Slumdog Millionaire and selected other thoughts

I took a look around earlier this week at some blogs I used to follow more regularly and was shocked at their large followings. Because most of the people who follow blogs don't read them every day or even after a few weeks, you have to reach a critical mass of a hundred or more before you can count on getting comments on every single thing you post, even if it's the blog equivalent of a comment about the weather (or an actual post about the weather). It's at that point it becomes a conversation. I can't help but write but it's even richer to have a conversation, someone to answer when I speak.

I'm in one of those times when there's a lot processing in the cranium but much of it hasn't been assigned any words yet. So I'm taking a break. A break from trying to describe my fascination with and guarded distrust of my boss, my stalemate with my whiny ass co-worker, my resignation over my relationship status, my strange envy of anyone having regular sex-not because I don't like sex, but because I don't want sex with people I barely know, and thus shouldn't envy them because they don't have anything I actually want. Add to that my recognition of how quickly this time in Philly is slipping away from me. I will not have even seen a show at the theater down the street from me if I don't make a point of doing so pretty soon. Oh city of broken ankles, illness, and hostile homeless men, the clock is ticking. I may already have less than a year left with you. Where shall I go next?

I finally watched Slumdog Millionaire. Good movie. I want my life to be like that in love, for every experience to yield fruit in such a beautiful way. Like it is written. Like it all matters. This sitting in my bed tapping away, the boy, the ankle, all seven moves, tonight in my PJ's at OG's house (having pulled me away from a Say Yes to the Dress marathon to watch Slumdog Millionaire)... All these things propelling me toward something my heart has always longed for and has never forgotten.

Le Sigh

Taking another sick day and am honestly a little tired but really content. It's a beautiful fall day, my dog is happy with her new walker, I finally mailed some packages off that had been sitting in my hall (aka staging area) for weeks. There is "fresh" air coming in from the window, I haven't had the air or heat on for weeks. My floors are vacuumed, most of my laundry is done, the sheets are fresh, I have a gorgeous new purse. I had oatmeal for breakfast and took myself to lunch somewhere I've been meaning to try. With time to spare before my appointment, I got a hot tea and snuggled into a big chair at Cosi and watched the street and bothered random friends with text messages. The nurse (practitioner) agrees it's some kind of infection and threw out walking pneumonia or sinus infection as possibilities. I wondered in the waiting room if medical care would be better if we were like babies or pets and doctors and nurses would have to actually conduct tests and explore the reasons why someone might be on antibiotics for the third time in less than a year. You know, instead of just guessing?

I got home early, and just woke up from a much appreciated nap. It was all loveliness and confusing life-like dreams. It was also my first solid nap on the new couch. I'm surprised with how well it naps and I considered for a moment buying a small travel pillow to function as my official couch napping pillow.

There is Post Office close to my house that I discovered after lugging boxes there this morning, does not accept boxes at that location. I'm not sure why anyone actually goes through the trouble of going to a post office if they don't have something they can't just drop in the mailbox on the corner. So I walk 4 more blocks to the next location and there are 4 people there including the woman behind the counter. None of us are in line. Because their signage is inconsistent, I was confused about the rate for one of their flat rate boxes. She whoa-Nellied me, explaining she had all these other customers to take care of before she could get to my question and that she would be taking us one at a time. I wish I could have the surveillance camera close up of the look on my face. There is NO ONE in your line. There is a guy experimenting with flat rate boxes, and old woman who does not seem to know where she is, and ME. Incredible. Right after she tried to make me get in line to ask her a question, and I mean right after, she answered my question. At that point in the morning, the post office had been open for no longer than a half hour. If she was flustered with having three people in her general area, not even in line, she was heading for a tough day at work. Yes, you are cheaper than FedEx and UPS. But you don't have to act cheaper.

