Reeeeder!! I miss this fella:
I’m pretending I’m on a long vacation without the luxury hotel amenities, overpriced drinks and frigid a/c temps that I’m partial to and my sweaty neck* misses.
*yes, neck, my neck is more sweaty than any of my other parts. it’s great and super sexy if you’re into really damp necks. which i’m not, so i’m not turning myself on at all.
It’s a hard sell to myself, particularly* when my ass is going numb during my 3-hour roundtrip commute.
*i always every single time can’t spell the word “particularly” without looking it up, and in fact I’m so wrong about it that spellcheck can’t even give me a recommendation. it’s ducking** frustrating.
**lol, iPhone, I just made fun of you!
Speaking of ducking, these gals*** live here on the pond at The Mansh**** and I’ve been obsessed with Blanche***** and Dorothy and making them love me.
***they may or may not be gals. i’m not here to question how they identify. but in my mind, they’re gals for all the live long days because they have cute little waddles.
****I’ve just decided right now to name where I’m staying “the mansh” because it’s a mini-mansion so why not. it needed a name or how else will you know what the where I’m speaking about in these stories. right at this moment I’m at the mansh. tomorrow i’ll be somewhere else. we’ll get to that.
*****yes, i’ve named the duck ducks blanche and dorothy because i’m nothing if not p
redictable original. except in my mind every single time i call them maude and dorothy which would have actually been less predictable (please get that Reader and don’t make me disappointed), but i feel it’s too late to change their names because i don’t want to give them an identity crisis. naming ducks is hard.
You all want to know – I’m sure you do – because my life is utterly your
horrible warning of how not to do things fascinating – how’s it going on the big mo-ve.
Well. Our Facebook relationship status would read “It’s Complicated.”
The first week is under my belt and it has been tiring. Really, bush.ed.tired.
I get up early (shut up if you get up earlier just for fun, Showoffy McShowoffPants) at the crack of 5:45-6 AM IN THE MORNING BEFORE THE SUN IS EVEN ALL THE WAY AWAKE. But I don’t get to capitalize on all that early because I drive so damn far that I don’t get to work until 8:30.
Even that isn’t so bad. I have my radio with Howard who was so ducking funny last week I cried laughing, and have been bugging my cousin on long-winded morning calls. So that’s good.
The situation becomes a problem when I work late, which happened a couple days this past week because boy-howdy do we have a lot to do, and fast, with getting new products to new markets. It’s FUN. I love it. I hate working until 7 and then not getting home until 8:30ish, and then sticking food in my face, taking a shower and going to bed.
Speaking of bed, I need to be sleeping so ten minutes ago, Reader, but because I heart you, here we are.
I’ve spent a lot of cold, hard** cashola in gasoline.
So this week I have an Airbnb lined up for Monday and Tuesday nights, five minutes from my DoGooder Business, and we are going to see how that works out. I’ve proposed to the couple who own the home that maybe I could stay there Mon-Thurs, checking out Friday morning on my way into work, and paying them directly for the steady occupancy. We are going to test each other out for the next two days. I am concerned that I maybe they are creepy and I should give them notice that I’m fat, not pregnant, so don’t try to cut a baby out of me, House Hosts, all you’ll get is a bunch of 52 year old insides that probably won’t even go for much on the black market, so save yourselves the trouble of cleaning your bathroom and trying to get rid of all that forensic evidence and let me just keep my insides intact and sleep in your guest room as planned. That scenario, or that they are going to try to tie me up and use me as a sex slave and believe me, they’ll be disappointed in that decision, too. My better years are behind me, is all I’m saying. Back in those better years when I was more bendy and nimble and could do Positions and stuff. This girl? Mostly complains and gets leg cramps.
That’s what’s doing here, Reader. I survived the relo, the first week of work, getting situated in a new room, figuring out my space and how to make it work, figuring out how to make this drive work, figuring out duck names and contemplating the possibility of sneaking them in my room at night and
making them letting them enjoy cuddling me, and trying not to miss kissing DJ and Kitty Purry. Oh, and did I mention there’s been enough sunshine to be happy about it? And palm trees. It’s hard to be sad when there’s palm trees in view. Someone said that on my FB page, and she is obvi a wise old sage because truth.
Let’s go get the week, Reader. I have 5.5 hours until I have to be up. Damn, that went fast.