‘I don’t want Kell here.’
‘Well *I* do, she’s not here for you- she’s here for me... The last time we had this conversation you didn’t listen to a damn word I said. ’
‘I don’t want Kell here!’
‘Makes you uncomfortable- her seeing you like this, doesn’t it? Good. You’re going to remember every minute of this- including what I got to say to you.’
I am witnessing this conversation between two of my coworkers on the side of the road. He is to my left, dejected- sitting on the curb with his head in his hands. She is to my right, indignant- standing in the lamplight with her hands on her hips. Our hotel is two blocks up on the right. There is a discarded aluminum bat one block down to the left. No one has forgotten about its presence.
‘It’s time to grow up and get real ‘cause you ain’t hurting nobody but yourself. You *know* the MOD had every right to send you home, reeking of booze like you do. He didn’t even fire you outright like he could of- he was giving you a chance! Another chance- AGAIN. (Here she points down to our left) Is *that* how you were gonna repay that courtesy?!’
‘I’m so sorry Kell...’
Me: ...s’okay. (This is the first thing I’ve uttered since I was summoned into this congregation twenty minutes ago)
‘Don’t apologize to her- you should be apologizing to me. *I’m* the one who has to see you like this; *I’m* the one you choose to call. And I cannot watch you do this to yourself anymore.’
I thought he was doing better. Going to meetings, staying active- you know. When I’m single and miles away from home I form these slightly dysfunctional, but strangely loyal urban families. There isn’t anyone else to make sure that interview went ok or you made it home safely after a long/late trip. We have a responsibility to each other to be there for our family. After his 35th birthday last week, he hit bottom and I didn’t know. It looks like I failed him.
‘I’m just so goddamn lonely. I’ve got you guys... but other than that it’s just me and my cats. Most days I’m in my apartment trying to find something to do to distract myself from the fact that I have no one to come home to- to talk about my day with that way and hear about theirs. (He stands up and starts yelling) DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT’S LIKE?! Family hundreds of miles away! Screwed up good relationships! Suck ass job at a shitty hotel going nowhere! Do you know what that’s like!?’
Me: I know what that’s like.
‘...I know you do Kell... and I don’t know how the hell you do it. How do you manage? Keep that fucking “life is rainbows and gummy bears” attitude? I have no idea how you keep it together when you let *everybody* know the things you’ve done and said. Are you the world’s biggest fake?’
‘No! No, no no- you leave her alone. This isn’t about her, it’s about you and how we’re bringing you home and you’re taking a shower and sweating it out and going to bed.’
And so she saves me from answering and we do those things for our friend.
But I thought about this the entire week. The three of us really aren't that different from each other at all. I’ve been hesitant to be too optimistic and cheerful since then. Today this just seems downright silly. But really- what would I have said to him?
Hey you- here goes: Ok, so honestly? I don’t think about it all that often. On those days when I can't help feeling a little sorry about my little situation I may have a little exercise that I do. I think- what makes me happy? Not the big happy, mind you- the other stuff that you don’t put as much value on when you have the big happy. Like...
A/C on hot days and fireplaces on cold ones.
Bookstores and sidewalk sales.
A surprising find in literature, film, music, etc.
Mutual eye-catching on the street.
Tasting something delicious for the first time.
The fact that I can still remember perfectly what my father's hands looked like.
The color lavender.
Receiving a well-timed and sincere compliment.
Giving a well-timed and sincere compliment.
The list of small whatnots can go on for quite a while. Then I think- what are the odds I’m going to get to experience one/all of these things again. *ahem* PRETTY FREAKIN’ GOOD! And it’s enough because it *has* to be enough, you know?
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Honesty.
Current Mood: Moody (Duh)
I can’t sleep. Again. I worry that this may be becoming a problem. Though on top of my usual chai frappe/nibs lunch-of-champions:
-Ali brought me a grande cinnamon dolce latte for sending airport fares his way.
-Some local chocolatier stopped by the hotel and dropped off little blue and red elephant shaped confections for my sampling pleasure.
