I felt like a timing genius this morning. I'm at a new job in a new city in a new house, and I'm still learning how long my morning routine takes me, as well as how long it takes me to drive to work from my house. I figured I had it all figured out this morning and I was excited to be able to stroll in to work four minutes before my shift started, so I would have time to walk in, put my lunch in the fridge and clock in. Yes, I was quite pleased with myself indeed, until I opened my front door to find a thick blanket of evil snow taunting me shamelessly with its fluffy white wetness. I ended up delayed with an eight minute vehicular snow excavation and was four minutes late. Darn you, snow. Darn you to heck.
And let me just say that brushing a pile of snow off the roof of your car, only to have the wind schlop it right back in your face and down your neck, (yeah I said schlop, so sue me) is NOT my idea of a good morning. The best part of waking up is NOT being wet and cold and miserable. And it's not Folgers in your cup either. That stuff tastes like they used dirty underwear as a flavor additive.
So my husband, Andrew, is back from the hospital today. He was in yesterday morning having a very minor surgery and now he is home lounging on the couch all hopped up on codeine. Today while I was at work he BBM'd me asking me to pick him up some popsicles on my way home. I mentioned it to my boss, Alex. She just laughed at me and said "My husband is a giant ten-year-old too." Andrew is currently devouring an orange popsicle on the sofa with what appears to be childlike glee. This gives me an odd sense of motherly peace.
My confidence in my cube-van-driving abilities is waning quickly. I have been working at this rent-to-own furniture company since November, and at first when I realized that I would actually have to personally drive a cube van and manhandle furniture, I was nervous. Until my first attempt at backing the big truck into a parking spot. I did it perfectly the first time, with no instruction whatsoever from Jessie the Cube Van Man (my only non-managerial co-worker) and I was elated. This should be no problem, I thought. I'm officially a Cube Van Driver. But today set me back a few notches. The snow on the roads was thick, slushy, and vengeful. It was dark. Our truck was completely out of window washer fluid. And I was a completely irrational ball of nerves. I really dislike driving in the snow, since in my very first car during my very first month of ownership I fishtailed my way into a ditch. So today I ended up driving the truck like a dementia patient. After the ordeal was over, Jessie looked at me for a long moment and said "We need to get you more practice with driving this thing." I dread tomorrow.
On a happier note, I'm sitting here eating some delicious low-fat pretzel sticks. I'm holding them like cigarettes and pretending to smoke them as I type. I imagine I look hella cool. (In case any of my three blog readers wants to experience the pretzel-stick-awesomeness that is Kitiara, I warn you: Don't stick your pretzirette between your lips and let it hang there like a dangerous rogue cowboy for any extended period of time. It will absorb all the moisture in your lips and fuse itself to your skin, and when you try to dislodge it, There Will Be Blood.)
And no, I have not attempted to actually light my pretzirettes. Yet.
Tune in next time for the exciting conclusion: Episode 3, There Will Be A Lingering Stench Of Burned Hair In My Apartment!
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