Today was one of those days that would have been better spent in bed. I’m serious — ’twas a total waste of an outfit and matching scandalous underwear.
Demure cornered me in the gas chamber … I mean, ladies’ room … to inquire about rescheduling my interview for the job. I’ve been working like a fucking manaic to get the stupid paper out, so when praytell will I have time for that? I kind of scoffed and grunted at her. No. 1, do NOT talk to me in the toily. I go in there to not be disturbed for three minutes. No. 2, do NOT insult me by making me interview for my own job, especially when said interview interferes in the completion of my job duties.
In better news, today was my grandfather’s 77th birthday. He was so very sad that I didn’t sneak up to Pittsburgh this weekend, but I just didn’t have it in me to make the trek. He truly thought I would surprise him by arriving unannounced, but I sent a bouquet of roses and balloons that actually made him cry.
He’d never received flowers before in his life, and he was thrilled. I’d chosen a patriotic bouquet, with red roses, baby’s breath, greenery and a huge cobalt blue bow — he loves telling stories from his days as a paratrooper in WWII, so it was only appropriate. He’s impossible to shop for, so I am glad he was happy. And I was happy, too, because I am hormonal and had to call and bitch out the florist for not making an appearance before 6:30 this evening (I’d called at 6:20 and had gone apeshit — the flowers were there 15 minutes later! I’d asked them how long they were planning to wait until I cattle-prodded them into delivering the flowers, when they were sure in a hell of a hurry to get that payment posted first thing this morning.)
Speaking of flowers, I’m still wondering who the hell sent me mine! They’re drying out very beautifully — I keep meaning to post a photo of them when they were in full bloom.
I’m so sad to see “Joe Millionaire” coming to an end. It was an okay finale, although they should’ve just stopped with the previous episode. Tonight’s was fairly anticlimactic. Slurpy Slutty Sarah was nowhere to be seen, but all the other girls were happy for Zora.
Well, off to edit my 52-page newspaper proof. Egads. If only I could win the lottery and get the hell out of my job and just be a freelance writer/party planner. I’d be so very happy — I’m so very tired of being too tired and jaded to see what beauty life truly holds. Someday, the black cloud will lift … hopefully, someday soon.
Happy birthday, Grampy. I love you and miss you every day. Hang on for me till I get to see you again.