My Shitty Day

Today qualifies as the shittiest day I've had in a while. Which, really I know has a silver lining, but we can look at that later. Don't let it distract you.

So this day sucked, right from the very-ery beginning. By that, I mean 12am. At 12am, I was beginning to regret my choice of onion rings while debating religion with a Frenchman who only halfway speaks English. An hour later I realized what time it was, a whole 6 hours before I had to start my day. Yay.

Homeward bound! I hopped right into bed in a desperate attempt to squeeze 8 hours of sleep into 6 hours of time. Too bad my body hates me, and I laid (i.e., thrashed) around for at least an hour before dozing off. At 5:50am, the cat from hell - who's name is Lola, as if that wasn't indication enough - started scrabbling and yowling at my door. She does this EVERY morning when L goes to work out. It continues until I let her in or the door pops open and she lets herself in. It popped at 6:20am.

I go to work, as good girls do, totally fried, but on-time and full of breakfast. I had a lot of coffee and was feeling good, so I took a jaunt down the street for better coffee and to pick up my podner's omelet. Cool, right? The weather was fab, it was sunny, yahoo! Add a diet coke, subtract a bag with handles, and you have me balancing an ice-cold beverage and a steamy-hot coffee on top of a styrofoam container. Push a door, push a door, trot down the street, puullll a door !!carefully!!, down the stairs, and twi-wis-twist the knob and **ka-blash!** The coke falls and shatters on the floor, the coffee tips and spills its scalding goodness on my arm, hand, and abdomen, and I stood stunned.

The upside? The ice from the coke felt nice on my brand new burn.

Oh, and P said the omelette was really tasty.

Writing, typing, dialing, and generally existing, all suck really bad once you toss a burn into the mix. My work is based on writing, typing and, especially, dialing. hoo-rah.

I took a long lunch to see the cute boy at the shoe store (who my parents already dislike, sight unseen, and without the threat of marriage or babies) who was too busy to talk, wander aimlessly, and finally get into a long chat with an odd fella who told me which colors of squirrel taste best and how to get the 'game' out of my recently deceased meat.

It seamed only right to GO HOME, curl up on the couch and eat cookies. Hibernation is a defense mechanism I'm not too proud to use.