-And Steve’s impromptu surprise birthday party allowed mad cake scarfing.
So maybe my insomnia is merited.
::sigh:: Anyways- I really wished I played some sort of instrument. Then- when the mean reds hit, I could express myself in some brooding song. Instead I have bent half the spines of the majority of my forks into little ‘ROCK ON’ gestures. Hm, this doesn’t seem have the same effect. I really desire an outlet
*glances at the glass of rum sitting next to her*
I highly suspect, however, this moodiness stems from the duodecennial celebration of my lack of motherhood. (And if that’s actually a word, I will be so impressed with myself I’ll... do something cool. I’ll feel better in a week. I promise.
But for the time being, here’s what I’m thinking about- I know what people are setting themselves up for (‘people’ being educated, liberated almost-30-something women) by uttering the controversial phrase: I want someone to save me. I am not saying this. But not for the typical reasons.
My jaded side says I’ve given up on the possibility that anyone would hold up under pressure. My logical side says no one could hold up under that kind of pressure. After ridiculously trying to mold Chris into this ‘perfect-for-me’ image I had of him for *years*, I’ve finally accepted there isn’t anyone perfectly tailored for me. Closer inspection of myself makes me think I might not even be able to respect someone who would readily volunteer to be the salvation of a ‘damaged’ woman.
So no, I don’t want someone to save me. I want someone to *inspire* me.
But I also feel I should in some way be worthy of this inspiration in the first place.
I had this theory (a long while back) that we all had 3 descriptors we were looking for. Hot, asian, bassist. Sweet, simple, brunette. As soon as we found someone who fulfilled them- we’d do whatever it took to hold on to them;) So I guess, as soon as I find someone looking for someone who is ::looks up profile:: *ahem* wandering, indulgent, and candy-coated all will be fabulous.
I can’t sleep. Again. I worry that this may be becoming a problem. Though on top of my usual chai frappe/nibs lunch-of-champions:
-Ali brought me a grande cinnamon dolce latte for sending airport fares his way.
-Some local chocolatier stopped by the hotel and dropped off little blue and red elephant shaped confections for my sampling pleasure.
-And Steve’s impromptu surprise birthday party allowed mad cake scarfing.
So maybe my insomnia is merited.
::sigh:: Anyways- I really wished I played some sort of instrument. Then- when the mean reds hit, I could express myself in some brooding song. Instead I have bent half the spines of the majority of my forks into little ‘ROCK ON’ gestures. Hm, this doesn’t seem have the same effect. I really desire an outlet
*glances at the glass of rum sitting next to her*
I highly suspect, however, this moodiness stems from the duodecennial celebration of my lack of motherhood. (And if that’s actually a word, I will be so impressed with myself I’ll... do something cool. I’ll feel better in a week. I promise.
But for the time being, here’s what I’m thinking about- I know what people are setting themselves up for (‘people’ being educated, liberated almost-30-something women) by uttering the controversial phrase: I want someone to save me. I am not saying this. But not for the typical reasons.
My jaded side says I’ve given up on the possibility that anyone would hold up under pressure. My logical side says no one could hold up under that kind of pressure. After ridiculously trying to mold Chris into this ‘perfect-for-me’ image I had of him for *years*, I’ve finally accepted there isn’t anyone perfectly tailored for me. Closer inspection of myself makes me think I might not even be able to respect someone who would readily volunteer to be the salvation of a ‘damaged’ woman.
So no, I don’t want someone to save me. I want someone to *inspire* me.
But I also feel I should in some way be worthy of this inspiration in the first place.
I had this theory (a long while back) that we all had 3 descriptors we were looking for. Hot, asian, bassist. Sweet, simple, brunette. As soon as we found someone who fulfilled them- we’d do whatever it took to hold on to them;) So I guess, as soon as I find someone looking for someone who is ::looks up profile:: *ahem* wandering, indulgent, and candy-coated all will be fabulous.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Realizations and Wonderbras.
