dragonlady7

Phonetically, this is a line that makes me drool:
"Little old lady got mutilated late last night"

For the effect, you have to say it really fast in an American accent, with our palatial instead of dental t's--bedder no' le' im in / liddle old lady go' mudiladed la' las' nigh' -- where the ' are a palatial stop instead of a dental one. Yes, we don't say our T's properly, but at least we pronounce most of the rest of our consonants at all, unlike you other-English degenerates with your elision and your glottal stops and what have you. (disclaimer: having actually lived in the british isles, i speak with less ignorance and more baffled uncomprehension than most of my country-persons. And yes, when drunk, I still sometimes speak Public School With Australian Flavoring. [But naie!]) Or, alternately, and far better, go listen to "Werewolves of London" by Warren Zevon. The effect is intensified by the line previous containing the same t/ds in it, preceded by yet more alliteration-- "hear 'em howlin around your kitchen door / better not let 'im in / little old lady got mutilated late last night / werewolves of london again"

None of which has anything to do with anything. I'm just sayin'. What an inspired bunch of consonants, on so many levels. (Yes, I just used the phrase "on so many levels"-- I should go get ready to be stoned to death by the Cliche Police who really ought to exist and be able to give people noogies, don't you think?)

Mmmm. Stream of consciousness.

So yes. Dave went and spent his entire day at Social Services, and in the end, they couldn't tell whether we were eligible for assistance in paying our heat bill. (Jesus.) So I have to go along to make the math make sense. Poor Dave. I felt awful that he'd gone and spent all that time, and yet more awful because if we're not eligible then I am going to have to sell body parts to pay that goddamn heat bill. And Dave mentioned that the last of his savings have run out which means he's overdrawn, and then he very quietly said that he was going to have to borrow from his mother, and the way he said it made me feel even more awful. He is so close, he is so close to graduating. But even then, how long will it take him to find a job? Sometimes he's optimistic, but neither of us has been able to find jobs in under eight months. Eight more months of this will kill me. (Actually... eleven. He has three months until graduation. Then he can start looking for the job.)
And the fact that I'd made just shy of $20 in seven hours, and could look forward to no better in the next eight hours, didn't really help me much either. So I was feeling pretty damn wretched.
My hands weren't as bad as I'd thought-- because, well, nobody came to the bar, so i didn't have to wipe it down, and didn't have to wash dishes as nobody had dirtied them. So it wasn't really consolation. (Local Bar is the one that tears the hell out of my hands, anyway: Airport Bar has a dishwasher but Local Bar makes the bartender wash them by hand in a sink full of mm, sanitizing chemicals. So I knew I had plenty of time to look forward to more hand-torture.)

And then I came home and

spacellama is my new best friend. For ever.

Yes. I am shallow, and I am that easy. Kind reviews are, apparently, the key to my soul. Everything seems better now. Which is shallow, really truly, but I know fine well that I am not the only person who feels this way and I have discovered, in various of my worshipful moments that even Great Legendary Writers are as susceptible as I.

It was actually a fairly good day for interaction with fellow humans, actually. Judy, my Tuesday-morning co-worker, bitched and whined in her usual fashion, and when I brought up the incident last week of the manager yelling at me for a customer complaint that wasn't even about me, she immediately said "That's not you, that's Lisa!" the very moment my mouth formed the phrase "flipped her head and put her hair into a ponytail" because she's worked with Lisa before and Lisa does that. ("Lisa's very vocal," Judy grumbled. "She complains a lot." Judy complains a lot, but it's usually amusing, and is also done in a very low voice so customers never hear. And half the time I can't understand her either. Which is a far cry from Lisa standing at the other end of the bar shrilly uttering phrases like "It is so rude to leave less than a dollar as a tip." I think I actually cringed when she said that one. Some poor dude was sitting at the bar, minding his own business and drinking a damn beer. Don't dump that shit on him.) So Judy was immediately and totally on my side and was like, "[Manager] so totally owed you an apology!" (though, naturally, being a fiftysomething and actually, y'know, intelligent, she doesn't speak in those sorts of phrases.) And in general, I finally realized that Judy just looks dour and actually she likes me. Sue, my Tuesday-night co-worker who fondly thinks I'm a bit of an idiot, was kind to me and when she tipped me out gave me extra because she felt bad for me-- and I hadn't even whined to her, had simply mentioned that in the last 14 hours of work I'd earned less than $40. (The waitresses at Local Bar give the bartender 10% of their total take because the bartender makes all their drinks and washes all the glasses, and let me tell you even the nice waitresses are absolute tyrants about getting their drinks like YESTERDAY holy cow Jaquie-who-is-a-sweetie nearly bit my ear off this evening when it took me three minutes to get around to pouring a Coke!)

So all in all I am feeling positive about my day, which is a nice change. There is something satisfying about having worked, I admit. Though it's way more satisfying when you worked hard, and were rewarded.

However. The fact remains that I still haven't done any writing at all today, and it's highly unlikely I'll do any tomorrow. I know-- HORRORS-- I have to work tomorrow. My feet and my back aren't even on speaking terms with me and somehow I'm going to have to get them to hold me up for an 8-hour shift tomorrow.
However, Judy usually works that shift and informed me that it's usually a reasonable-money shift, so it ought to be worth my while. What that means really, I dunno, but I'll hold onto that thought.