Don't You Know You're Going To Shock The Monkey?

I'm at work.

It's 9:56pm, Saturday night, December 15th. You see, we moved our office yesterday and it was all kinds of disastrous. Skip over the part about the "hired movers," nice guys though they were, who showed up three hours late and spoke NOT ONE WORD of English. Forget that there were only two of them. Fast forward over the part where my boss had to go to the emergency room, leaving a trail of blood and booming epithets. Skip all that and poof, here I am at...now it's 10:01pm, Saturday night.

I therefore missed Lisa's party this afternoon. I could go to Brett's still, then to Nixie's which will likely go on the longest. Those were the only three parties I had been planning on hitting today. The Fluttr kids' is too downtown, and Anngelle's is right out because I'm not going to Billerica again in my lifetime. I don't think I've been back since I left GiantSuckingSound.com.

But at this moment, I'm covered in dust head to toe, my feet ache...oh hell, I ache all over. Plus it's cold. Plus I'm cranky.

Plus I didn't have a chance to do any laundry. My favorite clothes are in the hamper and I don't have any underwear. I mean at present, right now. I'm in sweatpants and very much without underwear.

Plus look at how much I'm complaining. Who wants me at a party tonight anyway?

If you keep writing "plus" it starts to look like something medical. Something wound-related. Maybe because it's almost "pus."

(Oh...I just noticed the title I gave this thing...that's because I have Pandora up while I'm unpacking, moving furniture around and cleaning, and just when I sat down to dash off this entry, Peter Gabriel came on. It's now 10:07. Good night).

. . . . .

The Last One / The Next One

. . . . .

Archives Back to 2000