It’s barely 11pm on a Saturday night. I don’t feel like going out or having a drink. What I feel like is throwing on some music, making dinner, and curling up with one of the new trashy romance novels I bought myself today. I don’t know if this is a sign I should pick up a few more cats *or* if I’m finally starting to grow up.
I don’t feel or bitter or sweet. I feel steady and sure.
Of course, this is now.
Then:
This morning I awoke at 9. (Kudos to me for being able to sleep past 7) I stretch languorously before remembering and leaping from the bed filled with purpose. (No, the bed isn’t filled with purpose- *I* am. Silly) It is imperative I look fabulous today. Today is passport photo day.
Lucky for me, there’s a DMV in the basement of my building. I can get cute and still be there as the doors open. And I do- but it turns out I forgot my expired passport upstairs. Oh, well hell- I’ll be right back. I dash upstairs (Who am I kidding? I mean I took the elevator) and start to collect what I need when Norman decides we’re going to play. He has been quite needy since I threatened him with a little brother and rubs all over my face to show his (now) undying affection for me. Unlucky for me, I’m allergic to cats. (Yes, yes I *know* but it’s not their fault now is it?) So as I dash back downstairs (elevator) my face is starting to get tingly and hot.
There are now 4,000 people waiting at the DMV. Hell. Well at least this gives me plenty of time to scratch at my face and allow the hives to disfigure me. The sweet, elderly Somali gentleman who is (finally) assisting me is unmoved by my need for the perfect photo. Yes, yes [he says] you are quite lovely- no need to worry...
Me: But sir! I renewed my driver’s license here last April and my picture makes me look like an overweight Asian dude! People think it’s a fake! I can’t get stranded in some strange foreign country-
SESG: ::looking at my DL information on his monitor:: Hm, it says here the *I* helped you then. That’s it- you hurt my feelings. Now you cannot see your passport photo.
Me: Wha... can you do that?
SESG: :: Impassive face:: Yes.
And he meant that...
Oh well, I guess I’ll see. There was only one thing I could think of to make myself feel better about the situation was... THEMALL! (Which was convenient because I had business there later) I spent the better part of an hour perusing the travel section- thinking of all the fabulous destinations I could jet off to now that my passport was finally on its way. Destinations like... well, I’m sure I’ll be able think of one LONG before I can afford it. But seriously Kell- on to business.
I’ve decided to make good on a threat.
::slams credit card down on the counter at Victoria’s Secret::
Me: I need breasts that will stop a hot 20 year old musician in his tracks and KILL him. Kill him until he is dead.
Everyone else in the store: :O
Me: No, seriously- I need the mother of all wonderbras.
It’s always the same story when I go to VS. All the clerks either seem to get really embarrassed or I encounter a 'Pretty Woman' situation where they say- 'I’m sorry but I don’t think we have anything for you here' snotty-like. I convince the clerks that I am not above padding or water or plastic or cardboard or duct tape or anything. Come on ladies- these babies have a job to do! And we all manage to do the best we can...
I don’t really have a plan all the way to the Festival. I don’t really have a plan past all the tents set up along the way to the stage where the band is playing. (Breasts leading the way... maybe I should say unbreasts, because honestly, there is very little of actual me in the gravity defying cleavage up front there. I don’t really have a plan but I figure something will come to me. I told him if he blatantly stood me up one more time I’d kill him- doesn’t my pride demand *something*? I see him over there, careless happy- smiling and having a good time. Hey pride! What do you want to do?? Pride says, erm... nothing really. What?! Pride goes on- well... I mean, isn’t his carefree, unplanned demeanor why you liked him in the first place? I think about it and I remember, oh yeah... it *was*. And I can’t be mad which probably means no murder. So I decide to just stay and listen to music instead.
But I didn’t buy one of their new CDs. Instead I hit up another bookstore on the way back and bought a latte and some trashy romance novels for later. Take that.
