No body got fired. Relax. It was something I said to the insubordinate. But, before I get to the part about Mimi; which is the very end of the story, allow me to tell you about my Christmas Eve 2015.
I was supposed to have today off. Typically we work half a day on Xmas eve day and we are sent home early if the workload permits. I didn't see the point of traveling the 27 miles and spending two hours and $12 on BART just to work 4 hours. All along I had it in my head that I would just take the day off and have a four-day weekend. I'm guessing somewhere along the line I decided that four days at home being the crazy cat lady (CCL) was a bit too much, so I decided to work today 12/24 and only be a CCL for 3 days. To make the best out my "going to the city" day, I packed it with activities and errands. Blood work in the AM, work, run, Mint, and a last minute Xmas Even mass. And somewhere in there, I even had envisioned having a drink - yes, I had considered my relapse.
The Blood work. I was to fast. The only thing I had had was a cup of black coffee before leaving the house. I was extra grouchy on BART and looking for a person to victimize on Facebook; lucky for everyone, BART was nearly deserted. This routine blood panel was supposed to have been done back in July, but I always forgot to either fast or forgot the damn form at home or my desk. I finally remembered yesterday and made an early appointment. I got there and the vampire lady only took two vials; very unusual and she didn't ask for a pee-pee sample. I asked what was up? My bladder was ready to burst. She declined and stated that the doctor had not requested it. I left feeling cheated, and I emailed my doctor and he reminded me that the paperwork had been given to me for a "quick" check on god-knows-what. Anyway, all that fasting and running around and getting pocked for nothing. I'm gonna have to do that shit again soon.
After, I walked to work. Passed many little places that were opened and were serving breakfast. However, being the loyal customer that I am, I walked all the way to my favorite breakfast joint right by my office, only to find out that the fother-muckers did not open today. I swore to Yelp negatively. But, I will not; I understand. So, I walked over to my 100th choice and got one of their super fat greasy dense burritos and made my way to our building, where not only were several high priority tasks impatiently tapping their foot waiting for me; but also a mass of children running amok thru the office. My company brings in a poor desperate contracted soul that's willing to pretend to be Santa for 3 hours and listen to demands and expectations from mostly upper-middle class Caucasian and Asian children. There was crappy food already at the office waiting for me. I ate my greasy burrito and then I maneuvered my way thru the chaos known as children and reached the food table. I ate donuts. Yes, plural. I ate donuts. Washed down with a glass of guilt and regret. This was at 9. I was to leave at 12. But I was ready right then and there. The following three hours were torture.
The run. It had been raining all morning, but Tlaloc the God Of Rain was gracious enough to hold off the rain for an hour while I ran my six miles. I didn't really want to run. This time it wasn't about my passion for running or the high and the endorphins; this time it was simply about balancing out the damn donuts. The rain did not come, but the cold wind had no mercy and it made for a painful run. My balls were no where to be found. I was more than thankful when I was done with it. By this time, I'm hungry again and if the children had not eaten everything, I probably would have eaten more donuts. When I got back to the office, the table was clean of any evidence and the office was empty with the exception of the one particular overachiever still going at it.
The Lunch. Oh fuck, the lunch. As you may recall, a few weeks ago on a Sunday, I made my way to the city to have lunch with my ex-roommate who we will refer to as Peter to ensure we don't damage his non-existent reputation. That Sunday, I got up early, showered and took the train to the city to meet Peter at 1PM. Some 10 texts and several knocks on his door later - no show. He slept right thru our appointment. I didn't have any desire of coming to the city that day, and so I just got back on the train. As I reached Embarcadero station, I got a text from him "Hi". Yeah, well: FUCK YOU!!! I thought. You know, these lunches had gotten to be these events where I show up all clean and cute and he just rolls out of bed and puts on something covered in cat hair and cat puke and we go eat where he just bitches and treats the staff like shit. I was so mad that he stood me that I swore to never meet up for lunch again. I didn't answer his texts for about two weeks. Finally one day I realized that I often destroy close and important relationships over stupid small things. So, this is how today's lunch come about; it was our way of saying: Bitch, I forgive you.
