I'm also having a good day: I just got the books I ordered from Amazon.uk (America: The Book by Jon Stewart [sexy beast] and co., and Sock by Penn Gillette). These were not carried in bookstores when I looked for them because all of the shelf space was turned over to Harry Potter and Nigella Lawson. Not that I don't love the food porn that Nigella stars in -- it's fabulous. All full of glossy photos in soft focus, lucious curves, ripe berries, juicy bits... I just wanted to buy a book written by an obnoxious magician and I couldn't find one.
Bad day: I just found some weird piece of something unidentifiable in my crapeteria lunch. I'm saving it on a napkin to test the effects of exposure to fluorescent lights on it. I hypothesize that it will shrivel even more (already shriveled) and turn even browner (already brown). Shriveled and brown and not a raisin? Could I have stumbled upon a morsel of Diana Ross in my lunch? Diana, reach out and touch this. Stay out of my lunch, bitch. That would make my world a better place.
Good day: It seems that coming in to work with swollen, red eyes for three days straight makes people realize that you're miserable and they start realizing that they've been snotty little tea-party-having, scone-eating bitches and they should be nice to you if they want you to do your job. So I'm getting a company car. Nothing too flash, but it will be an improvement over the bus. Although I'll miss the cheery demeanor of the bus drivers. A couple of weeks ago, I was walking home and traffic was backed up for a mile at the roundabout, just like it is every day. There were cars in the bus lane and this made Cheerful Bus Driver very, very angry. So he just pulled the bus up onto the sidewalk to pass a car. It's not like he could go far because there's other crap on the sidewalk: streetlight poles, signs, people. He missed me by inches.
Bad day: Buffoon.
Bad day: Almost got hit by a bicyle this morning, and it was my fault. Screeeech!
Maybe that thing in my lunch isn't Diana Ross, after all. Maybe it's some sort of Catholic relic. They like that stuff. I went into a church in Italy once where they had a "relic" of St. Catherine. I thought a relic would be like her old toothbrush or chamberpot, but it turns out that it was a piece of her. Her finger to be specific. It was placed in a lavishly decorated gold box with a glass door so you could look in and see this finger, which actually looked a lot like a hotdog that had been microwaved for 20 minutes. I mean, if hotdogs had fingernails. Does this make some people feel healed and saved and stuff? I don't get it. I found the relic of a mouse in my kitchen a few months ago and I didn't feel healed at all. I threw up into my mouth a little.1 comments so far