Also weird is my insurance, which I think is pretty good, didn't cover the cough syrup the nurse prescribed. I know I can get cough syrup over the counter which was my first theory but the pharmacist insisted you could not get syrup with codeine OTC so I just shrugged and paid out of pocket. I had not even planned to take it, syrups disagree strongly with my constitution and I really don't want to suppress my coughing. I want the crap out of me. But it's good for a year and you never know if a day will come when I need my coughing suppressed. It's only kept me up one night and I was back down again after an hour or so with hot water, honey, and lemon.

I know this is rambling, marginally coherent, and lacking a theme. It's really just a collage of circumstances that leave me a content at the end of the day. And for those who have commented or called me re: Skid Mark and changing the locks, I'm working on it. :-)

Take Care

I have a line of bite marks on the inside of my cheeks from clenching. I've lost my voice and I was so, so exhausted during our short morning walk. But I don't feel like taking a nap. The body is fascinating. I don't understand what is wrong with me. I don't feel sick enough to feel so exhausted but webMD is confusing me so I don't know what to tell the doctors in the 45 seconds I'll have with them on Monday to help ensure I won't have to struggle to see them again if the problem remains. I feel a bit like I'm walking against a stiff wind, my body feels heavy and light at the same time.

Lodo thinks I should chill out and no doubt he's right. Despite my psychotic rants, I'm really one of the most chilled out people any of my friends know (friends who read this blog, this is where you chime in on the comments section letting everyone know how sane I am in "real life"). I'm rational to a fault almost and rarely care to invest the emotional energy to be terribly angry or even annoyed with people, mostly because it prolongs interaction with someone that I already don't care for. It's easier to just ignore them and invest my energy into avoiding them.

But I do need to manage stress better. Ironically, I'm stressed about that as well. I'm trying to figure out how to incorporate some more physical activity into my life. Though Nike had it right when they trademarked the phrase 'Just Do It', my struggle is with starting and stopping. I can start doing anything but I quickly lose interest and motivation. And I hate failing at that over and over again. So I'm trying to trick myself, trying to structure regular physical activity that has a social/accountability component and a variety component. I need to take better care.

When I started this post, I was also still stressing about my keys. I still had not received a response to my e-mail and was starting to screw myself back up into the ceiling (which is concrete and thus is quite a feat). I was psyching myself for escalation (if I start something I want to finish it) and figured I would next call the police. I was taking a break from my plotting when someone knocked on the door. It was SkidMark with my keys. Awkwaaaard. Fortunately? I have lost my voice to this latest plague and managed to squeak out a thank you which I think caught him off guard. It was brief, I have my keys and one less thing to be psychotic about. I'm not sure what would have happened if I wasn't home, no one bothered to call and Susan never responded to my e-mail so that was kind of lame but it's neither here nor there. I've got my keys, I can dial back the crazy, make some more soup, and listen to the rain until I have to actually go out in it with my little stinker dog.

2 Sick 2 B Mad

*Cough*

But I still want my keys.

An angry black woman

I might be on the news tonight.

Not because I rescued some kids or puppies and kittens or because I accomplished something great. I won't even be that random ignorant person answering a question about the Phillies or Eagles, or gas prices, or politics. I might be on the news tonight because I'm one aggravating incident from completely blacking out on someone. Biblical black out-the stuff of Revelations. Jesus will come back tonight if one more mother-f**ker trips my switch.

Perhaps I should start at the beginning. It's been a really long month. I think I've had mono for most of it. I've been dragging ass, struggling so hard to stay awake at work, I was almost tearful. I've spent most of my energy for the day just getting my ass out the door to work. Insomnia, tight pants, crazy hair, sadistically unflattering fluorescent lighting in the women's bathroom at work that makes me look downright unprofessional when I wear my hair curly and over 40 when I wear it straight, passive aggressive dudes with the keys to my house shitting in my bathroom, dog cancer, nervous about getting well before going to see best friend with infant children... All pretty ordinary things, just amplified in intensity by a compromised immune system.

