Eye Contacts

Don't you hate it when someone is walking towards you and you don't know how long to hold the eye contact?

I was walking down the hallway at work today and was about to pass a coworker. I glanced up, and rather than doing my usual quiet "hello" and small nod, which I usually employ for people or coworkers I'm not too close with, something possessed me. He's a nice guy and we've hung out in a group for after-work happy hours, so I guess my mind was trying to process something a bit more congenial.

Meanwhile, my eyes were still locked with his. It wasn't until he finally broke in with a "Hey" that the spell was finally broken and I responded with a "hey", too. As we finally passed each other I began cursing myself, imagining what my coworker was thinking of my dumbstruck, open-mouth appearance, as if I was short a few chromosomes.

I do the same kind of eye-contact stand-off every day when I first come into work. I always pass the security desk on my way in, and normally the person behind it is too busy to notice my coming. However, there is a lady security guard who, when not on her phone, usually notices me. If I'm not paying real attention I might keep my head down, kinda diverting any eye contact at all.

But typically, I mindlessly look up and find myself in an another eye-lock. I wait, and wait, and the finally mutter out a "mornin'" when I can't stand the pressure anymore.

Maybe I should just start wearing blinders; anything it takes to escape the minute instances of social discomfort.

Drinking and Dying

Is it possible to need two days to recover from a hangover? My stomach and head have still been giving me grief all day- although the headache could be from staring at a computer screen for 8 hours straight...the stomach, meh, my stomach always hurts.

The thing is, I didn't even do anything that crazy that would MERIT a two-day recovery period. I drank beer. Just BEER. Sure, there were a few cups fulls, but c'mon, I can't even drink plain old beer without paying for it the next day?? What kind of rip-off is that?

It's especially infuriating when I see both real people and the television people (or television people on shows on Netflix on Demand that I've never seen before, and therefore, am not cheating on my television embargo) being able to guzzle beer whenever and however, and seemingly recover instantaneously. The only time I was remotely able to do that was in college, and that was because my liver was still pretty show-room new and I was hanging out with foreigners who taught me to drink like a cross country runner instead of a sprinter.

Now, it seems I have a glass of wine and my stomach and head are messed up all the next day. I am whining I know, I'll try to stop.

In case you couldn't tell, I had no idea what to write about tonight but I'd like to try and write for all four days. Unfortunately for you, the reader, it could make for some tedious reading. Lemme see if I can drudge up some good embarrassment for you...oh I got it.

Don't you hate it when someone holds the door for you when you don't want them to? We have to entrances to my office: the main one and the side one. The side one is the one I always go thru b/c it's closest to my desk. But sometimes if someone is walking ahead of me back to the office they will hold the door for me thru the main entrance. I usually just comply, even after I try and show them that I have my access card AND that I'm going the other way.

Well, the other day I was in a precarious situation- I had a guy from my office in front of me walking to the door and two guys behind me. As I'm sure you already know, I like to be as invisible at work as possible (or at least until I know for sure I am liked). The guy ahead opened the door and held it for me, thinking I was going in that way. I fumbled again for access key and muttered something like "I...uhh, I've...got...ma..key".

I thought he understood my signals and so I was just letting the door closed. Suddenly the guys behind me (who are notoriously sarcastic but cool) yelled, "Hey! What're you doin, not holding the door for us?"

The guy who had been in front simply said, "I was holding it for her," as I quickly ducked down the long hallway. When I heard him alluding to me, I was still just as flustered, just louder.

"OH! I've...got..my...this...I'm...good. Th-th-thanks, s-s-sorry!"

It was another one of those great moments where it probably wasn't a big deal, but internally I was tightening the noose. Oh well.

Hope that got a chuckle from ya. See ya tomorrow!

A. C. Slacker

Ok, so since last night's post was long AND overly emotional (a.k.a. BORING) I'm gonna do something light and brief.

I had an awkward moment at work today. Our boss, who is ultra cool, came over yesterday and said that we'd have a meeting today to discuss how we have been progressing on our given projects. Let me back up a second and explain that for the past few weeks (yes, weeks) we have been pretty much told to do whatever we want, but that there was a small ongoing project we could each work on for a while until the bigger projects come through the pipeline. So after he described what we were doing we were left to our own devices.

Now, I hate to say it, but I'm a bit of a born slacker, as well as procrastinator. Unless I have the fear of God in me, or at least someone breathing down my neck, I usually take it upon myself to look up God knows what on the Internet or play Sporcle, a game-website one of the girls turned us onto. In between games and latest shopping queries, I have been every so often clicking on and actually doing a bit of research for my project- but I was nowhere near anything useful or really definitive yet. So when he mentioned wanting to see our progress, I got that old feeling I hadn't felt since college: slacker panic.

I went home trying to convince myself I would be fine, that I had SOMETHING, just so long as he didn't ask anything specific- like what EXACTLY this company I'm showing him does. My other saving grace, I thought, was that I was collaborating with the other temp, so we could kinda lean on each other.

In the morning he walked over to where we were sitting and suggested we have our meeting at 11, and that we could just email him what we had so far.....this was a problem. At that point all I had was a collection of websites that I could show him. What the hell was I going to email him? Quickly my fellow fremp and I got to work on putting something, ANYTHING, on some Powerpoint slides. It wasn't much, but we managed to get some stuff on 9 different slides. As time ran out I emailed him what we had and walked to our deaths.

Les was up first, and as usual, was way prepared with a nice long and detailed Excel spreadsheet of her project. She seemed informed and understood what she was supposed to be doing. Then it was our turn. He pulled up my first slide (the one I was responsible for) and was quiet. I looked at it through his eyes---what the hell has this girl been DOING for almost 3 weeks? A fourth grader would've put together a nicer slide with more info. And then I did the thing I am most embarrassed by.

I began with an offensive attack, trying to get a head start in commenting on the slides before he had the chance to ask anything, but I found myself stumbling and stammering. At one point he asked a specific question (ohcrapohcrapohcrap), and tried my hardest to not look dumbfounded.

"So..what does that '90% confidence' mean?," he asked.

"Um, well...yeah, it means that they wanted to be 90% confident the information they got was sound and so, uh, therefore....the information they gave back was...90% accurate," I managed to get out. You ever have one of those feelings where you are outside yourself and you are just watching you make a total ass of yourself because the person you are talking to can totally tell you have no idea what you are talking about?

Ah well. Thankfully, it was the last specific question he asked, and luckier, he even said it was looking good and was already helpful. He gave us a few simple points to include and then released us.

