Andare, Partire, Tornare


Rainbows mean car accidents

I got up horribly late today, and still managed to pack an awesome lunch for today. So what do I go and do? All together, now: "You left it in the car you slugged in on! You MORON!" All those Doritos and Coke and the chocolatey torte I bought from Ikea yesterday and the spagetti...all sitting unnoticed in somebody's car right now, slowly turning to ice because it's butt-ass cold out there right now...I think I may cry. And because I already may end up bouncing a check in about four days, I don't know if I can wander over to the most excellent sandwich place up the street and get a smoked turked and brie sandwich and not feel horribly guilty. On the other hand, I think the check will bounce no matter what I do, so I might as well enjoy a brief shining moment of brie happiness.

On the way into work today, I saw a beautiful rainbow. Ironic, especially it was there because there was freezing rain coming down in several nearby counties, and the radio was busy talking about all the seven car pileups that were happening. So a rainbow may bode good for somebody (maybe me, today?) it certainly wasn't good for all those people on I66.

Tomorrow will be Bemo's and my 4th wedding anniversary. I don't know what that is - linen? Plastic? Tinkertoys? - but he got me a totally cool and tacky cell phone cover, which is black with red hotrod flames on it. I adore it, and it certainly will make my phone easy to tell apart from his bland navy blue one. I tried to get him to buy me a sheepskin rug from Ikea, but he declined, for now, because I couldn't think of a really good reason for it except "I want it I want it I want it! It's soft!" So maybe later, when I'm out of bouncing check danger.

Last Saturday, I went in with Bemo to the radio station where he works and sat in on what was supposed to be a four hour shift, eight to midnight. At one am, when his replacement was an HOUR late, he called up his supervisor to ask her what the deal was. She wasn't home, so he left a message. At TWO am, she phoned him back after she had just gotten home, played her messages, and gotten a message from Barry, the supposed shift replacement. Who had quit. When, you ask? At eleven fifty-five, five minutes before he was supposed to have his ass in the chair in front of the board, punching buttons and running commercials. So they asked Bemo to stay for Barry's shift, which we both did. So we were there until SIX am the next morning. EIGHT PM TO SIX AM. I suspect that's why my back seized up on Sunday, and I spent the day walking around like the Tin Man in need of a good oiling (hey, there's another google hit in the making!). But on the good side, Bemo got to look like a real stand-up guy, and they've given him all of Barry's hours, so he gets more work! Yay!

Out of the corner of my eye, the cigarette premiums are rustling nervously. "Touch us," they say. "We need to be numbered, and put in the computer. It doesn't matter that we're ugly and useless and that you hate us...come on...give us what we want!" I'd better go. And I *am* getting my sandwich at lunch, damnit.

9:20 a.m. - 2002-01-09


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