First of all, I have a migraine, and I doubt it’s the fault of the fine folks at Pa-fizer, who gave me a nice pa-COVID vaccine on Sunday. I’ve been back to being pa-plagued with them, and I hate everything and everything’s ox uncle.
I know that made no sense.
Anyway, I have to work with one today because I have a lot to do because I did the thing where I asked, “Does anyone need any work done?” and apparently everyone was just sitting still hoping their work would get done, because everyone in the company said, “Hells yes, I do” and gave me work. What that was was a delightful sentence. Anyway, everyone was sitting still not noticing God carrying them across the beach so they could make a plaque out of it later, and when I asked for work they gave me a shit ton, including many, many pages of jpegs, and if you ever are sitting about wondering how you can irk your copy editor, send him or her or they a jpeg.
Again, the simplicity and beauty of my sentences. It’s just.
You can’t WRITE on them, jpegs, so you have to draw up a second document and say things like, “On jpeg A39302jrm392o23, on the second line, move the “is” to be behind the “fuckmunch.”
So that’s speedy and convenient.
All this, with a migraine! I’m in a mood.
I’m so sick of these things. I’m so over them. Nevertheless, they persist.
Aren’t you kind of wondering now what sort of sentence has “fuckmunch is” in it? Me too.
Anyway, other than the MIGRAINE, which I am pronouncing mee-grane today just to make things international, I got no other side effects from m’shot. Oh, my arm hurts a little but big deal. I munch pain. I fuckmunch pain.
Also, I’ve set up about 37 million appointments and dates for after April 17, when I will be free to be you and me-grane. Oh, I have PLANS, man. Plans. And Ned gets his Johnson (heee) & Johnson (heeee) today, just by chance. He was at Walgreen’s filling a prescription and he was asked if he wanted to sign up. Of course, the whole time he’s telling me this story, he’s saying “Walmart,” and Ned is not a Walmart guy. Nine years I been knowing Ned and he’s not once darkened the door of a Walmart. So he’s telling me this story, and he tells stories like a chick, where you’re all OH MY GOD WRAP IT UP. And I’m thinking, Since when does he get his prescriptions at Walmart?
But I know from Ned and his words.
“Do you mean Walgreen’s?” I interrupted.
“I’ve been doing that all day,” he said, as Ned not only tells a story like a chick, he also reports the events of his day to about 17 different women, like a chick. Ned also always ALWAYS calls pistachios walnuts. And at this point when he says walnut I just assume he means pistachio.
My grandmother had a bunch of sisters and other women relatives whose relation to her is murky now. I just know there was Wa and Ope and Mary Gertrude. Wait. Wa and Mary Gertrude were the same person. Anyway, trust me. There were a lot. There was also a Sarie, which I suppose was short for Sarah and in 55 years I’ve never considered that till now. And anyway they’d all call each other and relay the events of the day. If there was a particular story to tell, I’d watch gramma get that giant heavy black phone and drag it right to her lap, in her chair. Each call started the same.
First of all, she’d have to dial the number on that heavy phone with the heavy dial-y part. Ka-churrr. Ka-churrr.
“Oh, whatcha doin’?”
It was never, “Hello, Mary Gertrude? ‘Tis me, Nita, your sister.” It was always, “Oh, whatcha doin’?” And then she’d deliver her story du jour to each woman.
Anyway, that’s Ned. And like my gramma, who called Neo-Synephrine “so neo sifrine,” he gets all words wrong.
Let’s talk today about products from the ’70s.
Are there any that haunt you? There’s one pill for colds I can’t think of the name of and it drives me berserk. It was orange on one side, like maybe it was baby aspirin, and then a normal aspirin on the other. WHAT WAS IT CALLED? I can never find it. I think it was chewable.
Anyway I have to go. One of my longtime coworkers is leaving, so while I’ve been writing this, I’ve also been chatting with him on our work chat feature. We’ve been talking about old times, and how when he started he was 23 and now he’s 30, and it was a walk down memory lane. Is what it was. The whole time he was there I just kept being a middle-aged woman. It’s funny how that works.
All right, Ope. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. OK. Haha. Right. Yep. OK. Bye-bye now.