Categories > Original > Humor
So yeah, my day ... It started out crappy. Like before I really even woke up. But we won't go into that. Let's just say it was a personal issue I had to handle. Anyway, I ran out of coffee. COFFEE, people! I had to brave the frigid cold world to get more coffee (hey, 28 degrees is cold to me). So then I made coffee and I felt a little less like the walking dead and was able to contemplate starting to actually work. That goes okay for the most part ... until people started whining at me. I hate whiners. And I loath people that use the acronym, "a.s.a.p." like it's a real fucking word (you know, like they say it, "a-sap" ... just makes me cringe) and that automatically puts them at the bottom of my list for the day.
And then I was looking for this hard cover sketchbook that I had put something in and I get up and I go, "Hey honey (I'm talking to my wife so it's okay that I'm calling her honey), is my sketchbook over there?" And she's sitting down with her back to me. I think she was drawing or something. And then I start to turn around and she's apparently grabbed the sketch book but I'm not really paying attention because I'm sifting through notes on my desk at the same time and without looking in my direction she swings her arm around with sketchbook in hand and goes, "Here ya go!" And then the planets all aligned or something because shit as perfectly timed as this just shouldn't happen if the planets aren't all aligned. The leading corner of the sketchbook hits me right in the balls. Fun! Not. I crumble back into my chair as waves of pain start emanating from my crotch. I try my best to ride that out ... although I'm never any good at sucking that down. Happily, no tears were shed though. She rubbed my back and kissed me on the top of my head and said, "Oh jeez I'm totally sorry ... I so didn't mean to do that ..." Naturally she felt really bad, but probably not as bad as I did. Yeah, I knew it was an accident ... I wasn't mad at her or anything. But all I kept thinking was, what the heck else can happen? You NEVER want to ask that question. Ever.
Now I really didn't want to do work stuff so after some recovery time I decide, okay, I'm going to go back out into the world and attempt some errands. That's the beauty of "being your own boss" (well, I do have to answer to some people but it's not that bad)... you can take breaks whenever the fuck you want. So I get in the car and it seems like the whole damn city was out at the same time. It took me like 15 minutes to park at the bank because apparently people can't pull in or out of parking spaces properly. Then there was the wait in line inside the bank. And then it was off to the post office. More lines. Then this guy that I didn't know tries to strike up a conversation with me (you know those people where you're waiting in line and they're just like, "Hey! You're my new line buddy! Let me tell you my life story!") I won't even get into that shit, but it was almost as painful as the sketchbook incident ... well, emotionally at least.
I get back and I find that more people have been whining while I was away. Great. But I did find an oatmeal cookie on my desk with a post it note on it with a sad face and the word "sorry". Aww, that was cute, right? I enjoyed the cookie then attempted to work some more and quickly got frustrated with that. I go downstairs and get my jacket back on and I go out onto the back deck and I'm gonna have a smoke. I kinda quit, but kinda not, but it was the first one I'd had for at least 48 hours, so I was gonna enjoy that fucker. It's cold, I drop the lighter, I go to pick it up and for some unknown reason (planets aligned anyone?) my foot slips on a patch of ice and I slide like 4 feet before bonking my knee on one of the iron patio chairs. It's black and blue right now by the way.
So then we ate lunch ... which was, thankfully, uneventful. I might also add that it's really nice being at home with my wife in the middle of the day - even if she hits me in the balls with sketchbooks.
I come back up here to attempt more work and like an hour goes by or something and then I hear ... "Um? ... sweetie? I think there's something wrong with the toilet in the hall bathroom."
Okay, let me just tell you right now that I'm not, "Mr. Fix It". I mean, I can get by and shit (after all, it was just over a year ago that I didn't even OWN a house), but some things you just need to call in a professional for and no amount of testosterone and power tools can change that. I was praying this was NOT going to be one of those times. So I go down there and the toilet is just running and running. She says to me, "it's just running and running." and I'm like, "yeah." And then she says, "And I jiggled the handle too and that didn't do shit." And then I opened up the top of the tank. There's like, no water in there and the little flapper thing is up and the chain has broken in two and is twisted up around a bunch of other apparatus in the tank. So ... another trip out into the cold, cold world.