We walked out breathing a heavy sigh of relief, and I did the same thing I always do when I barely get by the skin of my teeth in those situations, and reminded myself to NEVER force myself to have to go through something like that again. I like to think I will, but I'll probably just put it off...ooh "Name all the original 13 colonies" on Sporcle, hmmmm

Cold Feet...and Hands

Boy, do I feel in a mood. I really shouldn't be: I have a nice little place to live, a semi-well-behaved dog, a good paying job, dear friends, and a great guy.

The thing is- I always get depressed more easily in the cold months. Shocker, I know everyone kinda does. But I have always categorized myself as a summer baby and in the winter I tend to emotionally and physically go into hibernation.

I also tend to get more annoyed, and this year is no exception. Every little thing tends to piss me off or frustrate me: I don't know what to do with my life, I never have enough money, I hope people like me, etc. Of these things I like to think I have little control so instead I focus on the single most-annoying/frustrating thing about this time of year- keeping my hands and feet warm.

There is nothing as aggravating as trying to keep your appendages warm, and for me, it's a constant battle. In fact, when I used to watch television shows or movies and people go running around outside with no shoes on or gloves, I used to think, "I don't care how happy and playful they are, that could never happen. My hands hurt just LOOKING at this." Sometimes my mother would look at my hands and say, "Your fingernails are blue!" My corpse hands, I'd call them.

And this is my main argument against people who LIKE the cold: when you have a chill that reaches down to your bones, there isn't a shower or mug of cocoa that can relieve you. At work, there is no exception.

My office is pretty much cold all year long, which sucks for me, because I can get cold with a hair dryer blowing down my neck in. So, over the past few months I've found methods to deal with it...

1.) Legs or feet under: I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this before, but I've had to tuck my hands under my legs so many times, I swear I'm about to get a backwards Levi's logo embedded into them. When I can barely type it's a pretty quick problem solver, except that the effect wears of quickly and I'm left with cold legs and stiff fingers.

2.) Sneaking for the sink: I will spend the extra minute or two washing out a coffee mug or being extra sanitary scrubbing my hands if it means longer time to scald my hands in the hot water. The problem here is that a.) the sinks in the bathroom rarely have the necessary heat to blast through my frigid hands and b.) usually someone is waiting for the sink in the kitchen so I have to cut my thaw short.

3.) Hot coffee: I am starting to think the main reason I began drinking coffee consistently was due to the wonderful feeling of heat between my hands. Also nice: the feeling of feeling returning to my digits. The problem: it's usually too hot to handle right away anyway so you have to wait before you can comfortably grip the thing and when it does cool down enough it's a race against time before it turns to sludge. Bad also: you can only warm one side at a time. Drag.

If anyone out there has any other tips to beat the cold at work, send em as comments here or on facebook. Gonna hit the bed for now, see yall tomorrow.

3-Day

Monday again, already. Can't believe that we are looking Christmas smack dab in the face, and I haven't set foot in one store yet or clicked one mouse for a shipment of something. I know it shouldn't be surprising, seeing as how I live my life not IN the moment, but in the LAST moment. I probably would've started it this weekend, if only...

Let me say that I had a feeling Friday was going to be a bad day right from the beginning. See, with my job, we are able to get holiday pay (as in payment for federal holidays that close our business), so long as we meet a certain amount of hours leading up to it. Back on Labor Day, when I was all set to receive the rest of my money I looked in my bank account and saw it had not been directly deposited. When I called and asked about it, all I was given was a "Sorry, but you didn't reach enough hours." I was pissed and so I vowed I wouldn't get screwed like that again. And with a reassurance that I would be eligible for Thanksgiving I went on working.

So when Thanksgiving came and went I once again looked in my bank account to verify the second payment was deposited, and again, it was nowhere to be found. Again I called my "boss" and asked about it, holding out some hope that it was a misunderstanding and that it would be there soon.

"Oh yeah, you should be getting it, hang on." A few moments passed before he came back.

"Umm, hey can you hold on one more second? I just need to check something," he said, and slowly, my precious hope began to build. A moment longer and then he came back on the line.

"Ooooh, I'm sorry. Yeah you were still a few hours shy....sorry," I was livid, but I merely sighed with disappointment and hung up the phone.

Back at my desk I was working and sulking (mostly sulking) when I realized I had made an error...two, actually,..on the project I was doing. I suddenly began to panic, fearing the wrath of a certain coworker, who had strictly directed us NOT to do this specific thing. And I had gone and done it twice.

I looked up at the ceiling, as if waiting for either a meteor to come crashing through my skull or some sort of answer from God as to why I was being punished for such a lousy day. As I kept putting off telling my coworker what I had done I began truly wondering what the third bad thing would be; I'm a big believer in the power of 3.

My coworker eventually found me and I just sort of blurted out what I had done, apologizing profusely. Thankfully, he was nonplussed, and reassured me it was not really a big deal, and that it was easily fixable. As he walked away I breathed such a sigh of relief.

Also, I am happy to say, that the third evil thing never came. Though who knows...it may just be waiting till next Friday...

Insectuous

Had kind of a weird moment this morning. I was eating my bowl of cereal in the living room and Georgia was sitting beside me, staring off into space (she was, I wasn't...or maybe I was..who knows).

Anyway, when I finally centered on what she was looking at I realized it was a spider that had dropped down from the ceiling and clinging to a strand of web. I probably would never have noticed it if Georgia hadn't. The strand was so small it looked like the thing was truly hovering in midair.

Still, I leaped so fast off the couch you'd think my pants had caught fire. Georgia just kept gingerly trying to stand on her hind legs to snatch it up so I quickly took one more bite of my cereal and then smacked it with a shoe (the spider, not my cereal. I am a shameful English degree-holder).

Now that I recall, that was the second odd bug-type thing that happened recently. The first occurred yesterday, I think, but this week has been flying by so who knows. One of the fremps gave the other and me a small potted plant to put on our desks, an incredibly sweet gesture. A little while later one of our coworkers stopped by desk.

"So we'll probably have a meeting for that in a day or two....hmm...looks like you have a little friend," he said.

I wasn't sure what he was talking about until my head spun around and noticed one of those damn Japanese stink beetles climbing ostensibly from my little potted plant. Again, I overreacted and immediately pushed my chair away. We all began laughing because it did look as if it was a prank, but the fremp assured me it wasn't and apologized. After that we all quieted down, but I was still left to do something about the beetle. I explained how I was worried about the odor it would emit if I tried to kill it. My fremp Les explained how it really wasn't all that bad, unless you had your nose right up it, and encouraged me to just squash it.

