Morning dog walk and a man, a very, very large man--think Mr. Creosote--paused at a red light in his large American gas-guzzler, wolfing down fistfuls of White Castle breakfast whatevers, windows open, who honks to get my attention so that he may serenade me with lines from the song playing on the radio, which, lucky me! happen to be "...Ehef you want my body, aaand you think I'm sexy, cuh'mon sugar let me know..."
Picking up the phone to call the landlord, again, to remind them that the heat is still not on, and it's only fifty degrees in the building, and there's a six week old baby downstairs, and hearing the tell-tale signal there are voice mail messages, noting we were home at the time all the messages were left, wondering if I need to make a repair call with the phone company, and then realizing (a) I shut the ringer off the phone before a nap three day ago and never turned it back on and (b) I'm not a loser with no friends who never gets invited anywhere, but am, however, someone who needs to make several apologetic calls before I become a loser with no friends who never gets invited anywhere.
Finding out I have more in common with, and more admiration for the talent of, Julia Sweeney than I thought possible. (hit the realplayer link, ff to approx 38:00)
Remembering my mom is coming tomorrow, for a week, and that I need to wash bed linens; but forgetting I haven't a penny to my name until AFTER I've dragged all the laundry down to the laundromat. Dragging said dirty laundry back home again.
Realizing the no money thing means stretching these eight cigarettes further than has been possible for me since the sixth grade. Chain smoking half of them out of worry. Picking out which household appliance I will be hawking on the stoop this afternoon.
Becoming very depressed after reading the resume one of the out-of-work neighbor hipsters gave me "in case I ever need more production assistants at work," because he's more qualified to do my job than I am (by like...let's just say the kid has credentials)--did I mention he's OUT OF WORK?
Ditching my daily job searches on Craigslist and Mandy. See above.
Being reminded that the only thing in the world more delicious and restorative than my Sunday Sauce, is my leftover Sunday Sauce.
Pissed I so capriciously and prematurely empty all the ashtrays around here--the ones with all the nice, long butts in them--but glad we have a good bottle of red wine ready to be corked, as getting saucy and snuggling with the pup is quickly becoming the only option left in this freezing, penniless, house of dirty beds today.
Happy that I have that option, at least.
Posted by Antigeist at October 17, 2005 01:42 PMYou should have offered that gentleman a "wheffer- thin mint".
Posted by: monk at October 18, 2005 09:28 AMOoooohh no. The crumb-spittle from singing with his mouth full was freaking me out enough. Don't think I could have handled intestines.
Posted by: antigeist at October 18, 2005 10:56 AM