My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

I'm Phoning This One In

2006-08-02
Okay. First Ė Iíve added some new photos to flickr, including my bathroom painting experience which was not completed at the time the pictures were taken. Theyíll give you a good idea, though, of what it looks like. Iíd gotten all the main painting done and just needed to touch up the area between the stripes. What say you, excellent or hideous? Would you invite me over to paint your bathroom?

On days like this Ė by which I mean, hot as hell is rumored to be Ė I like working in an office. Thereís air conditioning, a computer, three networked printers, a kitchen, a clean and well-stocked bathroom. Plus, lots of snacks in my big bottom drawer. Whatís not to love?

Well, other people. The person with the office next to mine is a nice person. I have nothing against her whatsoever though sheís much younger than me and lives for her dog (who attended doggie daycare). She complains about the cost of said doggie daycare which makes my head spin because...please. Just donít. You want to know what sucks? Paying $1,000 a month for decent CHILD care for your CHILDREN. Thatís what sucks. If your doggie canít play happily by itself in your apartment all day long, well, sing me another sad song, sister.

But what I find Ė in general Ė annoying is being forced to overhear personal conversations. Especially when I get to hear the same life story over and over again every time the phone rings. I get the initial blow-by-blow of whateverís happened. I get to hear the long, intense picking apart of the event in question. I am privy to all the follow-up and, if Iím lucky, the happy ending. Sheís got a lot of friends. Sheís close with vendors, etc. And each of them asks how she is. And she tells them. In great detail.

She tells them first about her fiancť who is over in Iraq for 18 months. Then heís back unharmed. Which is a very good thing. Then he freaks out and breaks up with her. Then sheís mad. Sheís pissed (I would be, too, but it would do no good to tell her that his reaction is very common when soldiers return from war and so donít take it too personally; heís going through some heavy shit.). Then things improve. But, the weddingís still on hold. She buys a house (oh, and the long conversations with daddy about this kind of title insurance versus that kindÖthe long diatribes with the realtor about various kinds of inspections.). He moves in. They are back together again and planning the wedding anew. Itís all good. I wish her the best. Really. Iím not that awful a person. I just get tired of hearing about it. Over and over again.

And, you know, if youíve ever worked in an office, you know you canít really close the door of your office to mute the din of voices, because itís taken as an affront. Sometimes I do it and make a phone call so that it appears that I am the one who wishes not to intrude upon my co-workers with my supposed loud-ass phone calling. I almost never talk on the phone. Unless it rings. Sometimes, though, Iíll let it ring a couple of times if itís an inside call. Internal calls do not constitute an emergency. I feel no urgency to talk to people. Which is one reason I donít get cell phones. What exactly are people finding to say to others all day long?

But, after I read Rs536ís entry about her haircut dream, I picked up the phone and made an appointment to get my hair cut on Friday. Whee! My last haircut was in April. I think only Harrietspyís worse about that than I am (correct me if Iím wrong). I usually get my hair cut about 4 times a year. Mainly because the person who cuts my hair is very good but not cheap. Also, my hair does not grow very fast. Also, I canít be bothered. My hair does only one thing: hang around my face limply, so why should I bother to do more for it than it really deserves? Thatís what I thought.

Speaking of hair, if you click on the photos, thereís one of Dusty and her chalk drawing masterpiece. Her bangs are clearly screaming to be cut. Alas Ė she will not let me touch them. She wishes them to grow out. Which is fine with me but until that happens (probably around 2009), theyíre just gonna hang over her eyes like sheepdog fur. She claims she can see just fine so I try not to pester her too much about it. My philosophy about hair is that it belongs to the head itís on so regardless of how I personally feel about her hair, sheís got every right to decide how she wants it to look. She ought to have some control over her body which is why she gets to wear whatever the hell she wants, as long as itís seasonally appropriate.

So, Iíll just be over here minding my own business with a pocket full of barrettes. Waiting for her to fall into a deep sleep so I can clip that hair back from her eyes.

Her big, beautiful eyes I canít see any more.

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12:20 p.m. ::
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