Thursday, February 14, 2008

why do birds sing when I'm feeling so bad?

The crunk, damn that straight up funk – my mood yesterday could be explained by rappers with gold teeth and minimal intelligence. It starts out as I walk in to work, following a serendipitous snow day, only to be hit with a rush of hypocrisy. You know the crap that on a good day could roll right off your back? Like my boss emailing me two weeks ago about commonly arriving 15 minutes late and reminding me “we really need to be here at 9:30”. Right because the Dayton area drug dealers are knocking down our doors bright and early oh so ready to divulge vital stats. Weird thing is, I corrected my tardiness and she has YET to beat me in. Guess it really wasn’t that urgent. Her strolling in at 9:47 really chapped my fresh morning ass.

My day continued with a post-gym trip to Macys. You might be thinking. How can this be bad? What can she possibly loath about dropping fast cash at her favorite star-themed department store? Three words. One.Day.Sale. -three more words plagiarized from my “how are we doing” feedback-Stock.your.Store- wait three more- don’t.hire.dipshits. [I know technically dip and shit are two different words but in the case of these wonderfucs its one]

At the Clinique counter:
Me: I would like a three step set for combination skin
Dipshit 1: we’re out of clarifying lotion, I can give you one without a pump
Me: so what would I do just dump it on my hand?
Dipshit: um not sure – we will get another truck in two weeks
Me: Will the clarifying lotion be on it?
Dipshit: hmm don't know.
Me: bye.

At the home department:
Me: do you have a white bath sheet?
Dipshit 2: Did you look?
Me: yes. I looked through all of these [points to a ginormous stack of towels]
Dipshit 2: here. [hands me a small brown towel]
Me: this is a tub mat
Dipsh---t: that’s what you asked for.
Me: No I wanted a WHITE bath sheet, it’s bigger than a towel. Can you look in the back?
Dippy: [goes in the back room for a nano second and comes back out] we don’t have any.
Me. Bye.

At the men’s department:
Me: you have a sale on Levi’s but don’t have any 36/34’s
Dipshit: that’s popular
Me: do you have any jeans in the back?
Dipshit: Naaah
Me: No? You have no jeans in the back room at all?
Dipshit: Naah
Me: Thanks, you’ve been really really helpful. Bye.

Whatever, screw macy’s and their “sorry but you cant buy anything” sale. I head home thinking about how I don’t want to eat leftover ravioli [have quick day dream about me eating seven doughnuts for dinner. They are jelly-filled with white icing and I begin each one by licking the little rasberry-rimmed asshole] and decide on hamburger helper even though it gives FI intense gas. I walk in the door at 8:15pm and my nose suddenly gets colder.

Me: I decided we’re having hamburger helper. Is it cold in here?
FI: I’ve only been home for 15 minutes I guess I didn’t notice.
Me: the vent is blowing out cold air.
FI: thermostat says 60 degrees.
Me: guess it’s broken. Maybe the pilot light is out, I don’t know what that means but that’s what people say when the heat is broken.
FI: I don’t know what that means either [goes in the basement]
Me: Is it out?
FI: I don’t know, all I know is it says “don’t try to light pilot yourself”. Go take a shower, I'll make dinner and call the insurance company.

Later on we find out indeed the furnace is broken, its 15 degrees outside and the repair man cannot come until tomorrow. As we climb into bed after finding FI’s tiny space heater from college he says,

FI: are you going to lose the cranky?
Me: no. not tonight anyway. I might sleep it away.
FI: fine. Goodnight.
Me: goodnight.

The moral of the story is, I have a great FI. He took care of the dinner and the furnace and didn't punch me in the f'ing face for coming home acting like a gnarley ass sore. He's nice.

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