December 04, 2011
Should Have Stayed in Bed
On Thursday, as you may know from my Facebook status, I woke to the heart-chilling sound of a dog retching outside my bedroom door. Like right outside. Like, if I hadn't heard it, I would've stepped right in it. I can only assume it's some kind of commentary from that bitch Stella.
Now, I'm pretty superstitious, so dog puke at 5:00 a.m. is a pretty sure omen that the rest of the day is going to be puke on toast. I should have listened to my gut and slid right back under my lovely Amish Christmas quilt -- or at least knocked on wood and thrown salt over my shoulder. But no, I went to work, against my better judgement. Lady Boss is cool and everything, but there is no box to check on our time and attendance system to request time off for "pre-dawn dog vomit." I had to go in.
[By the way, I heard that "Pre-Dawn Dog Vomit" was the working title for "The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part I." But more on that next time.]
On the way to work, I stopped by Dominick's (a local grocery chain) for some cans of pop for our department Christmas luncheon the next day. (Since we work for a church, we are allowed to say "Christmas" instead of "Holiday" or "Seasonal.") Six hours later, I had worked through lunch and was feeling faint and crabby.
Let me point out here that I have been at this job since February, and this is only the third time I have worked through lunch. Going out for lunch -- actually leaving a building with a friend -- is almost my trademark. I'm the only one in my department who does it on a daily basis. I'm a firm believer in getting the hell out of the workplace midday. I am also no martyr. I don't believe that working through lunch impresses anyone. So for me to do it, it means I was batshit crazy and did it only for my own peace of mind.
Leave your desk at lunch, people. I'm serious. Mental health tip from Wenchie to you.
I set my heart on some Pop-Tarts from the vending machine and reached for the wristlet in my purse. For you men, a wristlet is a tiny purse on a strap that goes around your wrist, leaving your hands free to put on lip gloss or text or jerk-off your boyfriend or whatever. But my wristlet was gone. No doubt, I had left it in the cart at the Dominick's.
Um, Wenchie, you're thinking. Haven't you done this before?
Why, yes. Yes, I have. And thanks ever so much for bringing that up, minion. You are supposed to be my friend! Minions aren't supposed to be assholes that rub your nose in shit! You are supposed to be on my side!
Someone at worked asked me, "Why the hell wasn't your wristlet on your wrist? You should just take your whole purse in with you!"
Yeah, well, I tried that before. It didn't work. Because when I have my heart set on being retarded, I will have my way, dammit!
And you know what else? Husband has been out of town all week, and the last time this happened, he was also out of town. Which makes me all conflicted inside because I LURVE it when he's out of town! The bed to myself, popcorn for dinner, clean the house and it stays clean -- LURVE! But if I'm going to go all 'tard-like whenever he goes out of town, I can't have that!!!
A Summary of What I Actually Lost
1. Face.
2. A brown, leather Coach wristlet, $50.
3. My debit card, which takes two weeks to replace. Meanwhile, I'm writing checks to get cash like an ANIMAL.
4. A Sephora gift card for $60.
5. Seven dollars cash.
Bringing the total sum of my stupidity to $117. (This is one of those rare times that I'm glad Husband doesn't read my blog.)
I'll tell ya, I went home from work and spent more time preparing my cocktail than I did my dinner. Mudslide and Ramen noodles. The dinner of the emotionally defeated.
I knew I should have obeyed the dog puke and stayed home.
Oh, and I was forced to add this to my wish list for Santa:
Wish me luck.
Comments
That sucks hairy asshole.
Posted by: Hope at December 4, 2011 06:16 PM
Awwwwww, Hope, that's... sweet.
Posted by: Wenchie at December 4, 2011 06:35 PM