I get to Home Depot and thankfully everyone in the whole freakin' state doesn't seem to be there like they were at the bank or the post office. What I hate about these giant home improvement stores is that I never know where shit is (and again, I never had reason to go into them really before having a house). And no matter how hard I try to just look up and down every aisle (I swear, I'm not one of those, "I won't ask for directions" guys, but I feel like a total dork that I can't find shit in these places) I always miss something. So yeah, I have to ask where they've stashed the little chains that go on all that crazy shit in the toilet. I know I already stick out like a sore thumb in this place (black messy hair ... shockingly tight black jeans ... black leather jacket ... yeah, pretty much a whole lot of black ... in a place where most guys in there either just took off their tool belts, or are sporting spiffy plaid flannel or football jerseys - just sayin') so naturally the only employee I see is this total, "Mr. Manly Man" guy who's like the size of a linebacker and I'm sure had one of those tricked out garages where all the tools are all organized on the wall and he spends more time out there than with his wife and .. well, you get the idea. So I go up to him and I say, "Um, can you tell me where I could find those chain things that go on the stuff inside the toilet tank?" He looked down at me and he probably thought I was either a rock star or a fag ... and also I'm sure he couldn't fathom me fixing anything in a house. He didn't say anything on our little walk back to an aisle that I know I'd already been down (I mentioned I'm a dork, right?) and there they were. He announces, "here ya go" and walks off. So I grab one and bail to the front to pay for it. I get back home and manage to put that thing on (take that, Mr. Manly Man!) and solve the toilet issue.
It's pretty much dinner time now and neither of us wanted to cook anything so we pulled out a frozen pizza and popped it in the oven. It comes out fine and I get in the cabinet to get some red pepper out to put on my slices. Without thinking I just open up the bottle and go to shake some out ... to discover that there's no little shaker top thingie on there and the entire contents dumps on my two slices. At this point, even I was laughing. So I ended up with one slice of pizza for dinner. Oh, and reality tv sucked tonight.
So now it's that part in the night where I usually get the most shit done, but instead I'm writing about my crappy ass day. How much work have I gotten done today? How many deadlines am I up against the wall with? You don't even want to know the answers to either of those.
All I can say is that I hope tomorrow is a better day. And also that I've been promised a "reward" (more than the oatmeal cookie that is) for even making it through today. So I'm gonna stop writing now and go cash in on that shit. Later!
And then I was looking for this hard cover sketchbook that I had put something in and I get up and I go, "Hey honey (I'm talking to my wife so it's okay that I'm calling her honey), is my sketchbook over there?" And she's sitting down with her back to me. I think she was drawing or something. And then I start to turn around and she's apparently grabbed the sketch book but I'm not really paying attention because I'm sifting through notes on my desk at the same time and without looking in my direction she swings her arm around with sketchbook in hand and goes, "Here ya go!" And then the planets all aligned or something because shit as perfectly timed as this just shouldn't happen if the planets aren't all aligned. The leading corner of the sketchbook hits me right in the balls. Fun! Not. I crumble back into my chair as waves of pain start emanating from my crotch. I try my best to ride that out ... although I'm never any good at sucking that down. Happily, no tears were shed though. She rubbed my back and kissed me on the top of my head and said, "Oh jeez I'm totally sorry ... I so didn't mean to do that ..." Naturally she felt really bad, but probably not as bad as I did. Yeah, I knew it was an accident ... I wasn't mad at her or anything. But all I kept thinking was, what the heck else can happen? You NEVER want to ask that question. Ever.
Now I really didn't want to do work stuff so after some recovery time I decide, okay, I'm going to go back out into the world and attempt some errands. That's the beauty of "being your own boss" (well, I do have to answer to some people but it's not that bad)... you can take breaks whenever the fuck you want. So I get in the car and it seems like the whole damn city was out at the same time. It took me like 15 minutes to park at the bank because apparently people can't pull in or out of parking spaces properly. Then there was the wait in line inside the bank. And then it was off to the post office. More lines. Then this guy that I didn't know tries to strike up a conversation with me (you know those people where you're waiting in line and they're just like, "Hey! You're my new line buddy! Let me tell you my life story!") I won't even get into that shit, but it was almost as painful as the sketchbook incident ... well, emotionally at least.
