Andare, Partire, Tornare

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Honk honk woof woof

Spent Saturday night with Cher and Persia eating Thai food and then drinking at Clyde’s while Cher and I tried to ignore a very drunk man whose idea of social mores involved standing next to you and “accidentally” poking you in the ribs. Persia, lucky wench, was in-between the two of us, so she wasn’t subjected to any grabby hands. I’d make a mental note to always secure the space between the two of them whenever we go out in the future, but maybe it’s all for the best; ever since I took on the role of band wife, I’ve become accustomed to dealing with freaky drunk men who want to hold long, slurred conversations with you even as you are pointedly ignoring them. Despite the rain, we sat for a while out on Clyde’s little patio area where you could watch the koi dart through the pond, and argued about books (Laura Doyle’s The Surrendered Single) and music.

Ended up going over to Bemo’s work afterwards and hanging out with him for another hour or so, until I could feel the small muscles under my eyes start to twitch from exhaustion. But really, my weekend days were, as they usually are, consumed with the Dog Job. I watched my boss make an idiot of herself by insisting something was true when it was easily proved that it was false, thereby pissing off one of her best groomers and causing him to quit. I was yelled at by a woman who was bringing her cats in because the dog training class was clustered near the doors to work on “stay” despite distractions. I asked a thousand million people what kind of dog they had, or how many cats they had because it’s friggin’ REQUIRED for me to do so. I learned to ignore the piercing “honk honk” of the toy horn the pet photographer was using to get the dogs to look up so he could take their portrait. GameBoy swung by and hugged me as I was ringing up a customer, and I had to gently break it to him that not only was I not coming over to his house to watch wrestling, but I would rather cut my legs off and hop home than go over to his house and watch wrestling.

And now it’s Monday, and I’m fucking around at work because there’s piss-all to do. It’s sad that my weekdays are, in a sense, more relaxing than my weekends.

3:56 p.m. - 2003-05-19

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