Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Why I Don't Post Every Single Day

As disappointing as this may be to some of you, not every single day of my life is odd or hilarious. I know, you’re wiping away tears that taste mildly of salt and resentment, but it’s true. I can’t be “on” every single day. Take today, for instance. Today was boring, long and, at times, annoying. It was just a typical day. But, for the sake of argument, I’ll tell you exactly what happened in my typical boring day.

Whether you like it or not, suckers.

I woke up to the loud, soul-raping sounds of FauxHawk’s alarm clock at about 7:45am. And again at 7:48, 7:51, 7:54, 7:57, 8:00, and 8:03 am. FauxHawk likes to hit the snooze button. This habit will likely be the cause of my nervous breakdown/homicidal rampage at some undetermined point in the future. Anyway, FauxHawk let me sleep peacefully from approx 8:03am to 8:10am, when he gave me my first wake-up call.

FauxHawk: Peach, we have to leave in 10 minutes.
ThePeach: *from under covers*…die……go die…

5 minutes later…

FauxHawk: Peach, we have to leave in 5 minutes.
ThePeach: *from under covers*…why won’t you die?
FauxHawk: *peels covers off my face* 5 minutes!
ThePeach: I hate you.

I’m a treat in the morning.

FauxHawk dropped me off at home on his way to HickTown, where he is currently doing a family med rotation. I stumbled through my door, greeted my landlord – who I’m pretty sure thinks I’m either a hooker or a vampire – and went into my apartment.

8:25: I put my pajamas back on. I embrace counter-productiveness.
8:30: Precious nectar and life-blood: caffeine.
8:35-9:00: read various people’s blogs. Read my own blog to see if anyone has left a comment. Conclude that I have no friends, am unloved, and should probably get back into bed.
9:15: remember that I have a job.
10:30: leave for work.

I can never have a real job. I don’t think I function in normal society.

From 10:45, when I arrived at work, until 12pm, I did the following:

check email account number 1.
check email account number 2.
message WeeOne.
check email account number 1.
check email account number 2.
message ThePilot.
read my blog to see if anyone left a comment. Feel a hurt deep in my stomach that can only be the depths of despair and grief.
Realize that the hurt is actually hunger, not grief. Am momentarily happy and relieved. And also hungry.
check email account number 1.
check email account number 2.

Then I ate my lunch. It was a pita. The lunch meat was questionable, since I had it in my fridge for over a week and it was starting to smell like feet. I ate it anyway, because I am po’.

At that point, I decided to get down to some work. Just as I opened my datafile…

*phone rings*
ThePeach: Research lab, Peach speaking.
TheBoss: Peach, you want come cookies?
ThePeach: I do want some cookies.
TheBoss: Come upstairs, I have cookies. Don’t tell anyone else. I don’t want to share.

So, I went upstairs and had some cookies with TheBoss. I also convinced him to let me take one down to the other girls in the lab. The ones who do actual work. They also deserve cookies. Actually, they deserve cookies way more than me.

Then I put in a good, solid hour of real work. It was exhausting. I decided I deserved a break. I went next door, to the Tim Hortons, for more precious caffeine. Also, I keep hoping that I will win roll up the rim. Also, I like to rile up the surly, fat employees who work there- probably on some kind of prison-community integration program.

ThePeach: Caffeine, please.
Butch Uggo: *scowl*
ThePeach:…so, do you think this cup’s a winner?!
Butch Uggo: *death rays at my head*
ThePeach: Well, I hope it is! Because I haven’t won a single thing yet and I’m in here every single day!
Butch Uggo: *is dead on the inside*

Then I went back to my office and messaged my friend Xena, or as she likes to call herself, ThePeach’s Fuzz Licker. She’s dirty.

Then, I rrrrolled up the rim and saw, as usual “PLEASE TRY AGAIN”. Then I screamed “MOTHERFUCKER!!” and threw the cup at the wall. The office-mates laughed and resumed their hard work. They’re used to my daily roll up the rim outbursts. Motherfucking Tim Hortons.

