...how was the play?
So, how was your day, kids?
Here's how mine started:
I forget I have cinnamon scattered all over my bathroom floor to kill the leetle, tiny, obnoxious ants that have taken up residence by my shower like it's an Insectoid Motel 6. With my eyeglasses off, all I see is a sea of what looks like dried blood and I have this brief, heart-stopping Psycho moment. Then I get a whiff of the redness, and I'm cool.
Until I discover the ants have moved from outside the shower into the shower. I should have worn my glasses. Nothing like feeling ants under your feet in the freakin' shower. Uuuuuuuuunnnnnghhhhhhuhhhhhhh.
Then, I hear what sounds like someone being loud on the street. No big deal. Until I haul my nekkidness out of the shower only to discover some frakking HVAC technician has entered my apartment and is doing repairs a few feet away from my birthday-suited self.
First time in a long time I have screamed bloody murder. And, quite possibly, the first time ever I've had to yell, "OMIGOD, GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT! I'M NAKED HERE!!"
Sure, single straight women in their 40s hope to have a guy share some a.m. naked time with them now and then. Just not some uninvited dude bleeding the HVAC unit. (And no, "bleeding the HVAC unit" is not a euphemism for anything. I hope.)
I was the angriest woman in the world as I got dressed. Called the condo office and spit bullets through the phone. "Could you tell your guys that, if they hear a shower running when they come in to do work, that maybe - just maybe - they should LEAVE?!?"
Does it get any better? Oh, hell yeah. Of course it does. I found out my PIP insurance coverage for the last car accident is exhausted. No more physical therapy. Just in time for me to have tendonitis in my elbow and shoulder, probably thanks to the weird-ass side effects of the antibiotic I just got done taking. Nothing says "hello world" like the weak wave of someone with rotator cuff pain.
Then, I drive downtown only to discover that my parking garage is closed for, as the sign says, "Emergency Renovations." What the hell is that? QUICK! Call an interior designer! STAT!
When I finally find the temporary garage a few blocks away, I ask one of the guys what "Emergency Renovations" means. "Concrete failure," he said. Uhh, what? "Concrete failure?" Another guy comes up to me and whispers that part of the floor just gave way. Wham bang, a hellmouth opened in my parking garage. Lovely. "Emergency Renovations" = "Concrete failure" = big hole in floor = crappy construction. Got it.
But, I'll echo what my boss pointed out to me this afternoon: for once, my car and I managed to dodge a bullet. I wasn't there when the Garage Hellmouth appeared.
I guess I should just count the day as some sort of success, right?
By the way, should I count being nekkid with the repair guy outside the bathroom door as a date? It's probably as close as I'll get this year.
There you go, 2010. A raving success. Disaster avoided. Nakedness in same space with breathing male achieved.
Good night, one and all, and gawd bless.