Moonbeam McQueen

This week, I’m working at a BATF (Big Ass Trucking Firm), greeting the public and answering the phones. Thank goodness I went to college.

Actually, this temping thing really fits in well with my midlife crisis, my ADD and my gypsy ways. Woo. Hoo. I’m never anywhere for long, I get to meet lots of great people, and I have a little moolah coming in to boot.

I love it that no one expects me to be perfect, and I’m trying to keep my expectations of myself reasonable. I can’t reach perfection at any of these jobs, because by the time I start really getting the hang of things, it’s time to move on, and I like that. I also don’t have to get enmeshed in any kind of corporate drama. I’m the goofy, happy go lucky gal who answers the phone, staples stuff and harbors no ill will against the Evil Opressor. 

Early Thursday morning, I’m packing my suitcase (and a little one for Theo), and heading to Arkansas to see my babies. My twenty-three and eighteen-year-old babies. My daughter’s cooking Thanksgiving dinner, and she’s setting the table for eight. Here’s where my itinerary gets a little crazyish. On Sunday, I’m driving to Tennessee to take care of some bidness (car tags and such). On Monday, I’ll head back to Arkansas and spend the night with my girl child, and on Tuesday, I’ll be back in Tejas. This is my way of avoiding a hotel stay. I can’t drive for eleven hours straight (the distance between Tennessee and Texas), but I can do eight-and-a-half (the distance between Tennessee and Arkansas), then six (Arkansas to Texas). Okay, I know this is a horrendously bad plan, but it’s the best one I can think of. Welcome to my world.

I currently have sixty-nine drafts in WordPress. That’s sixty-nine things that I’ve wanted to tell you, then fizzled out on. So, in keeping with my new lowered expectations of myself, I’ve decided to add one of those unfinished posts here, because a few of you have expressed interest in all things Theodore.  This one was written over the weekend.

Poop. Fibromyalgia has reared its ugly, hateful little head once again, and while I’m currently trying to ignore it, I wanted to let you know that it’s here, because part of what’s happening is called fibrofog, and what fibrofog does is that it makes me stupid. It’s hard for me to write when I’m stupid. Okay, it’s harder for me to write when I’m stupid. I’m sticking with short sentences and two syllable words, but I do have some things to tell you.

Theo squeezed through the fence today and got into Sully’s yard. Sully is the 175-pound Mastiff that lives behind my friend’s house. It was pretty early in the morning, so instead of yelling, I hissed at him to come back over to his own turf. Looking very sporty in his orange turtleneck, he decided to completely ignore me, and stay to play with the friend that he’d previously only viewed through chain linkage. I wasn’t so much worried that Sully would eat Theo as that he’d step on him, but after a few minutes of watching them, I realized that they were behaving rather tenderly and pervy toward each other. Theo fell back dramatically, like Scarlett O’Hara on a fainting couch, and looked longingly into Sully’s eyes, and Sully gazed longingly back. I’m editing the next part, but let me just say that it was all sort of like watching a gay prison porn film, only my weirdo dog broke into the prison to get his jollies. Sully was totally smitten by tiny Theo, and if you want to see something pitiful, watch a Mastiff with a crush on a Chihuahau for a few minutes. Finally, I lured Theo back by shaking his bag of treats at him, but not before bribing Sully with several pieces. Otherwise, the Wonderpup would probably have drowned in drool by now.

By the way, he did it again yesterday. Botmo (my gracious friend and hostess) found him on the deck over at Sully’s and again had to bribe him with doggy treats to come home. I’m not saying anything untoward happened, but his fur was all messed up and his sweater was on backwards when I got home.

Time for me to go file or answer a phone or something. Sorry there are no pictures here- it’s hard to do when I’m not on my own computer. Oh, and in keeping with my new lower standards, there seems to be no Spell Check on this PC. I don’t have time for proofreading, so please ignore those thirty-seven tipos you see on this post. I did that last one on purpose. It felt really, really good.