Now, I don't know why, but I have a hard time even taking a tissue to squish a bug- its probably the wimpiest thing about me. I always figure somehow it will escape and suddenly crawl up my arm. It's also difficult because, unlike flies or mosquitoes, this thing is big enough to almost have a personality. I'm not saying I expect it to suddenly throw on a top hat and tap dance, but I'm sure it doesn't WANT to die. I was ready to just leave it alone, but I felt I should try to do my part in eradicating these things from our office.

So, I took a deep breath, plucked a tissue free, and gently place it on top of the beetle. I then knew I wouldn't have the guts to kill it so instead I tried to flick it away. Three attempts and three smacked fingers later, I finally decided to simply let it live. I justified it to myself by thinking I just gave it a pardon and that maybe I'd get some good karma out of it.

Still, things usually happen in threes...maybe I better check the sheets before bed tonight...

No Rest for the Bleary

I hate drunk-sleep. Drunk-sleep is in fact not sleep at all. It's more like your body just instantly shuts down. You aren't performing any normal internal body functions, you aren't resting. You are just unplugged. And man was I feeling it today.

I went out last night (hence the missing post) to lift a friend's spirit. Now, I realize it was in the middle of the week, but I normally tell myself it's ok, provided I keep it easy and keep chugging water. I did neither of these things, therefore I was paying for it all day today, including right now.

And this was really the day I wanted to be on my A game. Today was the day I was going back to the Broadcast Institute of Maryland to give them my first check and sign some preliminary papers. But I'll get to that.

I woke up with the feeling of hammers being chucked inside my head. I tried to pull myself out of bed, threw some breakfast down my throat and set off for work. My commute is usually about 15-20 minutes. For some reason today my mind wandered so far and so wide that at moments when I came back around to consciousness I realized I was STILL in my car. It felt like I had been sitting and driving for hours. Plus, it didn't help that there was freaking accident on a major side-road, causing a huge back-up.

I finally get in and all I want to do is lay my head down some more but anytime I found some peace I'd be scared away by someone. In one instance I had my head in my hand leaning it on a pipe in the stairwell when I suddenly heard someone open the door loudly, causing me to jump and continue walking. Even in the bathroom, as I was washing my hands I drifted over to the wall only to hear the door's security buttons beep, reawakening me and sending me on my way. I couldn't catch a break.

Then it looked like my boss was going to skip the day, allowing me to sneak out a little early to go home for a nap before my meeting. It was 11:12 and still no sign of him. Then suddenly, just as I had talked myself into the plan, he came strolling in. F word.

So I waited till the end of the day and realized I had to go home anyway to get my checkbook. I sit in the drive-home traffic, get home to put on some more makeup, and then get back in the car. According to Google Maps, the place should be 12 minutes away, but this being Baltimore, it ended up taking me over 20 minutes- causing me to be late for my appointment; and if there is anything I have been drilled about in the radio biz, it's the importance of being on time.

I finally see the place and park on a residential side road. As I'm walking in I noticed a boy of about 9 or 10 standing outside a store. I keep my eyes down and then I hear, "hello." Just like that. Not intonation otherwise. At first I play it like I didn't hear him. Again, I hear, "hello." I look up and realize his eyes are crossed but that his head is pointed towards me. Trying to be polite and not totally creeped out (btw I'm VERY sorry if this is offensive and I know he's probably a nice kid and his problems are not his fault), I say hello back.

"Watch what I can do." Again, no real intonation and again I sort of play it like I didn't hear him.

"Watch what I can do," he said again.

"Oh, I'm sorry but I really have to go," and keep walking. Now anyone who knows me should know already that I'm usually a nice person, but when it gets dark and I'm in an area I don't really know I like to be Unassuming Sally. Even though he was just a kid I still didn't really feel the desire to be playful. I am tired, nervous, and hungover. So go play somewhere else, Petey.

Anyway, things turned out about even at the Institute. I'll relay more info about it next week. Till then, I'm avoidin' the booze and hittin' the snooze.

Find the Smoking Toaster

First and foremost, a big sloppy wet welcome to my 9th follower, Jessica! Hola Hessica! One person closer to double digits. Feels good.

Anyway, if there was a theme for this week it would be....fire. Why? Indulge me to explain.

I was toasting an English muffin in our toaster oven on Monday when I suddenly noticed smoke building inside. Not inside our house, but inside the toaster. It had only been going for a few seconds, but still I turned the timer to 0. I was disappointed, as I hadn't anything else to eat for breakfast and I was already running late. I peered inside to see if a random crumb was on the heater bars when I noticed something that looked like burnt cheese on them instead. I suddenly recalled Joe saying he heated up some pizza the other night and assumed some of it's cheese had dripped off without his noticing.

I considered just going to work without breakfast, but worried I'd get into trouble with food the rest of the day. Quick side note: I heard someone use an old adage that said, "Breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince, dinner like a pauper." It does make sense as a diet plan, sort of. If you are full in the morning you are less likely to overeat the rest of the day. However, when I think of eating alot in the morning my mind goes to making things like eggs and bacon; surely not what dietitians had in mind. So then what constitutes a big meal? A really big bagel? Two bowls of oatmeal? It's almost an oxymoron: eat alot of not alot. The only way I could reason in my head was by having a small bowl of cereal with a bread of some kind. Not sure if I'm getting any fitter, but I do find my mealtimes require less binge-eating.

Anyway, back to my toaster and English muffin. I didn't want it barely touched by heat, but I also didn't want to waste it. In the end, I popped it back in for a shorter amount of time and just watched. Sure enough, within a few seconds, the thing started smoking again. I waited as long as I thought safe and then turned it back off again. It had just crossed the not-toasted to toasted line, albeit barely. I slathered on some butter and peanut butter and made do. For the rest of the day I would get a dry charcoal taste in my mouth that reminded me of hamburgers. Not really a pleasant taste at 9:45 a.m.

The next day I opted instead to just buy a bagel from the kiosk in our office library. The guy behind the counter asked if I wanted him to heat it up for me.

"No thanks," I said. "I'll just pop it in the toaster oven in our office."

Back in our communal kitchen I broke the two halves apart and set them in the toaster. While I was getting some water I looked back and noticed the same exact smoke starting to billow. Although I was surprised at the odds of two toasters in my life starting to smoke, I was more panicked at getting in trouble with my co-workers. I could see the forwarded CC message now...

"To whoever was the dumbass who set fire to the kitchen: Can you go ahead and NOT do that? We here at ******* appreciate an unburnt kitchen but don't appreciate irresponsible temps using bagels as charcoal briquettes."