I get back and I find that more people have been whining while I was away. Great. But I did find an oatmeal cookie on my desk with a post it note on it with a sad face and the word "sorry". Aww, that was cute, right? I enjoyed the cookie then attempted to work some more and quickly got frustrated with that. I go downstairs and get my jacket back on and I go out onto the back deck and I'm gonna have a smoke. I kinda quit, but kinda not, but it was the first one I'd had for at least 48 hours, so I was gonna enjoy that fucker. It's cold, I drop the lighter, I go to pick it up and for some unknown reason (planets aligned anyone?) my foot slips on a patch of ice and I slide like 4 feet before bonking my knee on one of the iron patio chairs. It's black and blue right now by the way.
So then we ate lunch ... which was, thankfully, uneventful. I might also add that it's really nice being at home with my wife in the middle of the day - even if she hits me in the balls with sketchbooks.
I come back up here to attempt more work and like an hour goes by or something and then I hear ... "Um? ... sweetie? I think there's something wrong with the toilet in the hall bathroom."
Okay, let me just tell you right now that I'm not, "Mr. Fix It". I mean, I can get by and shit (after all, it was just over a year ago that I didn't even OWN a house), but some things you just need to call in a professional for and no amount of testosterone and power tools can change that. I was praying this was NOT going to be one of those times. So I go down there and the toilet is just running and running. She says to me, "it's just running and running." and I'm like, "yeah." And then she says, "And I jiggled the handle too and that didn't do shit." And then I opened up the top of the tank. There's like, no water in there and the little flapper thing is up and the chain has broken in two and is twisted up around a bunch of other apparatus in the tank. So ... another trip out into the cold, cold world.
I get to Home Depot and thankfully everyone in the whole freakin' state doesn't seem to be there like they were at the bank or the post office. What I hate about these giant home improvement stores is that I never know where shit is (and again, I never had reason to go into them really before having a house). And no matter how hard I try to just look up and down every aisle (I swear, I'm not one of those, "I won't ask for directions" guys, but I feel like a total dork that I can't find shit in these places) I always miss something. So yeah, I have to ask where they've stashed the little chains that go on all that crazy shit in the toilet. I know I already stick out like a sore thumb in this place (black messy hair ... shockingly tight black jeans ... black leather jacket ... yeah, pretty much a whole lot of black ... in a place where most guys in there either just took off their tool belts, or are sporting spiffy plaid flannel or football jerseys - just sayin') so naturally the only employee I see is this total, "Mr. Manly Man" guy who's like the size of a linebacker and I'm sure had one of those tricked out garages where all the tools are all organized on the wall and he spends more time out there than with his wife and .. well, you get the idea. So I go up to him and I say, "Um, can you tell me where I could find those chain things that go on the stuff inside the toilet tank?" He looked down at me and he probably thought I was either a rock star or a fag ... and also I'm sure he couldn't fathom me fixing anything in a house. He didn't say anything on our little walk back to an aisle that I know I'd already been down (I mentioned I'm a dork, right?) and there they were. He announces, "here ya go" and walks off. So I grab one and bail to the front to pay for it. I get back home and manage to put that thing on (take that, Mr. Manly Man!) and solve the toilet issue.
It's pretty much dinner time now and neither of us wanted to cook anything so we pulled out a frozen pizza and popped it in the oven. It comes out fine and I get in the cabinet to get some red pepper out to put on my slices. Without thinking I just open up the bottle and go to shake some out ... to discover that there's no little shaker top thingie on there and the entire contents dumps on my two slices. At this point, even I was laughing. So I ended up with one slice of pizza for dinner. Oh, and reality tv sucked tonight.
So now it's that part in the night where I usually get the most shit done, but instead I'm writing about my crappy ass day. How much work have I gotten done today? How many deadlines am I up against the wall with? You don't even want to know the answers to either of those.
All I can say is that I hope tomorrow is a better day. And also that I've been promised a "reward" (more than the oatmeal cookie that is) for even making it through today. So I'm gonna stop writing now and go cash in on that shit. Later!
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