl, who loves Star Wars, Star Trek, Harry Potter, Buffy, Angel, action movies, science fiction, action adventure, Dr. Who, and so on and so on.
I love to write and while I don't post much fiction online anymore I would love to be a writer someday. I am also overweight, bipolar and suffer from allergy induced asthma.