I quickly stopped the timer again, and waited till the smoke had seeped and slipped out before pulling out my, once again, barely heated breakfast bread.

Finally, today, as I decided to neither use my own toaster nor test the toaster in our office kitchen, I stopped at your favorite neighborhood McDonalds for my breakfast. A few hours later as I sat at my computer desk we were suddenly overcome by piercing buzzes and flashing lights. An unexpected fire drill was sounding, and as we all listlessly gathered our belongings and dared each other to take off for the rest of the day, I couldn't help but imagine some poor schlep was inside trying desperately to put out the flames of their Toaster Strudel.

I'm off to a wedding tomorrow night, folks, so have a good one! See you back on Monday!

Dog-gone It!

This time I really mean it. I am going to keep this s.o.b. short! Especially with how early I was up this morning. Let's begin.

So as you can probably tell from the title, this one's going to be about my sweet little angel face, Georgia. Or "dog" as I like to call her when she's pissing me off. Like lately!

The thing I've noticed about Georgia is that she goes through peaks and valleys, behavior-wise. For about 80% of the time we've had her she has been surprisingly good: doesn't whine for our food at the dinner table, doesn't bark, and hasn't had an accident in the house for weeks. It's just that pesky 20% of bad behavior she dips into that drives us crazy. Luckily it usually only lasts about a week before she's back to being very good. But what a week...

A few days ago, while Joe and I were inside watching a DVD, he received a message from someone saying that he had our dog. We both looked at each other, and realized we hadn't checked on the dog, naturally assuming she was just frolicking in the yard, as usual. Oh this happened on Sunday, the same day I felt like ultimate crap but put on a brave front because we were going to the Renaissance Fest with friends and I didn't want to be a Debbie Downer.

I had been trying to nurse my hangover the whole morning, but the second Joe told me about the message I sprang (well, quickly hobbled is more accurate) to my feet and tried to find some shoes. It just so happened that our friends were meeting us at our house and they arrived around the same time as our dog-rescuer did. We thanked him profusely and he explained where he had found her.

Apparently she had either slipped through a gap in the fence or simply hopped over it, I assume in pursuit of a squirrel. He said she seemed to be trying to figure out a way back in, as she stayed near the fence. This was a small amount of relief to me, since the road right next to our sidewalk tends to get busy and cars often surpass the speed limit by a few miles.

We were happy to have her home, but once again our trust was broken with her. Joe had spent a good deal of time and money fencing in the rest of the walkway, but the reward was that Georgia could run and play outside without much supervision. Now we were both panicky and paranoid.

The next day as we were getting ready for work we let her out to go to the bathroom. Joe and I were talking about something and as he turned his back to check on her he noticed her trying to squeeze her body through the gap at the bottom of the gate. He shouted at her and immediately she pulled back out. This is, we guess, how she must've gotten out, but we're still not 100% positive.

Then I came home from work, walked into the kitchen and couldn't believe my eyes. She had not only been on our small make-shift card-dinner table, but she had completely destroyed the fabric on top. I walked in to find the top of the table in complete and utter shreds. As if that wasn't enough, I then walked back into the living room and spied a fresh, wide, wet pee stain on the rug.

The next day I stayed a little late at work, but Joe texted me to tell me that the place was fine but she had still peed on the rug. Later that night (or Wednesday morning I should say), Georgia woke us both up by suddenly tearing down the stairs and whining. This is unusual for her, as normally if she wants to go out to go to the bathroom she just comes to my side of the bed and whines a little till I wake up. It's not strange to see her animated in the morning, but hyper and hysterical is.

I thought maybe it was because I wasn't being as diligent as I had been with taking her for a run with me, so I made it a point, after dinner with Ash, to tear-ass home to get in a run with her. Unfortunately, with the days getting shorter, it's a rush against time before it's too dark to go. I made it just before it got pitch black, and though it wasn't as long as our runs usually are I still figured I had worked out alot of her pent up energy.

Sure enough this morning she tore off downstairs again, at around 5:00 a.m. I also wanted to try and curb her bladder so I gave her water to drink with her food, but took it away when I left for work. Sadly, when I walked into the house again, there was the yellow puddle, right by the door. I raised my voice a bit, but even without that she knew she had done wrong. Btw, does it make me the most evil person to admit that I think she looks the damn cutest when she's scared or guilty? Her big ears flatten against her head and that curly-cue tail unfurls between her legs. It's so hard to be mad at her when all I want to do is scoop her up and cuddle. But then she's basically learning that peeing by the door is A-OK. I'm not sure what to try next, but the week IS almost up, so maybe we're on our way to the peak.

I'll keep you posted. Until then, goodnight!

Ain't Misunderstandin'

You ever have one of those days where it seems the way you are saying things will be misinterpreted? I'll give you a few examples...

A few days ago in the kitchen of my office I was making myself a cup of coffee when one of my coworkers walked in. We remarked briefly about some topic and I noticed him reach for one of the fundraiser candy bars another coworker brought in. I didn't happen to notice if he dropped his required dollar into the envelope and said jovially (at least I thought..), "Hey, you can't just take one of those"

My coworker looked up at me wide-eyed and simply pointed to the envelope. I laughed it off like I was kidding, and I'm pretty sure he did too. I only became paranoid about it when as we both were walking back towards our desks my fremp Les asked how he was doin and simply replied, "Good, except Kris thinks I'm a crook."

I apologized for the 5th time, explaining I was just kidding and that I was genuinely sorry. I meant to come off cheeky but I think I ended up looking like the total ass.

Another time was today in the bathroom. Les and I often go for a stroll around the building for some fresh air and exercise, and when I told her I was going to run to the ladies' real quick first she ended up joining me. I asked how her project was going and she explained that suddenly she felt she was on a deadline. She said, "I'm going as fast as possible." To which I replied, "Yeah, that's as fast as you can go." I don't know why, but I felt like a bitch, as if I was saying, "Yeah, they shouldn't expect any faster from you.

Finally, as I was taking Georgia for our usual run we were suddenly confronted with a man and his black bichon'-looking dog. Georgia immediately wanted to get closer but the other dog was so anxious or excited it began to bark. And because it barked, Georgia began to growl and bark a little. I suddenly had to yank her back, saying something, "Now that's not how YOU act." I don't know why I care, but I became worried that I was insinuating in front of the dog-owner that I didn't want MY dog acting like his, which wasn't necessarily true. I just wanted her to be wel-behaved. Oh well.

