Yesterday put the ridic in ridiculous, and say, June, I don’t think you get how that little wordplay works.
It did, though. It put the ridic in ridiculous.
First of all, I have a friend passing through a crisis, and I love to say that: passing through a crisis. It’s just so dramatic. So I was texting back and forth with We May Never Pass This Way Again about 47 times before 8:00. Then as it neared 8:00, I had to get to work.
Not literally. I’d asked to work from home for part of the morning because I had to take the dog to the vet at 9:30. I really did work from home. I didn’t air quotes work from home. I had–and this will mean nothing to you unless you work in words as I do–seven articles about 11 pages each that had fact-checking and also character counts.
Like three of you are all, Oh, wow. They give you enough time for that?
My job is constantly a fight for getting enough time to do it well. I think people think copy editing is reading. I mean, just reading. I’ve complained about that before, though, and actually they gave me 10 hours to do 7 articles that were about 11 pages apiece with fact-checking and character counts, and that was actually pretty reasonable.
So from 8 to 9:15, I copyedited some stuff. It was an article. About 11 pages. I needed to fact check. Count characters.
(When you’re writing for social media, you sometimes have to write only a certain number of words. Each letter and space counts. I would estimate that this paragraph is 190 characters right now.)
(I just checked. It was 195.)
Then, at 9:15, I got the leash and my pug went insane, and I hooked it on him and he shedded like an Australian shepherd all the way to the vet. Edsel, my German shepherd/Australian shepherd/cattle dog/FUCKING PUG, has seemed stiff in his hips lately. Not willing to get right up from lying down. That sort of thing.
The first thing I did was show my vet his new DNA results. The dog’s, not the vet’s. That would have been weird. “Interesting results,” said the vet, who appears to have seen everything from behind her purple glasses.
As soon as my dog got diagnosed with being a German shepherd, he got diagnosed with hip dysplasia and his spine being out of adjustment. She did an adjustment on
WORLD’S SCAREDEST DOG
and then gave me this fish oil and also these supplements to start with, and if that doesn’t work we’ll use real drugs.
He already seems better after she adjusted his attitude and also his spine.
The thing about my vet is, she’s very learned, and always quotes studies and so on, and she was doing that when
MOTHER OF GOD
I remembered I was getting this fast-turnaround thing around 10 and it was 10:08.
“I HAVE TO GO!” I screeched, taking my pug with me. I called my boss on the way to the office, and she was calm while I was hysterical, and then I got there and Jane West had already done the thing.
Then, because the dog and I are Elliott and E.T., I had a chiropractor appointment at 11:30 on the next block from work. It was going to be my early lunch, and they’d wanted me to come there for an hour and a half, and I was all, Foo, I have a JOB, Foo, that’s why my neck hurts all the time.
So we agreed I’d do the paperwork ahead of time and guess who forgot till JUST THEN at 10:30. I rushed through that paperwork, and Dear People in Doctor’s Offices Who Make Forms: Don’t make me fill out the same info on different forms over and over again. And give me long enough lines.
I liked that chiropractor, though. He talked to me for a long time and explained everything and seems honest and not scammy, and then he adjusted me and I got those little circles stuck on me where they electric shock you for 20 minutes and then I went back to work and worked all day till 5:00.
Do you know what I forgot to do, though? Was eat, really. I munched casually on a sandwich at about 1:00, but I wasn’t feeling it and I was worried about getting my work done, which was 7 articles that were about 11 pages each with fact checking and character counts.
I finished right at 5:00, though, and boom.
Then I had to scream back to the vet because I had literally left without paying or taking my medicine with me, so panicked was I. THEN I had to go to my eye doctor’s place, because I ran out of contacts last week and have been wearing my glasses and I hate wearing glasses. They’re just so heavy and they slip down and make me look like I’m wearing glasses.
My glasses guy and I always end up talking forever about our failed romances. Don’t get excited: We differ politically. And he wears pleated khakis. Anyway, I stayed there longer than I’d anticipated.
Also, I realize that Paula H&B has had seven heart attacks reading this intensely like she does when I have an intense day.
THEN I screamed home at about 5:30, gave supplements and fish oil to the cattle dog, fed the cats, washed my hands for 47 minutes and ate the rest of my sandwich from lunch but I had promised self I’d go to the 6:00 showing of the live-action shorts that got nominated for an Oscar.
I don’t know why the Oscars are awarding clothes, either, and I’d have started with dresses.
Just as I started eating, the phone rang and it was my father. “Hello, daughter,” he said, being retired and in the lap of luxury.
“Hello, father,” I said, while eating.
Then the whole conversation my father kept complaining that I was eating, even though I’d given him the rundown of my timeline, there. I failed to mention the 7 articles I’d gotten done already.
“Well, it’s been fun talking to a horse,” said my father, hanging up to go enjoy the sunset or whatever the retired do.
I screamed into the car and called my mother on the way to tell her about Edsel’s hips. I told her the vet said Eds had many
more years to live. I sighed.
“Really, though, as he’s aged, he’s a lot less of an asshole.”
“I keep waiting to say the same about you,” said my mother, and perhaps she and my father could start a comedy school in their retirement years.
And here’s what I have to tell you about those goddamn live-action shorts.
First of all, popular. I think one guy was there working and I was the only patron in the whole theater. It was oddly thrilling and had he been remotely appealing I’d have had theater sex just to say I had.
BUT THOSE SHORTS. Don’t do it. Don’t see them. I mean it. Apparently the new thing is to upset the viewer as much as possible. The only one I liked was the one about the nice old lesbian.
Jesus. Don’t see them. And if you make short films, upsetting people does not equal art. All of them other than the old lesbian had bad things–really bad–happening to kids. I don’t even LIKE kids and those films upset me.
I had to come home and lie listlessly on the couch and recover after.
And that was yesterday and now I literally have two minutes to get to work, and I am sorry, Paula H&B.