When I get home (long time later... every major street in MPLS is shut for some stupid festival or another- even the detours have detours) I don’t feel or bitter or sweet. I feel steady and sure. I start thinking thinky thoughts about this peaceful feeling. What does it mean? And here’s what I came up with:
Finding peace is when things didn’t work out *quite* the way you planned and you don’t have the victorious celebratory feeling inside but you’re not upset or unhappy, either. You’re at like... 75%. Maybe you realize it’s not too shabby to be where you are and not all together possible to maintain 100% indefinitely. It’s a moment of perfect unexamined understanding where you truly don’t begrudge the winners or bemoan your own defeats. ...And you savor someone else’s opportunity to be a Rockstar.
I’m going to make some dinner now. And hell, I’ll have a drink too. Norman likes being an only child and I don’t want to grow up too fast, after all.
I don’t feel or bitter or sweet. I feel steady and sure.
Of course, this is now.
Then:
This morning I awoke at 9. (Kudos to me for being able to sleep past 7) I stretch languorously before remembering and leaping from the bed filled with purpose. (No, the bed isn’t filled with purpose- *I* am. Silly) It is imperative I look fabulous today. Today is passport photo day.
Lucky for me, there’s a DMV in the basement of my building. I can get cute and still be there as the doors open. And I do- but it turns out I forgot my expired passport upstairs. Oh, well hell- I’ll be right back. I dash upstairs (Who am I kidding? I mean I took the elevator) and start to collect what I need when Norman decides we’re going to play. He has been quite needy since I threatened him with a little brother and rubs all over my face to show his (now) undying affection for me. Unlucky for me, I’m allergic to cats. (Yes, yes I *know* but it’s not their fault now is it?) So as I dash back downstairs (elevator) my face is starting to get tingly and hot.
There are now 4,000 people waiting at the DMV. Hell. Well at least this gives me plenty of time to scratch at my face and allow the hives to disfigure me. The sweet, elderly Somali gentleman who is (finally) assisting me is unmoved by my need for the perfect photo. Yes, yes [he says] you are quite lovely- no need to worry...
Me: But sir! I renewed my driver’s license here last April and my picture makes me look like an overweight Asian dude! People think it’s a fake! I can’t get stranded in some strange foreign country-
SESG: ::looking at my DL information on his monitor:: Hm, it says here the *I* helped you then. That’s it- you hurt my feelings. Now you cannot see your passport photo.
Me: Wha... can you do that?
SESG: :: Impassive face:: Yes.
And he meant that...
Oh well, I guess I’ll see. There was only one thing I could think of to make myself feel better about the situation was... THEMALL! (Which was convenient because I had business there later) I spent the better part of an hour perusing the travel section- thinking of all the fabulous destinations I could jet off to now that my passport was finally on its way. Destinations like... well, I’m sure I’ll be able think of one LONG before I can afford it. But seriously Kell- on to business.
I’ve decided to make good on a threat.
::slams credit card down on the counter at Victoria’s Secret::
Me: I need breasts that will stop a hot 20 year old musician in his tracks and KILL him. Kill him until he is dead.
Everyone else in the store: :O
Me: No, seriously- I need the mother of all wonderbras.
It’s always the same story when I go to VS. All the clerks either seem to get really embarrassed or I encounter a 'Pretty Woman' situation where they say- 'I’m sorry but I don’t think we have anything for you here' snotty-like. I convince the clerks that I am not above padding or water or plastic or cardboard or duct tape or anything. Come on ladies- these babies have a job to do! And we all manage to do the best we can...
I don’t really have a plan all the way to the Festival. I don’t really have a plan past all the tents set up along the way to the stage where the band is playing. (Breasts leading the way... maybe I should say unbreasts, because honestly, there is very little of actual me in the gravity defying cleavage up front there. I don’t really have a plan but I figure something will come to me. I told him if he blatantly stood me up one more time I’d kill him- doesn’t my pride demand *something*? I see him over there, careless happy- smiling and having a good time. Hey pride! What do you want to do?? Pride says, erm... nothing really. What?! Pride goes on- well... I mean, isn’t his carefree, unplanned demeanor why you liked him in the first place? I think about it and I remember, oh yeah... it *was*. And I can’t be mad which probably means no murder. So I decide to just stay and listen to music instead.
