PLACE SPITTLE HERE

January 25, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Sure, it looks obvious on the surface. But look closer. You’re missing something.

Laura’s Log:
In the words of Karen Carpenter, rainy days and Mondays always get me down. And today’s looking like a rainy Monday. How fitting.

It’s always hard to wake up at six in the morning after getting to sleep in until a totally indulgent 7:10 a.m. on weekends. (That’s as long as Tupper can hold out. Walkie calls. Hydrants to mark anew!) Still, last Monday it didn’t seem as hard. What a difference a week makes. I’ve gone from an office peon to the office whore.

Of course, no one calls me that to my face. They call me nothing. They say nothing. I had more stature as a peon. Now I don’t exist, aside from being the object of the Daily Scowl from Ann-Marie and Mrs. Melaney. (Yes, Mrs. Melaney scowls at everyone—even people on the phone—, but mine have gotten more demonic.) The good thing about work used to be that time passed so fast it always felt that lunch and the end of the day snuck up on me by surprise. Now it seems I can hear every tick of the second hand on the institutional clock hanging above the lunch room.

I walked an extra block with Tupper just to delay getting ready. My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a brick. No, a brick with thorns poking out. (OK, I’ve never seen such a thing, but then I’ve never felt this way either. No nausea, just acute AND chronic pain.) Of course, when I got back into the apartment, I was in a frenzy, running late. Oh, how they’d silently chastise me if I strolled in even a minute after 8:30!

Wouldn’t you know it, my blouse still a trace of that curry stain I’d pointed out to the dry cleaner, but I didn’t notice until I was grabbing my keys and tossing Tupper an extra biscuit. No time to change. Surely with no one paying a bit of attention to me, the stain would go unnoticed. Gotta search for the perks, right?

Yep, Mondays suck. Dodger was working, but didn’t even notice me. He was grinding pound after pound of coffee and someone named Sugar took my latté order. She leaned forward like she was going to kiss me. I pulled back and conked the gentleman behind me. “Do you have a baby, ma’am?” Sugar asked. I don’t know what startled me more, the baby comment or “ma’am”. I couldn’t respond. Didn’t matter; she elaborated: “Seems you’ve got some spittle on your shirt.”

Sugar,…such a sweet thing. Tuesday—no, Saturday—can’t come soon enough.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via iPhone):
WENT AHEAD AND LEFT A MSG W/DEE DEE YESTERDAY AFTERNOON, SAYING I HAD A GREAT TIME AND ALL. NO DOUBT, SHE WAS SCREENING. NO SURPRISE, SHE DIDN’T CALL BACK. WHAT THE HELL. FIRST WEEKEND IN A LONG TIME I DIDN’T COMPLETELY OBSESS OVER CLARA DUMPING ME. FRESH ROUND OF REJECTION PROVED GOOD FOR SOMETHING.

SARA KEEPS SAYING I NEED TO TRY ONLINE DATING. GAVE ME A WHOLE LIST OF SITES A FEW WEEKS AGO. STUFFED IT IN A DRAWER SOMEWHERE. THOSE EHARMONY ADS ON TV LOOK CREEPY. TOO PERFECT. LIKE THE GIRL FROM THE OLD IVORY SOAP COMMERCIALS MTG THE GUY FROM THE IRISH SPRING ADS. WHAT ABOUT THE REST OF US?

GLAD I DIDN’T GET MY BACK WAXED B/F DATE W/DEE DEE. WASN’T THAT OPTIMISTIC. (CLARA MADE ME DO IT ONCE. WORSE THAN WHEN I HAD MY WISDOM TEETH YANKED W/O A SEDATIVE.)

LOTS OF SINGLE WOMEN IN VANCOUVER, RIGHT? WHERE ARE THEY? ALL I SEEM TO RUN INTO IS RICH OLD WOMEN WHO PAINT ON GOBS OF LIPSTICK AND THROW ON THEIR ENTIRE JEWELRY COLLECTION JUST TO BUY TUMS @ THE CORNER STORE. OH, AND YOUNG MOMMIES OBSESSED W/STROLLER MARATHONS AND VENTI DECAFS.

WHERE ARE THE REAL WOMEN?