So I break down today and decide that I should probably stop relying on my medical degree in diagnosing illness through Google and make an appointment with a real live medical professional. After a day of listening to a recorded message estimate my time on hold as one minute and my impatient hanging up at minute 8, I finally got through to someone at 3 pm. They told me to call back at 4 for Saturday appointments as all Friday appointments were taken. I called at 4 pm. She put me on hold so I was just chillaxin, pressing numbers every now and then to be sure I was still connected to something until the fast busy confirmed what I suspected when she put me on hold. Dumbass dropped the call. I called back at 4:15 pm and they had booked all of their Saturday appointments. Even typing this I want to choke someone out. She tried initially to pretend she didn't know who I was but we had talked no less than three times that day. She could have told me my own birthday, she had asked me so many times. Bitch please. I'm sick, not stupid. She finally apologized and booked me for an appointment on Monday afternoon-a time she had told me earlier that day she couldn't book for me any earlier than Monday morning. She knew she messed up and I'm glad I didn't have to show up there to force the issue.

I left work early into a windy and quickly deteriorating day. I thought, well at least today was Skid Mark's last day. The keys will be on the table and he will be out of my life. But it was clearly not meant to be the kind of day with an upside. I don't even have an adequate expletive for the note that ass wipe left me on my key-less table. To get into my place, you need both a key and a fob. The fob is issued by the building and is not free. My new dog walker needs this fob to start on Monday. Steve did not fucking leave the fob or the key. He left me a note instead relaying he would be giving the key to Susan so she could mail both to me because he couldn't engage the deadbolt if he left the key in the house. What. the. fuck. I thought my head was going to come clean off. I had to ASK him to start locking the deadbolt in the first place and even then the dumbfuck would leave it unlocked at least 2-3 times a month. Today was the day he decided to be conscientious. Really, you passive aggressive asshole with access to my home? You couldn't text message me to see what I wanted you to do? Like maybe leave the deadbolt unlocked? Just this once for old times sake, you deuce dropping fuck?

So I fired off an e-mail to Susan. It was probably longer than it needed to be but I gave her a small vignette of life with Steve and some of her quirks that I did not care for, all politely and within the context of the feedback she requested when I initially informed her we were terminating our service. Regarding the keys, I said this:

"I found Steve not leaving my keys or even my fob today a tad passive aggressive as well. I came home several times over the last nine months to find the deadbolt not engaged but on this very last day, it prevented him from leaving my keys. He could have asked me if I wanted him to leave the deadbolt unlocked so he could leave the keys but instead chose to turn them over to you to have them mailed. It's never pleasant when a professional relationship dissolves but mailing my keys seems far from the last impression you should be leaving me with, especially since I recommended you to a neighbor who has used your service for their cats (and was delighted with Jen). I'm sure you'll be sharing this all with Steve which is why I waited until our last day to share this with you. I guess the bottom line is that I was not comfortable and felt that if I wasn't comfortable with someone you trusted as a manager, I was not likely to be comfortable with the subordinates as an alternative."

So...I'm feeling a little topped off on the rage provoking fodder for this week and not feeling terribly well to boot. Just in case I am on the news being carried away flailing COPS-style after someone says or does something tonight to make me legally insane, I'm taking requests for shout outs. If I'm going to be on the news, I've got to represent.

A post about nothing just because I can

*Deep breath*

Is it only Tuesday? Dear God. How can the months peel by and the individual days have the weight of weeks? I came home and ate junk for 5 (or 10) straight minutes. I really want to go to the bar, get a burger, fries, and beer but I won't let myself. I need to shake it up a bit but I also don't really feel like talking to anyone. Not even to make nice and give them my order. It's the sort of feeling I know evaporates as soon as I sit down but it's a powerful force to overcome in getting me out the door and on to the barstool.

