wanna go HOME now...
SATAN DRIVES TO WORK

 
  Slow Learner

5 January 2001


4:34 PM: Snack!® Today is Kellogg's Apple-Cinnamon NutriGrain bars. I can't believe I'm eating this thing. It looks like I already have, for one thing. My penance for being late again, maybe. I could do with some effective penance.

Well so I've been blown off yet again Today. That's always cheery. Did I mention the chocolates yet? Yesterday, someone from our sundered sibling up the street called me to say that I had a package up there. I was suspicious from the start, of course. It was from a company named Red Envelope, which I gather is some kind of online gift-giving service. Or at least, the box was. I know some devious people. I seriously wondered whether I should take it into the bathroom to open, in case it turned out to be a collection of fruit-colored dildos or some such.

But no, it was a box containing a plastic bag of air and a box wrapped in a ribbon. That box contained a whole lot of paper padded around another object that was wrapped in paper. Unwrapping that, I found a round box wrapped in a ribbon. Opening that, I found more paper padded around, and another object wrapped in paper, also round. This turned out to be a round wooden box, and inside that is a cellophane bag of what look like maybe Girl Scout Cookies or something. Chocolate, vaguely mint-cookie-shaped.

This display of conspicuous consumption turned out to be from someone I work with on our little Monthly Task, who's based in New York, with the main new stepparent of our sundered sibling. A little thank-you gift, very sweet, though Bob knows what she has to thank me for particularly. I'm usually just cranky with her. Surprising, eh?


I'm just so puzzled. Pissed off? Kind of. But just ... puzzled. My brain is too good at speculation.


6:15 PM: At this time, I would like to invite the entire world to bite me. C'mon. It's fun.




Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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