Yet Another Day Closer to My Last Day Here

Oh poop. Late last night, as I was falling asleep, I suddenly realized that I don't have Monday off. For whatever misguided reason, I thought I had a four-day weekend because of a scheduling change. But no, I actually have Sunday off, work Monday, and then have Tuesday and Wednesday off. This is not good, because I've scheduled my doctor's appointment for Monday, and I don't see any way of getting rescheduled before I move. So I guess I'll be burning off a sick day, after all. At least I can come in for extra hours on Wednesday, but that's going to make six straight days on the phones. Yuck. Well, I'd better go and sign up for those hours, hmm?

Last night, I watched Zombie Honeymoon. It was not at all what I expected. The movie was a failure, I think, because it attempted too many things. It tried to be funny. It tried to be sad. It tried to be romantic. It failed, and ended up being boring, which no zombie movie ever ought to be. I think I may have drooled on myself.

The acting was decent enough (I found myself drawn into the characters, despite my better judgement), but the pacing was dreadful. For example, the movie wasted time showing extended driving sequences (and no, there are no car chases). The female lead was just driving to the grocery store. I suppose the extended sequence was supposed to demonstrate the passing of time, but what it did was take an already slow-paced movie and ratchet the speed down a few notches. Yawn.

Tonight is Russian action movie night. We rented two clunkers whose names I've already forgotten. Something like Russian Smackdown or Moscow Heat or something like that. One of them stars Dolph Lundgren, and doesn't appear to be listed on IMDB. That's surely a bad sign.

I watch a lot of movies. From looking at this year's record, they appear mostly to be chop sokky, action, and sci-fi. I'm not a very good girl, because I don't think there are any chick flicks to be seen (Zombie Honeymoon is the closest).

Sometimes I think I must be a man in a woman's body.

That reminds me, I'm getting rid of a LOT of clothes. If you're in the area, and you think something might fit, let me know, and we can arrange a scavenging session for you. There's everything from jeans to workout clothes to gowns, and it all has to go. I can't take it with me. The Chinese dress I gave to Linda last night looks fabulous on her.

I'll also be getting rid of a lot of books and junk in the days to come. If I can't keep my treasures, I'd like to see them go to good homes. Oh yeah, and I have a big bag o' womandy that needs to go. Need pads/tampons? I don't (thank you, thank you, thank you, Keeper).

There's No Other Kind

(Overheard phone call)

Oh my God. It's cancer?

Really?

What kind?

Oh no.

Well, at least it's good cancer.

(no subject)

If I only had the money, I'd buy Suhaila Salimpour's Dances For the Sultan. I've heard nothing but good about it, but alas, I am poor.

Some day....

A Typical Call

Silly Customer (SC): I'd like a room for April 1 at the *** Hotel.

Me: I'm sorry, but we're sold out for that night. Would you like me to check another date or another location for you?

SC: No, that's ok.

Me: I can give you the numbers for other hotels in the area, if you like.

SC: Sure! What do you recommend?

Me: We do have another hotel in the downtown area. Is that too far away for you?

SC: No, that would be great. What's their telephone number?

Me: I can check the availability and rates for you now, if you like.

SC: Oh. Never mind. I'll call around. *click*

Oh yes, and a note for myself: I'm working on Wednesday from 10-5:30....

Purrcy

When I was about 13 or 14, Dad decided it was time to buy a couple of pigs. So we all hoofed it off to a farmer's place a few villages away. Dad chose a young wriggling sow and barrow (named Whip and Jill), and I roamed around the farm being rather bored.

When the piglets were stowed away in burlap bags and we were about to get into the truck, the farmer gestured to me and said, "Come here."

I walked over to him. He reached up through an opening in the barn's ceiling and hauled a terrified gray tabby kitten down. "Want a kitten?"

He thrust the barn kitten at me. It clambered up under my shirt and hung on, shaking all over. It had probably never been touched by a person before.

I looked at Dad. "Can I? Please?"

"Sure," he said. "Why not?"

"Why not?" Mom sputtered. "I'll tell you why not! We already have a female kitten at home, and I'll bet that's a little tom."

And yes, the frightened little cat was a tom. And together with the female kitten (Trubble), he went on to form the Dorn Ridge cat dynasty. He was Dumpling's father, Tommy Dude's grandfather, and the great-grandfather of countless cats for miles and miles.

For the longest time, the kitten, who I christened Purrcy, remained terrified. He would bolt from everyone except for me. He spent all his time hiding in my bedroom. One day, I came home from school, and Mom said he was missing. I called and called, but he didn't answer.

Finally, I found him way back in the corner under my parents' bed, trembling with fear.

He never did stop being a scaredy cat until he was fullgrown. I never stopped being his favourite person, either.

I was awakened one night by a strange crashing sound. I got up to investigate and saw a sorry sight. Purrcy's head was completely stuffed inside a soup can he had pulled from the garbage. He was tearing around the house in a blind panic, suffocating to death. I tore over to him and hauled the can off his head. He scratched me in the process, inhaled mightily, and let loose with the longest, loudest cat scream I have ever heard. In another five minutes, he would have been dead. I let him outside, and then bawled my eyes out.

About two weeks later, Mom found him lying on the road, a tiny drop of blood at the corner of his mouth. He'd been hit by my school bus.

Oops

I'm so eager to be out of here, I thought my shift ended fifteen minutes earlier than it did.

Ha ha on me....