But I didn’t buy one of their new CDs. Instead I hit up another bookstore on the way back and bought a latte and some trashy romance novels for later. Take that.
When I get home (long time later... every major street in MPLS is shut for some stupid festival or another- even the detours have detours) I don’t feel or bitter or sweet. I feel steady and sure. I start thinking thinky thoughts about this peaceful feeling. What does it mean? And here’s what I came up with:
Finding peace is when things didn’t work out *quite* the way you planned and you don’t have the victorious celebratory feeling inside but you’re not upset or unhappy, either. You’re at like... 75%. Maybe you realize it’s not too shabby to be where you are and not all together possible to maintain 100% indefinitely. It’s a moment of perfect unexamined understanding where you truly don’t begrudge the winners or bemoan your own defeats. ...And you savor someone else’s opportunity to be a Rockstar.
I’m going to make some dinner now. And hell, I’ll have a drink too. Norman likes being an only child and I don’t want to grow up too fast, after all.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Yep, that would do it.
My schedule, I’ll admit- has been a little hectic lately. Granted, I’ve been having the blast that comes with having a whimsical occupation coupled with an active social life, a complicated side project, and some traveling thrown in for good measure- but I’m tired. (Le sigh) I haven’t been paying attention to some things I *probably* should have been paying attention to. Case in point:
Today at work, I was moping about with a general fainty lightheadedness and a listlessness that made picking up pens seem unreasonable. Felicia, our housekeeping manager, remarks on my paleness.
'Fee, I don’t know what’s wrong with me- I just feel... ugh! Not myself.'
'Hun, have you been eating differently lately...?'
I think about this- my diet has been made up of twizzlers, frappes, ice cream, and for some reason- pickled vegetables for the past... Oh no. Oh no.
*races to calendar*
Oh my god- has it really been that long? Let’s stay calm and think about this Kell. The last time, the last time... Murray’s. I figured if I was taking Carrie to the prom, I could get away with eating an entire butter steak at Murray’s. Oh holy hell. That was almost 2 months ago. 2 FREAKIN’ MONTHS!?! Ohno Ohno Ohno Ohno Ohno Ohno. This could not have happened to me. *Me* of all people. I’m... I just *can’t* be!
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
Oh hell, it all makes sense now- the tiredness, the inability to get motivated, the slight nausea. I can’t believe I did this to myself. Here Fee interjects a laugh- 'Hun, *why* are you falling out? It’s not like it’s bad- I don’t see what the big dea-'
I don’t listen- I’m freaking out. No one can understand- I've crossed over, become one of *them*. Thinking back, thinking back- please let me have missed something... But I haven’t.
Omg. It’s official. I’m...
a vegetarian.
My father would be so ashamed.
Today at work, I was moping about with a general fainty lightheadedness and a listlessness that made picking up pens seem unreasonable. Felicia, our housekeeping manager, remarks on my paleness.
'Fee, I don’t know what’s wrong with me- I just feel... ugh! Not myself.'
'Hun, have you been eating differently lately...?'
I think about this- my diet has been made up of twizzlers, frappes, ice cream, and for some reason- pickled vegetables for the past... Oh no. Oh no.
*races to calendar*
Oh my god- has it really been that long? Let’s stay calm and think about this Kell. The last time, the last time... Murray’s. I figured if I was taking Carrie to the prom, I could get away with eating an entire butter steak at Murray’s. Oh holy hell. That was almost 2 months ago. 2 FREAKIN’ MONTHS!?! Ohno Ohno Ohno Ohno Ohno Ohno. This could not have happened to me. *Me* of all people. I’m... I just *can’t* be!
