Fuck you, fuck your friends, fuck your cow.....
I work in a fancy modern office building complex
where from my fifth-floor window
I can watch snow falling on Mt. Spokane
AND THE REST OF THE CITY!
MY GOD I HATE THE SNOW!
Anyways,....
We receive a notice that a fire drill will commence
sometime during the next week,
and directions from our Safety Master how to leave
and where to wait.
The next day, we receiving a storm warning
and a notice that our department will not
participate in the fire drill.
The NEXT morning, each desk is equipped with a pair of earplugs
and we are informed that we can leave
if the noise (and flashing lights) are too distracting
during the drill.
Sometime around 10am, the siren begins blaring,
the emergency lights flicker,
and 70 people in beige cubicles
calmly, and rationally
shove orange foam into their ears
and go back to quietly typing.
It felt like some avant performance art,
as a few dozen clerical workers
in a taupe and glass office building
ignore a plethora of danger alert systems
as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
It felt gorgeously meta
in our new Trumped-up America.
And now for something completely different.
Today our stove suffered an act of god (or satan)
and decided that "medium" actually meant "LET'S BURN THE HOUSE DOWN!"
but luckily for the house (and us?) it only
cruelly burnt our breakfast potatoes.
Scraping off the charcoal, and putting taters to the side
I fiddled with the knobs and got things heating normally
and started some french toast,
which was going along splendidly until
I WALKED AWAY because Sailor wanted to talk to me
about a 2,000 year old roman shipwreck
that the Nazi's burned when they left Italy.
SHIT! I just went into the computer room
(AKA: The warmest room in the house)
to leave a few sticks of butter so I could bake cookies soon.
DAMN IT ALL!
Now I know about the Lake Nemi shipwrecks,
and have burned french toast to go with
burnt potatoes.
OKAY! Well, fuck this, fuck that
and let's at least have something NOT BURNT
to eat with breakfast.
I scramble some eggs and pour them in.
So far, so good.
Everything is normal.
When I turn around to get plates/cutlery
to plate breakfast,
the stovetop element turns RED HOT again
and the eggs go from 'still runny'
to 'burned black on the bottom and still runny on top"
in about... 15 seconds.
Few things are as gross as burnt eggs.
Unless accompanied by burnt french toast
and burnt potatoes.
I hear charcoal is good for digestion?
When I am frustrated, I yell.
I bash things, I drop things,
I run into things, and I threaten everything I see with MURDER.
I will kill the door.
I will kill the door, and the spatula, and the water jug.
I will kill the door WITH the spatula,
and pitch the pitcher out into the snow
and tell it to "cool off" in a Schwarzenegger impression.
Side note: Spellcheck's dictionary has "Schwarzenegger"...
and that is *so* depressing to me
because of all the words Spellcheck DOES NOT have.
Sailor and I have lived together for 4 years,
and he is as placid as a manatee.
(Are manatees placid?
BTW, I would totally pay to see a killer manatee shlock-flick.)
Sailor shrinks at my volume
and away from my presence.
My heart melts,
but my anger doesn't.
Stupid stove.
Stupid me.
Stupid cold water jug!
Stupid broken-door-with-a-spatula-through-it!
To assuage my morning-mood,
I take a long shower and lay uselessly clean in bed.
Sailor cuddles me and let's me know he's NOT afraid of me,
he just... thinks he should make himself small and hide
whenever I am angry in case I murderize him
by tearing off a door-with-a-spatula-through-it
and attack him with it.
That's all.
I suppose that is sensible,
but I feel guilt for being an expressive person
while he is generally quite reserved
and making him uncomfortable.
He is cute and says nice things and makes me feel better
even though I threatened to punch him
as he sensitively shrunk from my kitchen-inspired wrath.
I am obviously a monster.
Obviously.
So now, later....
I am drinking a beer (at least it is afternoon?)
and my butter is a puddle
because I left it too long,
and I have decided WILL NOT COOK ANY MORE TODAY
and suddenly, my day just got much easier.