Yes, Peter was on time today. But he was not showered; he still was wearing the pillow on the back of his head. But whatever, I thought. I'm here for his company, not to take him out to impress anyone. We went to a place in the Castro where our waitress was a young lady that used to be a boy and who has an attitude problem. Now, Peter hates everyone and he ensures that his target knows. Well, I don't have to give you the details, but Peter got all transphobic and eventually we got ditched and our meal was wrapped up by another dude. The food was okay. The funny thing about these lunches is that Peter never has anything to contribute to the conversation - he suffers from depression and lives off of prescription pills and hardly ever leaves his room so technically if he doesn't pick up something from TV to talk about, he ain't got nothing. It falls unto me to manage the conversation flow; and it's very exhausting. Peter's situation has deteriorated considerably since I moved out. In the past 8 years he's lost a front tooth thru which food particles fly at you if he chooses to chat while he's chewing, so you have to be ready to either dodge the missile or cover your food (more work!!!). He has lost a huge percentage of his vision due to diabetes, and he refuses to go see an eye doctor and get glasses. He has also lost feeling on his right toes. It's a mess. He allowed his insurance to lapse and so technically, he doesn't have a heath care provider. Why am I telling you all this? Because it's important to get a picture of what's going on with Peter and his apartment.
Peter lives with several other gay men in the heart of the Castro. He rents a place that he's lived in for over twenty years and is rent controlled and so his rent is like $25 bucks. When I first moved in back in 2005, there was so much junk all over the hallway and he had told me that he was in the middle of painting, but the truth is that he is a hoarder. The crap never vacated the hallway; I should have ran my finger along it to see that all this shit was actually permanently situated and covered in dust. So in summary, Peter is a diabetic who suffers from depression, is a hoarder, is nearly blind, doesn't give a fuck and his roommates are douche-bags.
During lunch, we started to talk about past roommates and the name of one who actually sued the property owner for multiple issues came up. Peter then tells me that one of the accusations made by the roommate could actually have been true. Let's call him Shawn. Shawn was a prostitute, a drug addict, and a porn star. Yes, I lived with a porn star ladies and gentlemen. Anyway. Shawn had claimed that there were rodents in the house. I never saw one. We had two cats. How could that be? But Peter tells me that they probably live in the walls, as he can hear them. It makes sense, I mean; it's San Francisco, it's congested, and the buildings are all connected and these include several food establishments.
After lunch, we stopped at Safeway and got some boxes of soda that were on sale for Peter to stock up on. We walked to his place and I went upstairs to say hi to my kitty Mimi. The place is much much worst now than it was when I lived there. Peter's health and vision has deteriorated so much that he just doesn't care anymore. Before there had been certain level of maintenance; now there is none. I went into the kitchen and met up with him there. Mimi the cat was yowling and screaming with happiness to see me. I was petting her when I saw in a crack on the floor what I had thought was a toy mouse that belong to Mimi the cat. I went to kick it out of the way; but it jumped. It FUCKING JUMPED!! It was a baby mouse!!! And Mimi was so busy with her devotion to me and I started to freak out and asked Peter for a container, and then Mimi sees the mouse and she's like "Oh. What's up?" and the mouse does not flinch. Peter, thought it as a bug and he goes and grabs a paper towel. I looked at him and told him I couldn't deal with this and left the kitchen. Apparently he picked it up with a paper towel and thru it outside. Okay? Outside. I had to go. But before I left, I went to Mimi and said: "Guuuurrrlll! You're fired!!'
We wished each other a merry Xmas and I got ready to leave. I got to the bottom of the stairs and I see something. Something flat. With a tail. Someone had stepped on a fucking mouse and it was just there. So, I screamed to Peter to come get it. I don't know, my friends; this situation went from bad to really bad. Not only is hoarding a fire hazard, but it is also a nesting ground for vermin. And the fucking cat is in alliance with the mice.
The Mint. I am now walking to the Mint to go since karaoke. It's about 3:30 PM. I'm feeling devastated about lunch; about Peter's situation and the transphobic behavior. I'm tired from my run. I'm craving alcohol. I didn't know what would be going on at the Mint that early, and I didn't want to just go sit there and wait until time to get picked up to go to mass came about. I knew that if I went to a bar, I would probably drink - Xmas makes me sad, and I act up by negotiating relapsing with myself. Ugh. On top of that, my cat Amy has a cold and I had NOTHING in my refrigerator to get me thru Xmas Eve and Xmas day until shit opens up again on Saturday.
So, it wasn't really that I went totally CCL today, it was more so that I pulled the plug on my afternoon events because not only did I want to come home and go get food, but primarily I was devastated from the earlier events and I seriously wanted to get drunk. So I got my ass home. I went to Trader Joe's and got the usual, but even then as I passed the red wine, I had my mini moment of "burning desire".
I'm glad to be here at home now. I do wish I had gone to the mass and listen to my best friend play the piano, but the way the day had unfolded, I felt that I really needed to get back to my safety zone and pull myself together.
So, ladies and gentlemen, this was my Xmas Eve 2015. Oh, and I did find the baby Jesus and he will be placed in between Mary and Joseph at midnight.
