Saturday, July 12, 2008

Breaking the News

Anyone who has talked to me much in the last few days knows that I dreaded reporting the loss of my job to my mother. No one wants to report to their parent that she is indeed the unemployed wastrel that the mater always thought she would be. So I spent most of the week figuring out how to pitch it so it wouldn't be 'bad news'. The angle I came up with was, 'you know how you always wanted me to be able to spend more time working on cleaning out your garage?', and I must say, it was a highly successful approach. I recommend that if you find yourself in a similar position, dear reader. I was also able to report that my BIL was laid off at the same time, and everyone knows he's anything but wastrel material.

For the record, I did indeed behave like a wastrel last night. I was scheduled to attend a birthday party for a friend. Due to some bad news about a sick coworker, I sucked down two stiff drinks immediately upon arrival to dull the pain of a bad week and the bad news. Being the lightweight drinker that I am, I was seriously tipsy in no time. My performance at the billiard table, never brilliant, was probably the worst in my entire life - the list of things I cannot do when drinking is growing longer.

After dinner and billiards a few of us dead enders attempted to see "Hell Boy II" (too many people in line so we gave up), and ended up at the local tavern for darts (no, I didn't play - no one wants me throwing things after a couple of drinks, I assure you), beer, and beer. It was great because I saw some folks from one of my favorite eateries sitting at another table, drinking, laughing, and acting crazy. I love seeing people outside their work environment whom I normally see only on the job.

After the pub experience, we meandered back to the birthday boy's home where I tried to acquire a pony for myself (but had no luck, consarn it!), and indiscriminately doled out wedges for Trivial Pursuit players. There is only one question in that game that I know the answer to - the name of Sir Isaac Newton's dog. By the time I returned home it was almost 3 AM, and by the time I'd checked email and watched a Simpsons episode, it was almost 4 AM.

So it's just about bedtime for this sleep-deprived (and pony-deprived) girl.

Only three more days of work...

Waaaah! Waaaaah! I want a pony!

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