January 28, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Don’t give up on your current project. A bit of determination will see it through.
Well, now is the time to be desperate. And, yes, I’m going to be counting on my daily horoscope to give me a little guidance. Everything in my brain is too fuzzy at the moment. There’s a little demon floating somewhere over my right shoulder. She has Ann-Marie’s voice (even though Hunter Keene fired the shot) and she has only one thing to say: Fired. Over and over. Succinct, but brutal.
I walked right out of the office after the meeting with Hunter and Sue. That cliché about going to your desk and clearing your things? Are you kidding me?! Not with Ann-Marie and the girls enjoying the show. Of course, the damn elevator took its sweet time swooping up and saving me. With tears running down my face, I kept my eyes fixed on the elevator door. Laverne spoke to me for the first time in a week. “Laura, hon, what’s wrong?”
I blurted, “My grandmother died” and then fled through the stairwell. OK, Grandma Newton died seven years ago. True, she always had bad gas and claimed it was me every time, not her—my sisters called me Stinky for years—but I missed her sometimes. Never cried at her funeral. Seven years later? Not a chance. But Laverne would spread the news and, by day’s end, Hunter Keene would look like a prick for firing someone right after her beloved grandmother died.
I went straight home and cocooned in a ball on my bed. Tupper whined for me to lift him up and then he nuzzled up against me as I coated two pillowcases with a river of tears. Fired. By the afternoon, the air seemed to be sucked out of my apartment and I was literally gasping to take in a breath. I decided to reward my faithful companion with an off-leash outing at the beach in Kits near the Maritime Museum. All labs and other large breeds, but Tupper is a Shih-Tzu that thinks he’s a Great Dane. Suddenly, my fourteen-year-old pooch had the pep of a pup. I actually managed a laugh as I watched him try to sniff a few butts that towered over him.
A stunning man with a shaved head—normally, not a fan of baldness, but the look highlighted his strongly chiseled facial features—joined me on my chosen log and made idle conversation with me as his Rottweiler waded in the water, begging for a stick, a ball, a rock to be thrown his way. We might have had a connection, but it was definitely not the right time to be looking for a date. Exchanged dog names—Rolph the Rottie—and parted ways as Tupper tuckered out and Roloph seemed to be swimming for Vancouver Island.
Back to my horoscope. I’m supposed to focus on my current project. I’d say it’s wallowing and I’d say I’m doing it quite well, thank you very much. Yes, I guess I need to think about rebounding and finding some other employment, but, come on, things are still too raw.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via iPhone):
MARTY SCORED TICKETS TO THE CANUCKS GAME LAST NIGHT. FUN GAME ALTHOUGH I WANTED BURR TO EXTEND HIS POINT STREAK AND IT WLD HAVE BEEN NICE TO SEE MORE SEDIN MAGIC. STILL, A PARTY ATMOSPHERE @ GM PLACE. LAST HOME GAME IN AGES.
WENT FOR BEERS AFTER THE GAME & MARTY SCORED AGAIN. SOME 25 YEAR OLD W/A COLOSSAL BOOB JOB REACHED FOR THE LAST PRETZEL AT THE SAME TIME AS MARTY SO THEY DECIDED TO SHARE IT. FROM THEN ON, I WAS STUCK WATCHING THE AUSSIE OPEN ON THE BIGSCREEN. WALKED HOME SCRATCHING MY HEAD OVER WHAT THE WOMEN ALWAYS SEE IN MARTY. MAYBE I SHOULD GET SOME PLASTIC SURGERY OF MY OWN, GET ME A CHIN DIMPLE LIKE MARTY’S.
NO MSGES ON PLENTYOFFISH. SAD. I’M THE NEW KID IN TOWN, RIGHT? IS THE GUY SUPPOSED TO INITIATE? COME ON, IT’S 2010 & IT’S THE INTERNET. STEP UP, LADIES.
GUESS I’LL HAVE TO GROW A PAIR & SEND OUT MY OWN MSGES. HEART NOT IN IT TONITE THOUGH. CAME ACROSS CLARA’S PEPPERMINT TEA IN THE CUPBOARD WHEN I WAS GONNA MAKE ME A HOT CHOCOLATE. TURFED THE TEA BUT CALLED IT A NITE RIGHT AFTER.
CLARA LEFT MONTHS AGO BUT SHE STILL HASN’T GONE.