I think I'll end there. I made the crucial mistake of cracking open a couple of Saranac brews, so now I'm super sleepy and droopy. Tomorrow- Sunday's weed tackle and why I'm insecure.

Cap Scratch Fever

Holy hell, it's been awhile. Yeah I know I completely spaced, and I'm sure you all have missed my odd ramblings and rants. This week has been full of activity, none of which included writing, so to make up for it I'm posting on a Saturday, something I never like to do but stories are starting to back-up on me like bran in a muffin. Or does that make you go? Oh well, sorry to be gross, but then again, gross is the topic at hand.

WARNING- Do not read ahead if you have eaten, are eating, or about to eat OR are easily queasy.

As some of you may recall I've been dealing with a bothersome rash that appeared only on the right side of my body. Well, it's been spreading. I noticed a few more bumps around the original area, and now there are some on my ankles, on my leg, my back, even one on my cheek (and I don't mean on my face...). Luckily these are easily hidden-not some much the case for the three on my arm.

I try like hell not to scratch, especially at work. I really would prefer to not have people walk by and see me scratch myself, wondering what the hell I have. So I slather on the Cortaid (thanks again, Mrs. G!), which does soothe it enough so I don't notice. But every once in a while, something will graze the surface of my skin (a desk, a door, my jeans) and suddenly the itch is ignited furiously. I feel like a torture victim, trying to will away the urge to grab a piece of paper, a pen cap, even the little "innovation" toy the company gave us (with the perfect little sharp edges) and scratch myself into oblivion. You ever see that episode of Friends when Pheobe and her boyfriend get chicken pox and she tries to scratch herself with the Monopoly pieces?...I understand her character's pain.

Instead I just try to pretend I'm crossing my leg over my lap or stretching so that I can satisfy the smallest amount of scratching relief. Even still, I worry my coworkers are going to glance over and catch on, so instead I just go into the bathroom and hide like someone sneaking a smoke, where I can scratch to my heart's content.

So on Tuesday I was coming right home, something I hadn't done for a few days since Joe's truck broke down and we had been sharing my car, but his friend/bandmate Dyl was picking him up from work. I was all set to make some dinner, go for a nice jog, come home, light some candles, put on some Barry White, and scratch myself to death. I never once suspected the horror I was about to be faced with.

Now, let me explain that Georgia has been doing better and better at being left home alone. She only whines and barks a little when we first leave, and she holds her little bladder until we get home. Only occasionally, when she just can't hold it anymore, does she have an accident. But nothing, NOTHING has come close to this...(also, Joe's parents were coming for an overnight visit, and being the spaz that I am I had wanted to clean the place top to bottom, even though they were only coming for the night. But really, the place wasn't in shambles, so I figured a good hour of cleaning should do it...)

I open to door and am met with the stench of death and misery. Georgia hops off the sofa and as I come in further is see the carnage. A cow-patty sized (and color) pile of vomit on the floor. Coming in closer I see another, this one more orange-reddish and on the rug. Then I see another brown pile. I face the sofa and on the small square rug I spot two fresh urine stains. I go carefully into the kitchen to see another brown pile of vomit, followed by a few chunks of poop by the door. I was flabbergasted.

I quickly ushered her outside and grabbed my phone to inform Joe. As I did that I noticed Georgia eating something else and realized it was the bits of old food that were coming through the hole in the garbage bag in the trash can. I shooed her away and let her drink water instead, waiting for Joe to pick up the phone. When he did, I could barely suppress my frustration.

"You know all those brownie points she got for not messing in the house?? She just cashed them in!", I said.

"Uh, oh, what did she do?" he said.

I startled prattling on about all her various excrement littering the house. He let me go on and then said finally, "Well, leave me something to clean up."

"No," I bit back, "there's no point, I'll just clean it all up, don't worry about it." He said he'd be home around 8 and that they'd probably end early. Still, I knew he would be exhausted by then, and besides I wanted it to be cleaned up right away anyway. Truthfully, it didn't take all that long, it was more just the drudgery of it.

When I had cleaned up all the piles of vomit and poop, I decided to still try and take the dog for a jog, hoping whatever was left in her system that was making her sick would be cleaned out thoroughly with a little exercise. Thinking back on it now, it probably was minor animal cruelty. Imagine you had been sick all day- would you want someone yanking you along for a freaking jog? Sure enough, as we made it to the top of a hill she began wheezing and then threw up whatever she had been eating from the garbage right onto the pavement.

I cut it short and instead we walked the rest of the way. Finally at home, she drank lots of water and played outside while I cleaned. Afterwards I let her back in and she seemed fine. At around 8 Joe and Dyl showed up and Georgia got up from the couch and puked again, right on the rug, right after I had JUST scrubbed the damn thing clean! They left again, and I still monitored her, to make sure she was ok and had lots of water. That night Joe and I were awoken numerous times by the sounds of the poor dog heaving. I had resolved that if she hadn't improved by the morning I would call the vet's office.

Thankfully, she woke up with an appetite and ate her food right after away (something she hasn't been doing at all lately). And I am happy to report that whatever her stomach ailment was has gone away. She's back to frolicking in the yard, chasing squirrels, and playing with her toys.

I, on the other hand, continue to look at sharp objects as possible scratching tools for these odd bumps. Oh, well. You can't win 'em all.

Ravin' Fans

My fellow temps and I decided to take a lunch out the other day and as we walked into the Panera, we ordered and picked up our lunches and we sought a place to sit. We chatted lightly and as I looked around I was amazed at all the purple surrounding us. Everywhere I looked men, women, even kids, were sporting Ravens jerseys. And if anyone didn't have a jersey, they were at least wearing a dark shade of purple. One man, who was getting up from his table remarked jovially to us, saying "Can't believe they let her in here without purple on!" (indicating one of the girls). That set us on the conversation about the game, which they both partook of, while I sipped my broccoli cheddar soup and thought about my relationship with football.

As I'm pretty sure I've made abundantly clear, I'm not much of a football fanatic. I was forced to play flag football as a kid in gym class, and when it comes to watching games, I usually preferred something--ANYTHING--instead. And while I always thought I wasn't alone on this, especially with the female population, as I went to college I really began to notice that everyone, girls included, would clamor in front of the television to watch a football game. It started with the Towson Tigers, then the craze among my friends became all about the Ravens.

In the beginning I found the whole game amazingly frustrating. My friends talked me into going with them to a Towson Tigers game, and in between their excited hoots and hollers they tried painstakingly to explain the game to me. Still, I found with every answer at least five more questions to ask. And if it wasn't frustrating, it was boring. Way too often the game would just stop, right when I was finally getting excited about some action. I ended up tuning out before the dance team and school band took the field. I chalked it up to just "not being my thing."

