21 April, 2010

what's it all mean, baby duckling? what's it all mean?

after an eight hour day of working on truly fabulous individuals (excepting the ex-teacher who told me to talk AND work as she had places to be. happy retirement, bitch!), i followed this glorious and eventful workday with some sweating and weight-training only to come home to shower, unpack the dishwasher,* cook a kale and goat cheese quiche, pack mr. monkey's lunch,** set out mr. monkey's daily dose of antipsychotics, drink two glasses of wine (for the flavonoids, yo!), eat failed leftover gnudi (don't ask, not worth the effort. i tried. twice.), boil some eggs (hell, why not?), read my blogs, wash a sinkful of dishes, and then crash on the couch. i now lack the emotional and physical wherewithal to get up and brush my teeth (where is a personal valet with a posh british accent and a quirky sense of humour when you need one? goddamn you all for the destruction of the class system!!! goddamn you***!!!!!!)

that, my poultries, was a hard sentence to construct. try smoking up some of bc's finest and then knitting. (i think. what do i know? i don't knit.) you won't know whether you are coming or going and that is what it felt like to write the above paragraph. i had to go back repeatedly to see what in the hell i was talking about and what tense i was talking about it in. if i've failed, forgive: mommy's having the kind of day normal working mothers have every single day of their lives and mommy don't like it. mommy is particularly thankful that her dirty twenties did not accidentally produce a high maintenance bundle of joy that would have her doing all of the above PLUS hockey practice. god. it's all love and fucking sunshine, they tell me, desperation gleaming in their eyes.

and now that i've offended a world of breeders, let me take the sting out of the bitch slap by saying that today i saw the cutest little 3 year old red head in for a cleaning and she made me want to dip her in mayonnaise and eat her all up. a. do. rab. le. or something.

can i just get someone to tip me over so i can spend the night in my fluffy orange bathrobe cuddled up to my couch sheep? please? anyone?

that's it then.



*it's times like these i wish i had a minion. fuck. i fucking hate unloading the dishwasher. hate, hate, hate it. i think i almost prefer washing dishes by hand. then again, when i start to feel too sorry for myself, i just remember how much i despise vacuuming (a lot) and i feel better worse thirsty.

**yes, i don't have children. yes, i make my husband's lunch and i like it. up yours. my husband is way more entertaining than all the children in the world so he deserves a delicious and nutritionally balanced meal. if i didn't do it, he'd subsist on canned tuna and swedish rye crisps and we all know the world's running out of tuna.

***why'd you have to go and do it? huh? equality, my ass! we all know some of us are better than others. it's only bloody obvious! jesus!

2 comments:

Geneviève said...

Huh...again, can I have some of what you're having these days? And I suspect it ain't just kale.
One more day of work for me, then I get a three day weekend. I guess you get one of those every week. Sometimes twice a week.

Teresa and the girls are coming. Sacha's super excited to see Lauren. Not so excited to see Megan.

the polish chick said...

i'm not using anything. i swear. i'm just tired. and i have several weeks of real live almost full time work coming up. honest.