I think I've given up on Philly. I was walking home, enjoying the outline of the buildings against the blue dusk sky and I had a thought so loud, it sounded like a voice. It said, "He's not here." So sometime this week, I might check into the vacancies that might be available in Summer 2010. I'm not thinking of leaving out of spite, I'm just bored already with work so I may as well seek the next adventure. It also puts a sense of urgency on things as this then would be my last Philly fall.

I've been thinking about the company a person keeps and how even as an adult, it influences your behavior and attitudes. But now I need to think about putting on shoes and walking the dog.

Also, I set up my circa 1997 video camera to make Skid Mark think he might be on camera when he comes in the house. I've lost my damn mind. I even cut out a piece of red rubber to put over the record light so that a casual glance would suggest it's recording. Really insane. I don't know what I need but something's got to give. I'm becoming weird(er).

A Preview

So I'm going to be a complete basket case when Baloo takes her final nap. We went to the vet this week for her yearly check up and I (again) mentioned a tiny lump on her side that seemed to change in size. This time I had a good vet who aspirated the lump and called this morning to inform me it was a mast cell tumor. I was calm and collected on the phone, told her I would get back to her on scheduling surgery to have the tumor removed and biopsied to determine what stage cancer it was. I had been making lunch when the call came in so Baloo was not more than 3 feet from me at any time. I got off the phone and kind of freaked out. Okay, I pretty much broke down. Baloo was sweet and let me cry and hug on her a little bit but then kind of moved her head away in her classic way as if to declare 'enough warmth, what's the status on your lunch over there?'

While I was at the vet earlier this week, a family came out of one of the rooms crying holding a blanket. I looked at my healthy beautiful dog and welled up. We had been running late to our appointment and I harassed, pulled, and cajoled her along our walk because we didn't have time for her to selectively sniff for spots to pee. I was wondering why we didn't pick a closer vet, why I didn't drive instead, why I picked an appointment right after work-I had considered everything but actually leaving on time. Seeing those teary sniffing people leave without a member of their family just snapped everything back into perspective and of course made me think of having to make the same agonizing decision that family had just made. And that was before we saw the vet and the specter of mortality invaded our own little furry wet nosed cocoon.

I sometimes think, especially on really hot, really cold, or almost every morning when I'm running late how footloose and fancy free I might be without the responsibility of her. I could literally spend a weekend without ever leaving the house for any reason. I could leave the house and not return for days without having to make arrangements for her. But it's in all those ways and more that she has made my life better. In The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera writes:

“Mankind’s true moral test...consists of its attitude towards those who are at its mercy: animals.”

*Sigh*

Shortcuts for bad managers

Got one of those fantastically classic group e-mails today laying down the gauntlet. We aren't doing enough, we aren't saying enough at the staff meetings, we don't look busy enough..so now we've been given an additional administrative burden to provide a weekly snaphot of what we did and what we plan to do. First thing on my to-do list is to ignore that e-mail.

My gripe with that kind of mass e-mail is it tends to be a group address to one or two people. People you should be talking to individually. I don't know why managers do that. If someone knows they're being called out, they are now either embarrassed or pissed, if they're doing fine but inclined to worry, you've just shortened their life a little, and if you're me, you're self-righteously indignant and have lost respect and regard for management and their bonehead arms-length dictatorial style. I don't lay claim to being good at much but I know I'm pretty good at leadership and management. I'm fierce about taking care of my people and challenging them and rewarding them. I love striving to emulate my best bosses and learning from the things they did well and things they did not so well. It's intangible but leadership matters. A lot. I hate to see it done so badly. It's like a bad makeup job. Heavy handed, garish, and distracting.

Ahem. Stepping down from the soapbox.