I also never felt the pressure to invest much interest because my high school boyfriend wasn't much of a fan either. Though I often wished he had been, I also enjoyed the fact that he never insisted on canceling plans to watch or force me to join him. Years later, when I took up with Joe, things changed. Not only was he a fan, he used to play in high school. Suddenly the fall meant apple picking, scary movies, and football-watching.

Joe tried to get me into the games, but for the most part my eyes glazed over or I'd sneak away to watch something else. Then, when the Giants were in the Superbowl he INSISTED I go with him to watch at the local sports bar. I'd agreed, trying to be a good sport, and much to my surprise I actually had a good time. I found myself cheering along or ooh-ing whenever a player got "sacked" (i think that's the term).

And last year, when our office had a Superbowl pool going I actually won $100! I thought, if this is football, I can get in on this. Still, though I doubt I'll ever be a true fan of the game, I do like what football does for the town, especially with the Ravens.

There's something comforting in the unity it brings to the citizens of Baltimore. You get a certain pride when you drive into the city and see the skyscrapers with big beams of purple light extending up their length. I like the camaraderie that comes with watching the games together, how the tailgating is an event of its own, with all the food and drinks and talking. I even like when I open a local supermarket circular and I see something called the "Flacco Italian Submarine".

Baltimore gets alot of crap for it's drug and violence-related reputation. But for a little while the city turns into a small town, with everyone rooting for the same thing, high-fiving strangers and sharing their own knowledge of the game. And it lasts...well, at least until November.

Coffee Muggin' It

This might be lame to write about, but it's something that I thought about as I was helplessly trying to keep my eyes awake at work today.

I need another coffee mug. Not that there's anything wrong with the one I currently use. It's actually very cute and it was a gift from my fellow friend/temp (or fremp as I shall dub her) for Christmas last year. Since it was for the season it has pictured on it a double image going around it of a smiling snowman in the midst of fat snow drops, shining stars, and cardinal perched atop a crescent moon. At the time I was not only grateful for the thought but it also came in handy. Before then I had to decide between a Goofy mug one of my sisters got from Disney or a big Campbell's soup-mug (and I don't just mean it had the logo on it- it was intended for soup and so therefore, pretty big). I hadn't been working here all that long and, not wanting to appear like one of those corny bear-sweatshirt wearing semi-adults, I chose the lesser evil with the Campbell's soup mug. I didn't mind looking like a walking advertisement, but the problem was I ended up filling my mug with a bathtub of coffee that seemed to always escape the wide lip and dribble down my chin. I half considered taking a spoon to it, but then I might look not just like an ad but also a person a LITTLE too obsessed with their coffee- something I wasn't and actually never thought I would be...till now.

Coffee, along with wine, was something I tasted in my youth and didn't understand all the hub-bub. Both always tasted so bitter or burning that I couldn't help scrunching my face after a sip. After a while, and some years of experimentation, I finally began to develop a taste for wine (still opting for the sweet over the dry) but coffee continued to baffle me.

Even as a kid in history class when we would be learning about early settlers and the coffee trade, I didn't understand why these sailors would risk their lives over something so nasty. At least gold or silver I could understand, they seemed to have an obvious value. But things like that, and spices or tobacco as well, seemed rather trivial. It wasn't till later that I understood that these things were sought as luxuries, as valuable as gold or silver, for the rich and wealthy. They certainly didn't NEED these things, but they wanted to change the flavor of their food, they needed tobacco for their pipes, and coffee to mask the rancid taste of their water. Still, I wasn't totally convinced coffee was worth it, nor did it mask a rancid flavor but encourage it.

I had given up on it for years, never bothering to taste it again, until one morning at Joe's aunt's house. We had been visiting his family up in Utica, New York, and were about to make the trek back home. Joe's aunt invited us over for a quick breakfast before we headed out. Of course, what was thought to be a small breakfast of toast or cereal was a beautiful buffet of scrambled eggs, bagels, muffins, fruit, juice, and of course, coffee. I had helped myself to the food and a glass of juice and sat down. Joe's aunt asked if I wanted some coffee too, and never liking to turn down an offer of kindness from his family, I accepted it. I also didn't want her to think I didn't like it, so I told myself I would get down at least a few gulps.

As we sat down to eat I took a bite of my eggs and then a sip of the coffee (if you recall my "Mike's Grandma and Meat Pie" story, you'll remember that that is my method of getting down food I don't like--by pairing it with something neutral and hiding the flavor. Kinda like the Von Trapp family escaping through the Alps). I expected that same horribly bitter taste, but instead I realized an actual depth of flavor. I did cut it with some cream and sugar, but still, I was amazed at how velvety smooth it went down. Not just that, but it actually complemented the breakfast foods very well. For some reason it made everything taste better. I happily finished the mug and even helped myself to a little more. I couldn't believe it...me, as a coffee drinker?

Though I have a cup at least once a day at work, I still have yet to insist on it, the way hardcore addicts do. And I still can't handle it without cream and sugar. My friend Ash prefers espresso and if that's not available, black coffee. I don't think my stomach or nerves would ever be able to handle it that raw. But I do find that it does a remarkable job of pulling my eyelids open when I feel like I'll slip into a coma right at my keyboard (as it did this morning).

The question is now to find another mug, something that maybe emphasizes my personality. Sure the one I have now is completely cute and functional. And sure, I admit that a big part of the reason is because I saw that commercial about Starbucks coffee where everyone is known by their coffee mug ("I Hate Mondays" and "I Love Dogs") and I'm a certified sucker for advertisement psychology.

Still, wouldn't it be nice to say to the world, in one carefully chosen catch-phrase emblazoned on a piece of smooth ceramic, who you are? Maybe I can't say it to your face, but you can read it on my mug.

Social Not-Working

I haven't been diagnosed or anything, but I really think I have some sort of social anxiety. Not so bad that I feel the need to curl up in bed with my covers up to my ears, but does anyone else go out of their way to plan their day to avoid human contact? It's not so bad when I'm in a social setting anyway (and booze helps a bit), but work is a different situation. I very often have to plan and pay attention when I'm at work...and not to do my projects. Here are the worst places for me.

