So this is it.
It is 110 degrees outside.
And I am walking on the side of the road to the gas station that is 2 minutes away.
My muffler fell out of my car on the off-ramp of the highway.
It sounded like a boulder exploded. And then, dragging metal.
I am wearing my new Crocs. I didn’t think I was a plastic-shoe-kind-of-gal. But I am.
I love these darn Crocs.
Crocs are smell-resistant so it is impossible for them to smell like donkey butt. Smelly sandals make me bonkers…
I felt so accomplished before this muffler snafu. I mean I was almost less-late than I usually am for work.
[Question: How awesome is less-late? That seems like progress. No?]
This is what happens when you try to be a good less-late employee – your muffler falls out of your piece-of-crap car.
[Note to self: Being a good less-late employee is a flawed concept.]
Anyway, it’s just me and my smell-resistant Crocs on the side of the road in the dead of summer.
It is amazing how well my hair is holding up in this humidity. I know I put a barrel of hair product on this morning – but everybody knows summer hair can go from hotness to a hot mess in a millisecond. [I’m just sayin’.]
My hairdresser loves to demonstrate how much hair product one should use. She says the same thing to everyone [so I am deducting creativity points].
“Just a LEEEEEETLE bit,” she explains as she puts a molecule of magic liquid hair stuff in her wizard hand. “Pour a dime size in the palm, definitely not more than a nickel.”
[Right. Unless the nickel is the size of Canada and Harry Potter is doing my hair – this magic ain’t gonna happen.]
I am here.
I’ve never been so happy to see a gas station.
A guy who looks like Santa Claus runs the gas station and repair shop.
He has a long white beard, is so so friendly, and has a phone-connected-to-a-wall. Briefly, I think about finally getting a cell phone [and then, I remember that I am cheap].
I use the phone-connected-to-a-wall to call my boss, triple A, and the mechanic who “checked out” my car 2 days ago. TWO?!
“Exactly how does one not see a muffler falling off?” I say in the most chez itch-bay way.
He gives an appropriately stupid answer.
I inform him that I will ruin him and his franchise for being a franchise of idiots. [There will be rallies. And email campaigns. And boycotts with me and my cats waving handmade placards.]
Clearly, my craydar [crazy people radar] is going ballistic. Who says I will “ruin you”?
[Look, it’s hot. Whaddaya want? He wasn’t exactly whispering sweet nothings in my ear either. So we’re even Stevens.]
Anyway, it will take hours for AAA to come.
Santa lets me hang out in his sauna – I mean lobby. Apparently, Santa doesn’t believe in air conditioners or magazines – just cigarettes and the Weather Channel.
At least, now I have a justifiable reason to miss meetings at work.
My boss has always said meetings are optional. [Great. One less thing to do. Sweet! Next…]
So I started calling into meetings this year. Even if they are next door. Like two seconds away. [It kinda makes me giggle – because calling into a meeting next door is so silly.]
Of course, my choice not to go in person was quite the scandal. I guess because most choose to attend.
“What if people think you are antisocial?” they query. [And?]
Here is how I streamlined my life this year.
If something doesn’t produce a return on my time investment, then I question why I am doing it.
So the list became easy.
Done with them. I am a paper plate kind-of-girl now.
**Heavy furniture that I don’t really use anyway.
Donated. See ya. Getting rid of crap is a great way to cut done on cleaning it.
**That part of the garden that never gets watered because it is ten billion miles away.
Buh-bye. I planted drought tolerant plants.
**My therapist who couldn’t understand – why “dishes” were done? “Be careful you are not just avoiding things to avoid them.” [Duh. I am intentionally avoiding things…]
That don’t make me happy.
That don’t sustain me.
That seem like a colossal waste of my time.
That I don’t want to do.
That have outgrown their usefulness.
She, me, everybody needs to get with the program.
Doing things just to do them or to prove anything to anyone but myself
Is just so three years ago.
“But what are you dooooooooing in your office?”
Honestly, people need more things to do. Why do they even care if I choose to call into meetings? [It’s not that complicated. The magical speaker thingie let’s me hear all of the sound. Abracadabra! And for my next amazing magic trick – I will have an entire conversation without yawning…]
I am lucky to have a boss, FairyWings, who has a good sense of humor – and doesn’t sweat the small stuff.
She is just so grounded and “normal” and a hoot to talk to.
And she says such amazing stuff to me.
This is what she said in my performance review.
“I am supposed to give you some kind of critique or say something bad…”
[Ohcrapohcrapohcrap, I thought. There’s like a list of ten things that I know that she knows that I don’t give an it-shay about. Just rip off the bandaid already. RIP IT! I can’t take the suspense….]
Then, she follows up with, “But I just can’t think of anything. You’re just so awesome.”
[Sigh. I heart her.]
Like who says that to a person.
A human girl person like me.
She’s a giver. An awesome fairy giver. That’s what she is.
Once FairyWings let someone borrow her office to pull an allnighter. There was some big proposal going out – and it’s better to be asked for your space than your help.
[Note to self: Helping at work is bad. Avoid.]
Anyway, the next day she came in and her office was trashed. Papers and pizza boxes were everywhere.
It took an hour to clean up.
At the bottom of the trash heap was one crumpled, lonely tube.
Someone had left their half-used tube of Vagisil behind.
It’s hard to know what to think when someone leaves their vaginal itching cream on your desk.
At least now I know what to bring to meetings [if I choose to go]. I always thought it was my finely-tuned apathy. And my ability to sleep with my eyes open.
But clearly, the answer is
Things to put in/on my vagina.
And speaking of vaginas – today is my birthday. [Look, I couldn’t think of a transition. Go ahead. Try. I dare you. Anyway…]
I just wanted to thank my friends for always making every day here special.
And for reading my ridiculata [honestly, these blogs are so long – how much caffeine are drinking to get through them?]
I love reading your comments.
And I am honored that you take time out of your busy day to share.
Or agree or disagree or – like one friend – care enough to tell me not to use the word “vajayjay” – ‘cause my honeypot is allegedly called a v-a-g-i-n-a. [I’ll have to google this for proof. I mean. Really. Who knew?]
So thank you.
I never really had or knew what a support system was or meant or felt like before I came here
But now I do
And I don’t have to walk alone.
And that’s the best gift ever.
Thank you for being my gift.
The triple A guy finally arrived.
He had one tooth in the top of his mouth and a faux-diamond earring [I assume] the size of an M&M [plain, not peanut] in his right ear.
He picked me up at Santa’s – and drove me back to my car even though it was just 2 minutes away, and then, showed me how he tied the muffler back into the car so it was driveable.
Of course, I drove the car back to Santa’s because – as it turns out – he is also one of the best mechanics in town. [Who knew?!]
Santa squeezed me right into his full schedule without hesitation. He said a screw fell off of the bracket that holds up the muffler so I only needed one screw to repair it.
It cost $14. [You can’t beat that with a stick.]
“This could have been worse – much much worse” he said with a smile. “You are one lucky girl.”
Lucky doesn’t even come close to describing what I am.
But I am.
Lucky, that is.
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