Wait. No....WAIT! YES! I just came.
We gots one of them there new-fangled city-living type guest bedrooms in our new house. I guess it could be any kind of room we want it to be, but the missus wants it to be a guest bedroom because we are absolutely overcome with people wanting to sleep over (READ: nodamnbody) and we couldn't go without a guest bedroom for one second longer (READ: we've never ever had a guest).
So today Squeeks is at the house with her mom fru-fruing the everloving fuck out of that room. I'm talking flowers both pink and purple in great abundance. I told her to knock herself out but she can't fru-fru anything else up in our house or I'd give her the ol' 1-2. The knuckle sandwich. The coldcock. Oh wait....I gave her that last night.
SAUCY!
Work sucks. I don't hate the job so much as I hate the fact that I haven't connected with anyone here. For instance...I'm so overcome with anxiety at the thought of sitting at a community table in the breakroom with a bunch of people whose name I don't even know that today I went out to my car and ate my sandwich (the same sandwich i spoke so highly of in the first paragraph) by myself while I stared out the window at the impending tornado clouds.
But the saddest thing is that everytime I saw someone coming my way in the parking lot I quickly picked up my cellphone and set my sandwich down so I could pretend that I came out to my car to make a call rather than be a lonely luncher.
Once this woman named Sheila walked by and I picked the phone up but I had a mouthful of freshly bitten off sandwich that I had to chew or else choke on it. I hope it looked like I was gabbing away full of joy to whatever imaginary person was on the other end of the line, but I just know it looked like I was eatin' the phone.
I've got a rubberband ball here at my desk that's as big as my fucking fist!
That's the kind of job I have.