1.) The Kitchen- Thankfully I have very little need to ever go into the kitchen, except for the morning to fill up my water bottle and then later on to make a cup of coffee. And even these two brief moments require me to plan my perfect timing. I'll sit and stare at my computer screen, trying to make it look like I'm completely engaged, when really I'm listening for the sound of mugs clanging and chairs shuffling. I love the people who make plenty of noise so I am well aware of their presence. The WORST is when I'm all set to go, thinkin the coast is clear, and then walk by and see someone fixing their coffee. If I'm pretty cool with the person I'll just suck it up and get what I came there for. However, I usually spin on my heel, pretending as if I suddenly forgot something (like I'm fooling anyone) and then just never return until I know for a FACT that that person is gone.

2.) The Hallways- There are two entrances in my office, and both are set-off with long ass hallways. The closest one from the elevator, which is at the end of one hallway, is the one we all use in the morning. However since I sit closer to the other entrance, it's the one I tend to use to get to the bathrooms or stairways. This is to the right of the other, and its hallways is at least 30 feet long. Usually the odds that I'll run into someone from my office are good, since we are the only office at that part of the building. But normally I don't, anyway. Still, I hate that feeling when I round the corner and I start walking that epic journey of a hallway, notice someone else coming towards me and I start playing that timing game all over again. When do I lift my head to acknowledge them? Should I say "hello"? "How's it goin'?" Maybe I should just smile...And then you hit that point and all you can do is pray to God they don't do that half-ass attempt at conversation when you are still on the move. Sometimes it's worse if they are with someone, cuz then you feel DOUBLE the pressure to say something. I prefer the smile and head bob, but occasionally instead the person will throw me actual words and I have to fumble with my stash of phrases to come up with something. And unlike the kitchen, I can't plan good timing.

3.) The Vending Machines- This probably wouldn't seem like a place for cause of anxiety...at least not for normal people. I like to go to the vending machine and check out the options, always curious as to what's been refilled or replaced, however there is no such luxury if you are standing around perusing and you suddenly feel a presence behind you jiggling his/her change in their hand. You feel this automatic pressure to hurry up and make your selection, worried that maybe this person behind you just snuck out after being hounded by their boss and all they want is a damn Clark Bar but this annoying little curly-haired weirdo is taking too long to purchase something. Of course, in my warped mind, you are just as easily screwed if you find yourself behind the person too. Not only for the added inconvenience of waiting to really do your eye-shopping, but then I feel bad making the OTHER person think I'm being impatient. So I usually try to stare off into space, pretending I don't even exist till the guy/girl pushes the button and retrieves their item.

I am trying to be more defiant, at least in some ways. I try to utter the phrase "I have the right to..." whenever I feel the need to back down or back away. I have a right to have a cup of the office coffee. I have a right to use the restroom whenever I so feel the need. I have the right to take an extra minute to look at the Keebler cookies and ponder the mystery of Funyons (what the hell is a funyon, anyway?). It works about half the time, but I'm getting better. At least I'm starting to leave my notepad paper for jotting down notes, instead of game plans like a freakin NFL coach. But at least now, if you see me walk into a room and then quickly out, don't take it personally. I just forgot to get something....

Gullible's Travels

Ok, I have to relay this quick story. You know how people falling down or tripping is funny? Well, since today's post is kinda about embarrassment, I figured I'd share... I was at work listening to my head phones when someone came over to talk to me about something so I slid then down to my neck. After a while they left and when I got up to get something, BAM! My head pulled back and I was yanked right back to my seat. I then did the thing where you do something dumb and you look around to make sure no one else saw. Oh, well. Speaking of feeling bad...

You know that saying, "There's a fool born every minute"? That might've been coined in honor of me, one of THE most gullible people alive. I think it stems from my fear of doubting someone who might be insulted if I didn't believe them. Imagine this scenario...

Person 1: "My great grandmother had a wooden leg."

Me (thinking they're joking: "Hahah, that's awesome."

Person 1 (pauses): "No, she really did. She lost it in a car accident."

Me (trying to recover by making it sound like the most fascinating thing ever): "Oh WOW, how tragic..."

Now granted, that is a bit of an unusual case, but trust me, it's happened. Enough times in fact that now I figure it's safer to play the dumb, believable-type instead of the skeptic. The problem is when it backfires, which it occasionally does.

Case in point, back when we were kids my cousin informed me that we were so Irish we had an uncle who was a leprechaun. Unbelievable, right? Apparently not to me, as I became wide-eyed and mesmerized until my cousin told me later that she had been kidding. Even now she gets a kick out of retelling the story to me whenever we get together, and while I still die a little of embarrassment I have to simply own it...I'm a believer. And I continue to be one.

This past weekend was no exception. While out celebrating my friend Erica's departure to Boston, I listened to stories people told, and nodded my head knowingly or voiced my amazement-- not realizing when someone was just being dramatic or kidding. I tried to play it off cool, but I think I still ended up looking somewhat like an idiot.

Thankfully, though, I was amongst friends who either 1.) already knew how foolish I could be and 2.) didn't judge me for it. The worst is when I am around strangers and the words pop out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop and examine them. This embarrassing incident also happened this weekend.

Yesterday I noticed Georgia licking her front paw and saw that she had a split nail. Wanting to rid her of the pain as soon as possible I made an appointment for the pet clinic I always take her to. While she was on the examination table the nurse gently lifted her paw to get a better look, and said cheerfully, "Oh my, you are a magical dog, you have a horn growing out of your paw." Now, let me explain that I thought she meant a calcium/protein thing, not like an ACTUAL horn. But still I said in a nice high voice, "Reeally?" She paused and said, "No, I was just saying that to make the dog feel better..." "...Ohhhhh". Jesus, I wanted to grab the anesthesia myself and inhale until I passed out and then just be carried out of the office so I wouldn't have to look anyone in the eye.

Like I said, I can't help being a bit naive. I'm a person you could probably get to sign up or join anything (provided it was free, because I am ALSO a giant cheapskate). I try to be more critical but then THAT seems to bite me on the ass. All I can do I try to pass it off like I knew better, slap my palm to my forehead later when I'm alone, and of course, write about it for all the world to know...

Sleepin' on the Job

Happy Thursday, everyone! God, I can almost taste that weekend goodness. If I seem a little hazy it's because we just got back from Bahama Breeze and I had a nice big strawberry daiquiri and a hefty dinner so it's very possible that I might fall asleep right on my keyboard.