Dear Shortcut,

Having 'x' amount of years of experience does not mean you are actually good at what you do. It means you've been doing it for 'x' years. That's all. E-mails are not substitutions for conversations. We need to keep the boss informed, yes. But you release all of our correspondence, we do monthly metrics calls, we keep a calendar that you can see. Where is the information you need if those things can't give you a sense for what we're up to? Maybe no one waxes eloquent at the staff meeting because a: it's a waste of time, b: they don't want their colleagues to think they are an ass for going on and on about their projects, or c: all of the above plus now they resent you for wasting their time with a weekly report and yet another meaningless suspense. Instead of treating us like colleagues, you're treating us like lack of production is a result of laziness or lack of motivation. I'd like you to give us all a little more credit and I'd like you to take a little more personal responsibility as a member of the management team. Treating people like schoolchildren is quick road to having a group sink to meet your lowered expectations and busying themselves with appearance of being busy.

Really?

Interracial couple denied marriage license; La. justice of the peace cites concerns about any children couple might have

Wow. Others will have to be outraged for me. I have no words for this.

A bit of what's been going on here

It feels like forever since I published my last venomous post about strangers pooping in my house. Well, I finally hired a new walker and while they are a bit more fussy in the technology department than I care for, they seem far more organized and professional than the folks I've been working with over the last year. The only thing left is actually breaking up with the old dog walker. I'm trying to figure out how to give notice without engaging in a discussion about what I was not happy with. It seems unfair to unload on them at the end when I didn't really complain (a lot). Some of the core things I don't want to bring up because if you really have to tell someone it's not okay to poop in your house everyday, it's probably not worth bringing up.

In other news, I enjoyed the long weekend with a visit from my mother. Well, I enjoyed the last few hours after I decided a day and a half into her visit to stop being a complete freak show. However you love a person, you simply can not make them or love them into being better to themselves. You can not define their normal. I can not seriously consider quitting my job to invent a super nutritious 4 ounce supplement so I can stop freaking out about my mother's caloric intake. I hounded her for a day and a half horrified that she had not used the bathroom or had anything to drink or eat for 12 hours, was hungry, but would not eat. I don't know what normal is for someone who has three kidneys that don't work.

I felt like poop anytime she talked about what a good appetite she had before our failed transplant attempt. I know she wasn't trying to make me feel like walking in front of a car so she could take a crack at my other kidney, but I felt like that anyway. And I better understood my dad's panicky melancholy as it concerns my mother. It's hard to see her day after day and not be able to get to her, to really talk about how she feels about it all, to really energize her about taking care of herself. I understand why my dad thinks he should take her back to the place he ran away from because it's the place she considers home. I had yet another freak out as I absorbed the news of my cousin's pregnancy announcement and my mom's desire for grandchildren. I looked at her, full after two spoonful of beans and thought, 'I'm running out of time. I don't care if he's fishing food out of a garbage can, the next guy who makes a pass at me is in. Life is too short. Must. make. grandchildren.' Last weekend's reproductive spaz panic aside, I'm not hopeful any of the kids will be in the grandchildren making business soon. We're all some version of socially and emotionally strange and also have similar streaks in poor mate choices and timing so it may just be nature's way of working out the kinks-no reproduction for us.

Also, my mom said my dog is getting fat. She was too kind to note like dog, like daughter but she didn't correct me when I noted Baloo and I are both putting away for the winter. It's supposed to be an especially brutal winter and I like to be prepared. Whatever haters. So it was a good visit once I pulled my head out. That it happened late in her visit is a regrettable waste but at least we did have a nice ending. It was a dense weekend that I'm still processing.

Anyway...

While out in the crappy cold weather tonight, I ran into a guy I've never actually seen up close. He has two scottish terriers and always crosses the street when he sees me with my dog. I assumed he was just responding to the ninja reeking from my pores but it turns out his fearsome scotties don't care for other dogs, just like mine. He was sans dogs and we exchanged names. I immediately forgot his and he immediately declared he was horrible with names. I told him he was scottie guy and I was lab girl but then as we parted ways, he called me by my name and totally nailed it like he's been saying it his whole life. It really threw me off. I've had people confess after we're friends they were initially nervous to talk to me because they weren't quite sure how to say my name. And this guys nails it after hearing it once. And he didn't say it in a tentative not-sure-if-I-got-it way. Didn't repeat it when I told him the first time to be sure he heard me right. Just weird. I've been reading some posts by Lodo about some uncanny and spooky things that happened to him and this line in particular struck me: "only the most arrogant or pathetic of people would think or need to think they’re being watched".

