4:12 p.m. - 2006-02-16
LIQUOR? I Hardly Know Her!
I am growing a horn.
Seriously. This zit on my forehead is beyond large. It's protruding. No amount of makeup is truly concealing it. It won't pop. It won't do anything other than hurt and keep getting bigger. I have tried various medications, and they just seem to make it multiply.
Does this mean I'm supposed to get a job in a freak show, as the Amazing Horned Woman?
And speaking of jobs...my temp job has ended. The case settled. Last night, the attorneys invited a few people from the office, including me, out for a farewell drink. Being that I had consumed a ridiculous amount of Jack Daniels with Lando the evening before, I was a good little camper and only had one drink.
I found out that the reason they needed a paralegal while they were in town is that theirs refused to travel unless a number of really stupid conditions were met. For example:
- Get paid overtime for pretty much the whole trip
- Allowed to bring grown son with drug and alcohol problems along, because he did not trust said child to be in the house alone
- Attorneys pay said child $10 an hour for the working hours during the trip...even though said useless loser would be doing nothing more taxing than sitting on his ass.
The attorney told me that, while they're at home, they pay him $50 grand a year to basically do nothing, that he comes in at 9 and leaves before 5 every day, and that he's pretty much a waste of space. After hearing all of his stupid-ass demands for doing something that is part of his job, they fired him.
She basically said that if I want to move to Ann Arbor, Michigan...the job is mine.
This threw me for a major loop. I still don't know what I think about it. I am going to let them get back home (they're driving with all of their boxes), and then call and see if she was just feeling the effects of a beer buzz or if she really meant it.
These people really are cool. But would they be cool all the time? Would I be happy that far away from my friends and that close to my extended family?
Of course, I have heard nothing from the interviews I have attended here.
Speaking of Jack Daniels, and Lando. We had a trivia rematch. (I won. I am the Queen of Trivia. However, I will grant you that I did yank an answer or five directly from the recesses of my ass.) At some point during the evening, we ran low on alcohol. (The other night when we hung out, we polished off more of the bottle than I thought.) Lando informs me that there are two liquor store choices within a short distance of his home. I can't remember the name of the first one, but the second was called "Richard's Liquor"...a/k/a "Dick's Liquor." Of course, this was followed by the comment that he never goes to that one.
Where do you think we went? Of course we did.
It was another evening of talking and hanging out, and I ended up crashing at his house. (Yeah, we managed to run through at least half of the second bottle.) The next morning, I find a nice note that he left under my windshield wiper. (When I saw the paper, I was thinking it was a "fuck you for parking in my spot, bitch" from one of his neighbors, because they kind of have assigned parking.) (The contents of the actual note would require another two paragraphs to explain; no, it did not involve any sweaty monkey sex - ya'll need to get your minds out of the gutter; it was just a nice comment about a conversation.)
And, as an added bonus, his cat didn't pee or throw up on my shoes. I cannot say that my cats would behave in the same manner.
Finally, since I have come dangerously close to being all reflective and serious again, I shall leave you with a little story of white trash.
Once upon a time, someone who looked a lot like me got hungry in the middle of the night. (Her sleeping schedule has been jacked the fuck up, because, also like me, she is unemployed.) So, she decides to patronize a fast food establishment near her home that happens to be the only one open at that late hour. She also does not want to discuss anything resembling her diet, much like me.
Anyway, this girl who looks like me pulls up to the drive thru window, places her order, and is in the process of handing her credit card to the cashier, when she feels a jolt. Turning behind her to look, she sees some white trash in a white land yacht, and realizes that said white trash just rear-ended her. This chick gets out of the car, and so does the white trash in the leather bush hat, and so does the white trash's nasty ho.
This girl who looks like me can smell the beer pouring off them in waves. First, they make some stab at an apology. Then, they mysteriously can't find their insurance card. Upon examination of the damage, there is just a white mark on the bumper of the girl who looks like me's car. Upon a little buffing from the white trash, the mark looks to be gone.
However, the girl is not necessarily appeased. She insists upon getting the driver's license and address information from the perpetrator. He hands this over very reluctantly. In the meantime, the bitch in the car is getting all pissed off, acting like the girl should just shut up and drive off. The girl explains to the cunt that, while there does not appear to be any permanent damage, it's dark, and she wants to examine it in daylight to make sure there is not an actual dent, and if there is an actual dent, she will find them and kick their ass. Or something like that.
The guy appears to get the bitch back in her seat, but still seems reluctant. The girl explains that she's not leaving without that information, and he finally forks over the goods.
In the meantime, in a most surprising turn of events, the kid at the drive-through window actually appears to be (a) sober (b) intelligent and (c) nice. He offers to call the cops, which the girl thought about, but decided against because the cops in the girl's neighborhood don't show up unless there are shots fired, and the people would be there for the next two hours, at which point, the drunk white trash would be sober enough not to get a DUI.
He does, however, get the license plate number (in this state, there are no front plates) for the girl.
Most unfortunately, due to the confusion, the girl's order was not correct.
There were nasty slimy tomatoes on it. After she specifically stated that tomatoes were not welcome. Furthermore, she did not receive any mild sauce, or a spork, or any napkins...which she really needed after she had to touch the slimy tomatoes to remove them from her taco supreme.
Our story has a semi-happy ending. In the clear light of day, there was no dent. The girl did, however, briefly consider finding their house and festooning any trees, doors, columns, or cars with some Charmin.
Just briefly.