And speaking of falling asleep, why is it that when you are in the least convenient place you get that hard-hitting merciless urge to sleep but when you finally get to a bed or sofa you are suddenly wide awake? I remember so often sitting in class in high school or college, listening to some oddly long or tedious lecture, and trying with all my will to keep my eyes open in case I miss something important...like the teacher's watchful eyes. I keep bargaining with myself, saying that if I can just last until then end of the day I will beeline it straight to my bed. But then the bell rings, I gather my things and head home, get into nap attire, slide into the covers and then...nothing. I end up staring at my ceiling for hours, trying to encourage the sleep to come back, but it's always useless.

The same thing happened to me alot this week at work. I've been working on one particular project for a few weeks now, but for some reason lately I've had those horrible bouts, yesterday being the worst. I could feel the urge coming on while working on one set of names. I was looking at the computer screen when all of a sudden my eye lids felt like they weighed 5 lbs each. Then my head began to droop, and I knew I was gonna be a goner. At first I tried to just shake it off, rubbing my eyes, splashing water in them, but to no avail. Since fighting it didn't seem to work, I figured I might as well see if I could sneak a couple of minutes of sleep without anyone noticing.

Fortunately my desk is somewhat hidden. Unfortunately, my desk is right near my supervisor's. I shifted my body by putting my back to the rest of the office, and held my head in my hand, hiding my eyes. Ok, sleep, if you insist, let's have it....nothing. I was still too worried someone might come by and notice me. I was worried, but still the sleep kept coming to my eyes. Finally, I was so desperate I took the card key and slipped into the bathroom and tried to sneak a few minutes of sleep. Still nothing, damnit. Luckily my annoyance scared the sleep out of me.

I keep referring to it as a bad thing. But actually, isn't it the most delicious feeling? Your whole body and mind being so completely relaxed, you feel like you are just going to drop. The only bad thing is that you can't indulge the feeling. It's as if your body knows it, too-Hey, here's the most tempting sleepy feeling ever but you don't get to enjoy it. That probably would've been a worse than a stupid apple for Adam and Eve.

Anyway, I'm gonna go indulge in my drowsy state...if I can. Below is Georgia's contribution to the blog (since she insisted on climbing on my laptop while I was typing this). I suggest you indulge in yours. Good napping!

bnhgfghjuoil;pjmfgsdhjiu\

How I Met Your Mother's Two and a Half Men's Big Bang Theory- Episode 2

Hey folks, hope everyone had a wonderful 4th of July. I did as well, visited with some friends at a cookout. But damn, this weekend was probably anything less than relaxing.

For those who didn't hear, we welcomed home little Georgia on Friday. We walked down the wooden ramp of the SPCA, waiting for them to open so we could see her again. When the employees/volunteers finally opened the door we strode in, walking directly towards her kennel. Joe stopped me for a second and pulled me over to see another dog...it was a puggle! At least that's what I assumed. And for those of you who didn't know this either, it was a puggle (beagle-pug) that we were originally looking for. We glanced at her info: female, year old. She sat on her bed looking fresh from the Sarah McLaughlin commercial- big sad eyes. We noticed too that it said she had just had her spaying, which helped to explain her lifeless demeanor.

Still I walked ahead, and there she was. Little Coco, as she was named there, lay on her bed too, but as soon as we neared she gently walked off and came to lick our hands. Suddenly the other dogs began barking loudly, and Coco looked terrified. My heart went out to the puggle, but with how popular they are now, I felt convinced she wouldn't have to stay there long. But little Coco, with those big bat ears and curly tail...I couldn't let her stay a second longer in that kennel. I felt sick just thinking about leaving her there, even overnight. So, in about an hour of paperwork and meeting with the adoption counselor, she was ours, and renamed Georgia.

Things were going pretty well. She was mostly quiet, slept on her newly purchased bed, nibbled on her brand new toys, and even the housebreaking seemed to be going ok. But soon we realized how very clingy she was, especially with me. I couldn't go to the bathroom without her whining at the door. Of course there was a part of me that found it adorable, but more so I was terrified. Joe and I had all these plans and ideas of things to do with the dog, like traveling or going to outdoor cafes. But I didn't really think about the little things, like, oh say, work, running errands, going for a jog, etc.

Not to mention the long nights. No wonder Joe and I didn't feel like we had any energy this weekend. All night we would listen for her waking up and taking turns walking her outside to go to the bathroom. One night I swore I heard her vomiting, and like a zombie I stumbled for her leash to take her out while Joe cleaned up what little she did yak up. I came back in and realized it was 4 in the morning.

But really it hasn't been all bad. She really is a sweet funny little dog. And she is still a puppy. Besides, anytime I get worried we bit off more than we could chew, I looked down at those big ears and funny expression and I just want to kiss her sweet face. I guess this is sorta what parents experience with their kids- sure there are frustrating times when they are young, but those are also the precious times before they grow up and become independent. (And I can already hear the parents out there chuckling sarcastically as if to say, "Yeah...THAT'S the same". Well, maybe not, but it's the closest comparison I can make).

So anyway, that's primarily why this is gonna be a short entry- 1. because I'm already tired and 2. because tomorrow is going to be an even LONGER day (see tomorrow's entry for more info on that).

I had another one of those small my-life-as-a-sitcom moments today (hence the title). I was driving to work and as I was about to turn into the parking lot I noticed this big dead deer lying lifeless on the corner. Trying to avoid staring at it I parked by the trees (that never give shade, btw). When I went upstairs and turned on the morning show I heard that the temperature today was supposed to reach 103. Fuck, I thought. I parked out of the garage, thinking it might be cool (for some reason I have no idea).

I quietly snuck out back downstairs to RE-park my car, and began cursing it. I was worried the only spot I'd find would be right near the dead deer. And by the end of the day, that thing wouldn't just be drying in the sun, it would start to saute (and not emanating the best smell, I'm sure). Of course, that wouldn't be a problem...if I had air conditioning in my car and had no choice but to leave my windows open, inviting the smell (along with bugs, leaves, and anything else) to infiltrate my car.

I drove around a bit, getting pissed off and jealous at all the other cars that DID have functioning air conditioning. Couldn't THEY park outside? What did they care for a little deer carcass if their could have their windows up the whole time ANYWAY? Finally, I did spy a spot, half covered by the garage and half shaded by some trees. It would have to do.

When the end of the day arrived I got into my oven of a car and breathed in the stiff unmoving air. I drove to the exit and to my surprise, the deer was gone. I figured someone had come to remove it, which was always another thing I often thought about. You ever noticed a truck or something in the actual process of clearing dead carcasses? I know I never have. It must be some special operative by the county, but they do it so swiftly, it's almost as if the animal was never there. Weird isn't it? Something for you to chew on.

Anyway, that's it for me tonight. See you all back here tomorrow.