I then actually worked for a few more hours. Then I rushed home, grabbed my gym clothes, and met FauxHawk for our twice-weekly sweat-a-thon. And after that, we went to the gym. (heh, I’m so clever. Seriously though, we did not have sex. We just went to the gym. My life isn’t exciting enough to have sex in the afternoon. Or before Letterman).

In our spin class, I noticed that our instructor, who was probably in her late 40s or early 50s, looked and sounded EXACTLY like Paula, the boss from “The 40 year Old Virgin”. It was hard to concentrate on pumping my legs when all I could think of every time she shouted “faster! harder!” was “I’m very discreet….but I’ll haunt your dreams”.

When I got home, my grandpa called me. He was either drunk or suffering from some form of night dementia. We were having a conversation about decisions and he suddenly broke into:

Grandpa: Eenie Meenie Minie Moe, catch a nigger by the toe!! Oh wait, that’s not a very nice word, is it?
ThePeach: Not so much, grandpa, no.

Then I went over to TheNurse’s to watch a movie and destroy her apartment by being a spaz and knocking shit over. Like a bag of cookies, a broom, and a glass of sprite. I was banished to the couch and told not to touch anything. This is becoming a recurring theme in my life.

We watched “The Constant Gardener”, which takes place in Africa. I decided I would like to go to Africa.

ThePeach: We should go to Africa.
TheNurse: And do what?
ThePeach: I don’t know…volunteer stuff.
TheNurse: What skill exactly can you offer?
ThePeach: Be a spaz and knock shit over in Africa?
TheNurse: probably.

Then I came home and wrote this.

This is why I don’t update every day. Because, some days, this is my life. Boring, long, and – somehow – still strange. And there would be a lot more posts exactly like this one. The only thing that would vary would be the number of times I go to Tim Hortons.

Now I must go to bed, because I have a long day of e-mail refreshing and rrrolling up the rim ahead of me tomorrow.

Motherfucking Tim Hortons.

ThePeach

11 comments:

Iain said...

Hey Peachy,

I can barely put into words how true "Motherfucking Tim Horton's" rings...if neither of us wins anything, I suggest we get a gun and get even. Um...maybe I shouldn't write that in the public domain, but oh well...

You might also be amused to know that you can set this thing up to email you whenever someone else comments here....one-stop-shopping, if you will.

Google Images + the little landscape icon at the top right make my life complete....

Yes, I need to get out more.

Peace to ThePeach,
Gomme

The Diva said...

here peach...you get a comment...now you can feel loved...

may i also suggest therapy? worked for me...well....kinda...
shut up...being fucked up is hot!

lata

thepeach said...

You're not the first person to suggest I get therapy, and you won't be the last. You know what else is a good way to make you feel loved? Vodka. Let's be fucked up and hot together.

The Diva said...

all in favour of drinking vodka and getting fucked up while being fucked up (for the slow people...read that sentence SLOWLY)

say aye...

AYE!

Thediva

thehippie said...

i like vodka. vodka, tofu and recycling.

thepeach said...

I like TheHippie. and TheDiva. and vodka. recycling and tofu...not so much.

asian cymbals said...

Hi Peach,

I've never felt so compelled to comment before - not until you slapped me in the face with it and reminded me of the despair I feel when my own blog posts get no comments. We shouldn't be made to feel like that, not when we work so hard to provide amusement and joy.

How are things, by the way? I gained 25 pounds! And I'm not pregnant or anything.

thepeach said...

Dear Asian Cymbals,

I'm sure you're still hot shit. I promise to leave comments on your blog. Thank you for teaching me about the magic of oranges.

Anonymous said...

what's the magic of oranges??

The Hubby said...

WIFEY!!!!!
Just thought I would say hi and stuff...its been a good 3 or 4 days since we talked, and I didn;' want you to think I forgot about you/hated you/finally lived our dream and left for Mexico and am currently living the life of a tortilla flipper

Ewen said...

oh how i miss universitytown