The End Is Near (Tomorrow Is Another Day...)

Here I am, back with actual content and begging you to come back to me. I’m so sorry for neglecting you and if I could I would woo you all back with flowers and chocolates and a soulful rendition of “Don’t Give Up On Us”. But I can’t, so you’ll just have to make do with my empty promises of reformation and 12 Step Programs.

That being said, oh the guilt I have been suffering this week. First at the hands of my blog for simply not being able to find an iota of interesting material, and second the constant puppy dog eyes I’ve been getting from Jack during the few hours of the day that we actually interact. Honestly—working moms, my hat is off to you, because I do not know how you do it. This isn’t even my child and it just breaks my heart to leave that little worry-wrinkled-face every night for work after sleeping and/or yelling at him all day.

This has been my schedule this week:

5:00 pm – 6:00 pm: Find something to eat; Drive to work

6:00 pm – 6:00 am: Work (which mainly consists of surfing the web, reading, and staring at the back of my eyelids)

6:00 am – 7:00 am: Turnover when my replacement comes in; Drive home; Pick up the poop that Jack has deposited around the kitchen in protest of my absence; Take Jack outside and give him food

7:00 am – 3:00 pm: Get some sleep for crying out loud

3:00 pm – 5:00 pm: Crawl out of bed; Pet Jack halfheartedly and bring him outside; Get dressed for work and plead with the dog to stop trying to eat me, my clothing, the rug, his paw, the wall, etc; Try not to sob violently as I chain Jack up in the kitchen and give him many toys to try to win back his love which he will ignore in favor of pooping on the carpet.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

My schedule will be back to normal next week after our exercise is over, but I’m not sure if all the therapy in the world will cure Jack of the abandonment issues he’s been facing this week.

Then I get to work and my boss asks me if I’m going to the Wing Formal Christmas party that costs $50 damn dollars, and as we all know in the military, when the boss asks things it’s more like he’s telling you. So I have to find a formal in my closet that still fits, eat crappy food and listen to a crappy band, dateless since my stupid boyfriend lives 3,000 miles away and if he were a sane individual wouldn’t spend the $50 to go with me even if he lived next door.

And THEN on top of that, while driving to work I hear that Britney Spears will be taking over the lead in Sweet Charity on Broadway in January. And I’m pretty sure that’s the first sign of the Apocalypse, right before all those guys on horses.

Anyway, to make myself feel better and inspired by the Christmas music now playing 24/7 on the radio I present to you my “List of Christmas/Birthday Gifts I Would Love to Receive But Know Could Only Happen in a Parallel Universe Equivalent to The Twilight Zone” (This way I won’t be disappointed when they never actually end up under the tree) (Which, have you heard? Is supposed to be placed upside down now to save floor space. I think that's the 3rd sign of the Apocalypse, right after the guys on the horses):

1) The space between my thighs to reappear.

2) My dog to be bestowed with an iron clad digestive system which would dispose of waste internally and leave my damn carpets alone.

3) All ass clowns who insist on driving at 45-50 mph on the interstate to spontaneously combust, or blow up like that bus on Speed.

4) Gas prices to plummet mysteriously to 10 cents a gallon, and my car to decide that it can get by on one fill up per week.

5) Small, circular, shiny objects that make me cry happy disbelieving tears of joy.

6)The power to change clothes, hairstyles, or makeup with just a snap of my fingers.

7) Reunion and Hot Properties to be renewed for another 5 seasons because there just aren’t enough shows on the television that involve absolutely no thought processes and don’t revolve around dark, gritty murders and hospitals.

8) An endless supply of fascinating blog entries that would be stumbled upon by a high powered publishing company who would insist that I immediately turn over The Great American novel that would be mysteriously on my hard drive and place me at #2 on the New York Times Best Sellers List (because we all know that if you’re #1 there’s nowhere to go but down)

So there you have it, Merry Freaking Christmas, Happy Birthday to Me, and Welcome to the End of the World!

Comments

We forgive you for your absense. This blog entry MORE than makes up for it--TOO HILARIOUS!

I have to shop for something to wear for an Xmas party that they SAY isn't formal (but I will bet some woman will be there with her new fake boobs in a beaded gown or something--there always IS someone like that, dontcha know!)

Posted by: Steph. | December 01, 2005 at 02:49 AM