Caterwauling

Shan and I went for salads and desserts at Ruby Tuesday at Landmark Mall tonight. The workday was particularly depressing, and we laughed it away over tallcakes.

I made a pitstop in the ladies’ room before we went window-shopping for wedding dresses for her, and I saw a discarded pregnancy test kit in the trash. All I saw was the box, and I felt sad. Someone most likely bought it at the CVS down the hall and couldn’t wait till she got home to take it. Or maybe she couldn’t take it home, so she had to pee on a stick in a public restroom. I don’t know who she was or what her results were — or whether she got the results she expected or even wanted — but I have a feeling that somebody in my area is going to be having a difficult time going to sleep tonight.

I’ve never bought the do-it-yourself test. I’ve passed them many times in the drugstores, and once in a blue moon, I wondered if I should buy one. But time passed and the monthly red hurricane arrived right on schedule. It’s easier, really, not having sex. I’ve never really been emotionally involved in the act, save for once or twice. And the only feeling I ever left with, other than occasional exhiliration or disappointment, was fear … fear that I’d have to buy one of those sticks and see it turn blue. I wonder what it would be like to want it to turn blue, to want the man you’re with to be the father of that child.

That’s why I assume that someone who was taking that test in that bathroom wasn’t happy when she did it. I would imagine that, were I to ever take one of those tests, I’d want to be doing it with someone I loved sitting in the next room, someone who was hoping for the white test to show some, any signs of coloration. At any rate, while I will never know the outcome of what I saw so briefly tonight, the person who was there before me will probably remain in my memory for a long time to come.

“Six Feet Under” — it was like butta.

Ok, who didn’t cry when Claire saw Lisa and her son in heaven? And then when Lisa said she’d take care of her child while Claire was taking care of Maia? That reminded me of a conversation I’d had long ago with my mom — good grief, I cried for a half hour after I saw that scene!

Shan and I made a quick breakfast run to Chez Mickey’s, where I chose to abstain from ordering (Shan just seemed like she needed some company). And thank god I did. First, they told her the total was $4.07. When she got to the pay window, they said it’s $4.18. We went to the pickup window, where they handed her the wrong drink. She said no, in fact, that’s not what she ordered, and for that matter, was the sandwich wrong too? In fact, it was, and this woman started bitching in half-Spanish at her that no, in fact, she did not order what she said she ordered. I had listened to her order as well as the total, and I had to reassure her that she wasn’t losing her mind. So then the woman started screaming at someone in the fry line in full-out Spanish — practically burst our eardrums in the car. Cripes, will there ever come a day when you spend less than 20 minutes at the Chez Mickey drive-thru?

I’m home for lunch today. When I pulled in this morning, I immediately wanted to back out and run for the hills. I’ve been left pretty much alone thus far today, other than a query from our next president about our stupid Spanish column. I responded to him and to Cruise Director that those arrive irregularly at best, and although I’ve asked Town Crier to look into getting those supplied to me a year or a quarter in advance, I’ve heard nothing. I chose not to copy her on the e-mail, and what was funny was that when she responded to the query (I was copied on it), she contradicted what I wrote by saying that we always, always have several columns on hand at any given time. What a fucking joke!

Just goes to show that while the right hand (me) is on top of things, the left hand is always playing with itself. No wonder nothing ever gets done correctly.

Cruise Director asked me to run a regular, supplied column every month. So, as I am trying to keep my page count in check, I am getting more editorial content. Sheesh. Seems like somebody (moi) has to put on the fighting gloves and demand a budget adjustment. Or I just take the extra stuff and do less work. Hmm, what ever shall I do? 😉

I had a dream that I personally wrote a column (instead of just straight news features), a la “Sex and the City” (which is shaping up to be an awesome summer read for me, BTW). I would love to write first-person accounts of whatever I see and know. And I will, just not for my own publication. I think that’s my goal this summer, to get an SATC-type column going somewhere, only not about sex, ’cause I don’t know nuthin’ ’bout that. 😉

We got the lease renewal the other day; last night, we found out that our rent is being jacked up almost $200/month in order for us to go month-to-month. Gaah, with everything that goes wrong in this place, one would think we’d get a friggin’ discount for putting up with it. And now that the weather is warm and I’ve been keeping the windows open, I am treated to hysterical Hispanics screaming on the sidewalks. Sweet Jesus, are all apartment complexes like this around here?

Tiff and I are going apartment-browsing this weekend. We’ll probably hang on to the current pad till Sept. 1 or maybe even Aug. 1, if we find a good special somewhere — and who wouldn’t want to have two fabulous young ladies taking two apartments in whatever residential facility appeals to us? 😉 It would be neat to be next-door to each other, so that we can go wireless and therefore, split the bills for DSL. Oh, to dream — keep your fingers crossed! It’s expensive to live in these here parts, and I’m certainly not above keeping a low DSL/cable bill, as I would probably forego it all on my own. (Well, I’ll definitely get DSL — I refuse to pay another phone company to screw me over. MCI is still fretting over the fact that I blocked them from greedily depleting my bank account any further. LOL.

Much as I’ve bemoaned the fact that many of my earthly possessions are in boxes, just as many are not. Not to mention, but when I haven’t felt like pawing through a box for something, I’ve been known to run to the store to buy another one. I do NOT look forward to moving all of my crap across the city, but as Tiff pointed out, it’s easier to move across town than across the Eastern seaboard, where we got rocked for $1,800 for the evil empire of so-called professional movers. I’m not quite sure why they decided to put my kitchen furniture in my bedroom at the new place, but I was so happy the furniture showed up (three and a half days later than expected), the bruises didn’t hurt all that badly because at least I had furniture to move around. 🙂

Maddie is going to be one of my professional movers this year. I’m sure I can strap something to her back and make her useful! And as for the stuff she can’t lift, I have to resort to bribery of human friends… I’d resort to paying in oral favors, but something tells me that with my friends (most or all of whom like men), that just wouldn’t work. But don’t worry guys — I’ll think of somethin’. 😉