This morning I woke up and immediately stepped in a pile of cat vomit, compliments of my little buddy Nine. I hop into the shower to clean myself off and the hot water doesn’t work. Sweet. No worries though, despite the fact that it’s December, it’s still piping hot in TX. I get out of the shower and run several laps around the apartment to dry off since apparently somebody broke into my apartment over the weekend to steal all of my towels and a bottle of ketchup. After my morning run I decided I had done enough exercise to allow for a bottle of champagne so I reached for the bottle and my absolute worst nightmare happened: I dropped it, causing its contents to explode all over my floor. I was completely devastated; I can only imagine it’s the same feeling a doctor feels after losing one of his patients.
Obviously I can’t face the work day sober so I mosey on over to the gas station near my apartment when I am approached by a very attractive man trying to get donations for some charity. Although normally I have a hard and fast rule never to donate to charities before 9 am, I decided this man was too good looking to say no to so I pulled $200 out of the ATM and gave it to him thinking he would be so delighted with my generosity that he’d surely ask me for a date. Instead he took the money, thanked me and told me that I had ketchup on my face. Damn it. Flashback to yesterday when I ate a whole bowl of ketchup for a snack after coming home drunk from brunch. It’s all coming back to me now. Turns out nobody stole my ketchup after all so I head down the street to remove all the crime watch signs I had posted around the neighborhood while drinking my wine straight from the bottle when suddenly a cop pulls up near me and starts questioning me. I tried to hide the bottle of wine in the pocket of my sweatpants but they are already filled to the brim with ketchup packets so I had no choice but to try to chug it quickly before he could confiscate it. No such luck. After he took my wine, I realized it was almost 7:30 am and I needed to start getting a move on if I wanted to make it to work on time, which of course I did since I take great pride in my work. On the way there, my truck stalled a total of 5 times and I ran over two baby kittens and possibly a small child. Now, here I sit at work, as sober as newborn babe with 3 hours left on the clock.
Oh Monday, I despise you.
PS: I asterisked out the "SS" in this entry's posting because frankly I was terrified my dad would be mad if I spelled it out. I turn 26 in 8 days. Congratulations dad, you still have a hold on me.