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
Oh hell, it all makes sense now- the tiredness, the inability to get motivated, the slight nausea. I can’t believe I did this to myself. Here Fee interjects a laugh- 'Hun, *why* are you falling out? It’s not like it’s bad- I don’t see what the big dea-'
I don’t listen- I’m freaking out. No one can understand- I've crossed over, become one of *them*. Thinking back, thinking back- please let me have missed something... But I haven’t.
Omg. It’s official. I’m...
a vegetarian.
My father would be so ashamed.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
This post would be much better if it were better.
I gave Paul the finger when I got to work today. He’s lucky I didn’t just punch him in the face. (God, sometimes I love being unbearably hungover)
I discovered the meaning to life, love, and the universe last night! And, you know, what I’m supposed to be doing with my life and all. As not to forget, I plucked a sharpie from my purse and proceeded to journal on my hands. Unfortunately for me- this morning I had Mad Libs on my face and my tipsy recollections from the evening were not enough to fill in the blanks proper. Oh well- I guess I’ll just have to do it again tonight ;)
Late last night I went out to Azia with Stephanie for MAD sake and conversation about our collaborative art project- State ofthe Art. Stephanie feels that with all of the attention the RNC is placing on St. Paul/Minneapolis, now is the perfect time to spotlight local (non-traditional?) artisans- basically saying to those curious, ‘Hey, this is who we *are*’. And whenever I have the opportunity to dazzle more masses with my lyrical tongue (--->:P) or hornswoggle (I thesaurused ‘dazzle’;) with lackadaisical writings- I’m in!
Basically we’re just interviewing, photographing, researching more underground-type peoples and pursuits of enjoyment. Restaurants, venues, festivals, etc... (Apparently my earthy nature makes me the perfect for this, because [she says] you know me- good food, good sex, good company *probablyinthatorder*) Anywho, we plan on making it a personalized/private Minneapolis hospitality service eventually. Yay for all the hotel experience.
I asked her if she wanted to come to St. Louis with me- just to open up our experiences a little bit and have time to discuss the project.
She said we’d get kidnapped and sold into slavery if we went to St. Louis... She wants Chicago.
*I* said I wasn’t about to go driving around downtown there and we should really take the megabus to Chicago.
She hates the bus so she said Hinkley.
Boooooring! How about the Dakotas?
Nope! Not enough people!
She said, she said...
::sigh:: the last I heard (this morning) we were going to Milwaukee... Yeah. But hey, it’s okay- I mean, we have a whole DAY to plan this out. No hurries.
(OMG. Did I say ‘private hospitality service’? Wait a minute... does that mea- :O
Scandalous.)
I discovered the meaning to life, love, and the universe last night! And, you know, what I’m supposed to be doing with my life and all. As not to forget, I plucked a sharpie from my purse and proceeded to journal on my hands. Unfortunately for me- this morning I had Mad Libs on my face and my tipsy recollections from the evening were not enough to fill in the blanks proper. Oh well- I guess I’ll just have to do it again tonight ;)
Late last night I went out to Azia with Stephanie for MAD sake and conversation about our collaborative art project- State ofthe Art. Stephanie feels that with all of the attention the RNC is placing on St. Paul/Minneapolis, now is the perfect time to spotlight local (non-traditional?) artisans- basically saying to those curious, ‘Hey, this is who we *are*’. And whenever I have the opportunity to dazzle more masses with my lyrical tongue (--->:P) or hornswoggle (I thesaurused ‘dazzle’;) with lackadaisical writings- I’m in!
Basically we’re just interviewing, photographing, researching more underground-type peoples and pursuits of enjoyment. Restaurants, venues, festivals, etc... (Apparently my earthy nature makes me the perfect for this, because [she says] you know me- good food, good sex, good company *probablyinthatorder*) Anywho, we plan on making it a personalized/private Minneapolis hospitality service eventually. Yay for all the hotel experience.
I asked her if she wanted to come to St. Louis with me- just to open up our experiences a little bit and have time to discuss the project.
She said we’d get kidnapped and sold into slavery if we went to St. Louis... She wants Chicago.
*I* said I wasn’t about to go driving around downtown there and we should really take the megabus to Chicago.