Well if you aren't watching, you should be because I'm interesting. I'm motherf**king fascinating.

I'm just sayin'.

Skid Mark: the plot thickens

I was having a classically bad morning; woke up with a nasty headache, laid back down to try to take the edge off and overslept, couldn't find anything to wear, hair a mess, unable to move faster to make up time--like I said, classic bad morning. I finally got out the door to walk the dog and ran right into Skid Mark who was hanging out in the courtyard of my complex.

"Skid Mark?" (I wish I had called him that). He looks up at me. I wish I could say he looked surprised or alarmed to see me but his expression is preternaturally passive and flat. It's one of the many things that bugs me about him. Maybe he's an alien.

"Oh, hi. I got here kind of early (it was not even 0930-and he was kind of early for the dog's scheduled midday walk) and was catching up on my homework."

Blank expression from me.

"I could just take her now if you want" (I've already noted it was long before midday)

Confused look from me followed by, "Oh no, please go ahead and study. I just didn't expect to see you here, I walked out and thought 'I know that guy!' Kind of threw me off (insert ha ha laughter)"

I returned from our walk and Skid Mark was no where to be found. When I got inside, I saw he had texted me. His message: "Wow, i'm WAY earlier than i thought i was! i'll be back much later-or will you be staying home again today?"

WTF Skid Mark? What is this cat and mouse game we play? Why are you at my place at 0930 in the morning for a midday walk? How can you be that chronologically challenged? Why would you do your homework outside in my courtyard when you have your pick of coffee shops within a half block of my house? I've used the toilets in both, they are clean and have plenty of toilet paper to wrap your meaty fist in. What. the. hell. Also, I have never mistaken 0930 for noon or even 11 or anything close to those times. Were you coming early to work on the locked bathroom door? Are you in love with me Skid Mark? Are you marking my bathroom hoping I'll chose you to mate with?

And yet I still haven't called one of the three alternative pet sitters I researched over the weekend because I dread terminating this service and being asked why and I fear hiring someone who could find me recalling my time with Skid Mark fondly. Isn't this part of the reason people stay in crappy relationships of all stripes? Because they fear there is no trade up? The devil you know is better than the one you don't? Perhaps tomorrow I will take that first step and hope I can find a sitter that isn't just a devil trade but a divine alternative to skid marks, use of my perfume as an air freshener, pilfering of my bags, and all other manner of annoying things I've been less than thrilled with over the past year.

Skid Mark interim solution

I'm both delighted and sad to report my obsession with Skid Mark has yielded a delightful discovery: I can lock my bathroom door when I leave in the morning. I know this information is borderline amazing. I have even developed a tamper evident seal in the event he discovers how to open the lock.

I know...

That's the sad part.

A Watched Pot: addendum

I have a friend who just can't let a surprise be. When she was dating her now husband, he flew out to surprise her for some special occasion. She suspected he might try to surprise her and kept asking him questions and in my opinion sucking all of the joy out of the point of a surprise visit. But I'm a person who derives a majority of my delight in gifts of presence or presents in the surprise. I think I'm pretty hard to surprise so it takes a certain amount of commitment and effort to surprise me. I think that's what I love the most. Anyone can put a bow on something and give it to you-they don't even have to like you to do it. But to surprise a person takes planning and to me, that indicates some intangible measure of how much I matter. In the case of this phantom would-be soulmate whose existence I can't confirm, I guess I'm hoping I matter enough to God for him to surprise me.

