Thinking to myself as I pass a window on my way in from lunch: “Geez, my hair looks good today. Bangs are behaving themselves, minimal fuzziness. Loooookin’ goooood.”
Lady walking by me who I know but not all that well, not ten seconds later: “Hair looks good today!”
I briefly mentioned yesterday that Avery was sick. Remember? With the projectile vomit all over my kitchen? Including my pants that I was a titch tardy changing?
So we’ve been kissing her on the cheeks to avoid the sharing of the puke bug. But I, being her mother and not much of a germophobe, always kiss her on the lips no matter what. Except at lunch I happened to give her a hug and said goodbye and was about to walk out.
Oops. My bad. So I kissed her on the cheek.
I stood corrected. Avery pouted out her lips and basically told me ‘Nice try, woman. Do that again. Correctly, this time.’
So I kissed her on the lips.
I’m so confused. I have to kiss her, but only on the lips, but don’t kiss her.
I had to go the the washroom really bad.
So I went.
As soon as I started, I could hear the custodian tinkering around in the electrical panel that is on the exterior of the washroom wall. The very thin washroom wall.
And he kept tinkering.
So I stopped tinkling.
And he kept tinkering.
So I conceited defeat.
There’s this woman at work that I’m going to give absolutely no details about. I like having a job. Not that she’s in any position of authority, but still. I’m not risking a good, old fashioned Doocing.
Anyramble, there’s this woman at work who hates me. I mean, I have no proof, other than dirty looks and her ignoring me even when we’re the only two in a hallway and the severed horse head I found on my chair when I came back from the washroom*. But I’m sure she hates me and I didn’t even do anything wrong. I smile politely, I let her walk up or down the stairs without passing her (she says it’s bad luck; I think she just doesn’t want my shoulder germs), I nod and smile when she talks, even if I don’t agree with what she’s talking about.
I’m not 100% sure, but I think she thinks I’m some sort of hooligan. And who can blame her? Let’s look at the facts: I’m younger than her by 50%, I have children (2) that occassionally visit me at the office and while here they speak outloud, I once in a while wear shirts with hoods on dress down Fridays, and I also once accidentally used 11 point font on an interoffice memo when the corporate policy clearly dictates we use 12 point Arial (which she sternly pointed out to me).
It’s actually quite obvious. I’m one scary mofo who shouldn’t be trusted.
* might not have actually happened.
I now get to blog for work! Not that I can tell you anything about it really, other than it’s work-related and a part of my work that I love. Blogging is now an official function of my job. Does that make me a professional blogger now? Let’s just go with that.
So … how about that hockey game last night?
Yeah, I didn’t watch it.
I want to be super patriotic and cheer on all of our Canadian athletes in every sport, but I just can’t do it. I have to say ‘no’ to hockey. Hockey is like chloroform to me. If I breathe it in too much, I pass out. I actually just have to be in the same room and I’m out cold.
So I don’t watch it.
I heard Canada lost, though, and it became some grandiose Canada v. USA thing where everything in life became a comparison between Us and Them and because the US won, that means that obviously they’re better at everything. Obviously.
Whatever. It was just one game in a tournament. Canada will recover. I guess. And come back to win gold. I guess.
I probably won’t watch that game either.
Where do I turn in my citizenship? I have a feeling it’s currently in the process of being revoked.
And, as the Grand Finale, a brief list of questionable conversations I have been a part of so far today:
- Dogs eating vomit.
- Cutting poop off because it was taking too long. (EDITED TO NOTE: This was unrelated to the washroom incident at work. Thanks for keeping me on my toes, Stef.)
- The smell, colour, and consistency of the contents of a diaper.
- A blood-squirting vein and going for distance.