She hates the bus so she said Hinkley.
Boooooring! How about the Dakotas?
Nope! Not enough people!
She said, she said...
::sigh:: the last I heard (this morning) we were going to Milwaukee... Yeah. But hey, it’s okay- I mean, we have a whole DAY to plan this out. No hurries.
(OMG. Did I say ‘private hospitality service’? Wait a minute... does that mea- :O
Scandalous.)
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
It's only Tuesday?
Yesterday.
Outside, smoking- Victor’s teaching me how to swear in Spanish (and I’m looking forward to making my fights with the housekeeping staff more interesting;). I’m in generally high spirits as I recount my *gasp* Saturday night dancing attempts to an amused and appreciative audience of construction temps. Landing a particularity difficult pirouette from a top a pallet of new carpeting, my graceful (umph, fell down) dismount deposits me on the ground in front of our night auditor, Paul.
Huh, isn’t that strange? It’s almost 9am, I wonder what he’s still doin- oh hell...
‘Forget something, Kell?’ said of course, with the slightly menacing air of the night walker.
Street parking doesn’t count until 8, it’s now 9... Paul’s shift ended at 7 after which he headed to his hot date, (in graveyard speak I guess that’s a hot breakfast? silly.) and someone was supposed to plug his meter. Guess who?
::Here Paul holds up his ticket::
OK. This is not a horrible situation- the truth is, I completely forgot. Oops, yet forgivable. I don’t really function before 9, you see (*and* I suspect I was roofied over the weekend). Instead of just admitting this- I invent a complicated and totally unbelievable lie. I tighten the noose the longer I talk- he knows I’m lying, I know he knows I’m lying. I don’t shut up. (I’m a BAD liar) A plot involving alien abduction and the resurrection of my dead father would have been more plausible. Yeah.
To make amends this morning- I brought in a bottle of Crown... Cheers! Er, right? :D Paul was gracious when he accepted my gift and then informed me that he was going to go home and drink in the hopes of passing out and sleeping till his next shift. After paying his ticket, he could no longer afford food and sleeping would keep the hunger pangs at bay. He just wanted to let me know, y’know- in case I felt like buying him breakfast tomorrow morning.
I have a feeling it’s going to be a long week.
Outside, smoking- Victor’s teaching me how to swear in Spanish (and I’m looking forward to making my fights with the housekeeping staff more interesting;). I’m in generally high spirits as I recount my *gasp* Saturday night dancing attempts to an amused and appreciative audience of construction temps. Landing a particularity difficult pirouette from a top a pallet of new carpeting, my graceful (umph, fell down) dismount deposits me on the ground in front of our night auditor, Paul.
Huh, isn’t that strange? It’s almost 9am, I wonder what he’s still doin- oh hell...
‘Forget something, Kell?’ said of course, with the slightly menacing air of the night walker.
Street parking doesn’t count until 8, it’s now 9... Paul’s shift ended at 7 after which he headed to his hot date, (in graveyard speak I guess that’s a hot breakfast? silly.) and someone was supposed to plug his meter. Guess who?
::Here Paul holds up his ticket::
OK. This is not a horrible situation- the truth is, I completely forgot. Oops, yet forgivable. I don’t really function before 9, you see (*and* I suspect I was roofied over the weekend). Instead of just admitting this- I invent a complicated and totally unbelievable lie. I tighten the noose the longer I talk- he knows I’m lying, I know he knows I’m lying. I don’t shut up. (I’m a BAD liar) A plot involving alien abduction and the resurrection of my dead father would have been more plausible. Yeah.
To make amends this morning- I brought in a bottle of Crown... Cheers! Er, right? :D Paul was gracious when he accepted my gift and then informed me that he was going to go home and drink in the hopes of passing out and sleeping till his next shift. After paying his ticket, he could no longer afford food and sleeping would keep the hunger pangs at bay. He just wanted to let me know, y’know- in case I felt like buying him breakfast tomorrow morning.
I have a feeling it’s going to be a long week.
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