So I wrote before about the torture of watching the pot and that is still true. The good news silver lining of watched pots is deep down, even while I despair, I'm watching them because I expect they will boil. That optimism is often treated to some pretty brutal pessimism and leaden despair but one still hopes for a surprise. I'm ruining the surprise for myself though, because every time I leave the house, I wonder if this might be the day he comes into my life. I feel like I'm trying to figure out the whodunit during the first scene of the film instead of letting the plot unfold and getting invested in the characters. I'm optimistic about it right now, feeling like he could literally be around the corner and I'm excited to meet him with the certainty of a woman who looks forward to meeting the child she is carrying; that he exists isn't the question, it's when he's coming that is unknown. It is getting kind of annoying because I have this inner monologue that keeps saying "is that him?" "ooh, do you think you'll meet him there?" "what if because you went this way instead of that way, you end up meeting him?" It's really f-ing irritating. Maybe I'm ovulating. I should track my hope on a calendar, see if my hope and despair line up with my cycle.

Or not. Wouldn't want my mood swing ovulation calendar lying around if/when Mr. Soulmate shows up.

V for Vendetta, T for Toilet

I've been operating with a baseline annoyance of Steve for almost a year now. He takes toys that I stuff with treats for my dog, uses them outside with her and brings them back in muddy. He runs her around for a half hour and doesn't fill her bowl with fresh water. He takes my poop bags, ones that I buy for the poo bag dispenser that he also somehow ripped, and keeps them for himself (or other dogs, I assume and hope). The notes he leaves me are friendly and full of exclamation points about fun walks, belly rubs for the puppy, and warm wishes for good evenings and weekends but in person I would swear he fantasizes about pushing me in front of a bus. So, when he repeatedy shits in my bathroom, especially after last winter's Skid Mark chronicles, I can't help but think that it's personal.

I know I've spoken before about my strange hypocrisy as it concerns strangers (especially guys) using my toilet and you've also probably noted that I tend to get wrapped around the axle, emotionally distressed, and consumed with revenge when someone repeatedly desecrates my space. Three days in a row now, I've had to spray down my bathroom and wait hours before I'm comfortable using the bathroom because of stupid Steve. Yesterday, he left the bathroom fan running. I can only imagine what kind of loveliness came sliding out of him. Jerk.

Rather than another elaborate and ultimately unsuccessful booby trapped toilet, I'm just going to get a new dog walker. I don't want him coming in my house anymore. Shitting in someone's private space should be a last resort kind of thing, not a daily stop on your dog walking tour. When I booby trapped the toilet I was hoping he would have a nightmare experience kind of like the one I had with my friend. Ironically enough, I was dog sitting and he came with me to check on the dog. He started to feel really sick. You know that feeling when you can actively feel things moving through your insides, and you aren't quite sure how much time you have left before it becomes a no kidding emergency? That feeling. So he ran to their guest bath in the nick of time and pretty much claimed the space for Satan. It was a hallmark moment in the friendship. It became an eternal bond when the toilet got stopped up. The rising and swirling brown pond made us sweat with fear. That's got to be one of the universal top 10 worse things in the world to watch happen. I don't recall how but somehow we made it right again and we left the place as we found it. But we were never the same. We don't shit in other people's houses. We just don't. I'm going to go out on a limb and say MOST people don't. Not if they are only going to be there a few minutes and it isn't an emergency. Most people prefer not to air their insides in the confined space of someone's home. Maybe it's just me. Is it just me?

Regardless of whether I should discuss the benefits and side effects of whatever drug they make to cure me of my disgust with Steve's poop, I think we've come to the end of our time. I'm going to be home on Thursday anyway, it seems like a good day to interview some prospective replacement walkers. Until then, I'm going to seethe with equal parts of indignation and disgust as I clean my toilet, consider washing all of my towels, and replacing my toothbrush every day after work until I can fire his ass and Steve gives me back my key.