Fuck it.
What a beautiful motto.
where from my fifth-floor window
I can watch snow falling on Mt. Spokane
AND THE REST OF THE CITY!
MY GOD I HATE THE SNOW!
Anyways,....
We receive a notice that a fire drill will commence
sometime during the next week,
and directions from our Safety Master how to leave
and where to wait.
The next day, we receiving a storm warning
and a notice that our department will not
participate in the fire drill.
The NEXT morning, each desk is equipped with a pair of earplugs
and we are informed that we can leave
if the noise (and flashing lights) are too distracting
during the drill.
Sometime around 10am, the siren begins blaring,
the emergency lights flicker,
and 70 people in beige cubicles
calmly, and rationally
shove orange foam into their ears
and go back to quietly typing.
It felt like some avant performance art,
as a few dozen clerical workers
in a taupe and glass office building
ignore a plethora of danger alert systems
as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
It felt gorgeously meta
in our new Trumped-up America.
And now for something completely different.
Today our stove suffered an act of god (or satan)
and decided that "medium" actually meant "LET'S BURN THE HOUSE DOWN!"
but luckily for the house (and us?) it only
cruelly burnt our breakfast potatoes.
Scraping off the charcoal, and putting taters to the side
I fiddled with the knobs and got things heating normally
and started some french toast,
which was going along splendidly until
I WALKED AWAY because Sailor wanted to talk to me
about a 2,000 year old roman shipwreck
that the Nazi's burned when they left Italy.
SHIT! I just went into the computer room
(AKA: The warmest room in the house)
to leave a few sticks of butter so I could bake cookies soon.
DAMN IT ALL!
Now I know about the Lake Nemi shipwrecks,
and have burned french toast to go with
burnt potatoes.
OKAY! Well, fuck this, fuck that
and let's at least have something NOT BURNT
to eat with breakfast.
I scramble some eggs and pour them in.
So far, so good.
Everything is normal.
When I turn around to get plates/cutlery
to plate breakfast,
the stovetop element turns RED HOT again
and the eggs go from 'still runny'
to 'burned black on the bottom and still runny on top"
in about... 15 seconds.
Few things are as gross as burnt eggs.
Unless accompanied by burnt french toast
and burnt potatoes.
I hear charcoal is good for digestion?
When I am frustrated, I yell.
I bash things, I drop things,
I run into things, and I threaten everything I see with MURDER.
I will kill the door.
I will kill the door, and the spatula, and the water jug.
I will kill the door WITH the spatula,
and pitch the pitcher out into the snow
and tell it to "cool off" in a Schwarzenegger impression.
Side note: Spellcheck's dictionary has "Schwarzenegger"...
and that is *so* depressing to me
because of all the words Spellcheck DOES NOT have.
Sailor and I have lived together for 4 years,
and he is as placid as a manatee.
(Are manatees placid?
BTW, I would totally pay to see a killer manatee shlock-flick.)
Sailor shrinks at my volume
and away from my presence.
My heart melts,
but my anger doesn't.
Stupid stove.
Stupid me.
Stupid cold water jug!
Stupid broken-door-with-a-spatula-through-it!
To assuage my morning-mood,
I take a long shower and lay uselessly clean in bed.
Sailor cuddles me and let's me know he's NOT afraid of me,
he just... thinks he should make himself small and hide
whenever I am angry in case I murderize him
by tearing off a door-with-a-spatula-through-it
and attack him with it.
That's all.
I suppose that is sensible,
but I feel guilt for being an expressive person
while he is generally quite reserved
and making him uncomfortable.
He is cute and says nice things and makes me feel better
even though I threatened to punch him
as he sensitively shrunk from my kitchen-inspired wrath.
I am obviously a monster.
Obviously.
So now, later....
I am drinking a beer (at least it is afternoon?)
and my butter is a puddle
because I left it too long,
and I have decided WILL NOT COOK ANY MORE TODAY
and suddenly, my day just got much easier.
Fuck it.
What a beautiful motto.