In what appears to be an attempt to ignore the fact that I went on a honeymoon in Scotland, or the notion that I was ever even married at all, I will yet again not be writing about the aforementioned subjects. I realize, at this point, you probably want to take a swing at my head with a linen sack stuffed with moistened poo, but I can assure you (honest, no fingers crossed, cross my heart, bff) that at some point before I die I will possibly blog about the wedding and/or honeymoon. If I feel like it.
Right now I’m stuck at work, contemplating which of the four interviewees I’ve seen so far should be hired for our front desk position, and swatting tiny flies. My wife is currently plopped within farting distance of the Atlantic Ocean, with nothing to keep her company but a mountain of books, beers, and blistering heat tempered by dips in the waves, and awaiting my return with the completion of a to-do list so long it makes Santa’s good-child/bad-child list look like the champion in a short-dicking contest.
So, let’s see, where to start with all that?
1) Despite my boss’s best attempts to make me work at any point during the month of July, I have thwarted her at nearly every turn. I was to drive to the ocean this past weekend and return to work Tuesday morning, taking one final day off today until 2007. Then I learned that we had more candidates coming in to interview today, and in a move that can only be described as “sitcomesque” I convinced my boss that my attendance on Monday was worth two days off at the end of this week. So I drove to the ocean on Saturday morning with Mrs. ACW, and returned last night, leaving Mrs. ACW in the capable hands of my family. I will return to the ocean on Wednesday evening, where we shall remain until Saturday morning. Check and mate.
2) My office has recently suffered from the outbreak of tiny flies. They swarm my mammoth monitor (20 inches diagonal, thank you very much), and generally serve no other purpose than to annoy the hot holy fuck out of me. I have no idea from whence they came, nor do I care. I just want the fuckers gone, and no amount of inspection has revealed their source. I fear I must either remove all my plants, or release a variety-pack of spiders to search hand destroy in my absence. I only hope the spiders don’t spend all their time on the web. (I’m sorry.)
3) Upon learning that I was leaving the ocean, only to return a few days later, I was treated by my family as some sort of magical Sherpa, available to retrieve every item from the just even rows in Walmart, and bring those items back with me. For many reasons, this stymies me, not least of all the minor inconvenience it causes them to live without these items, and the major inconvenience it causes me to have to deal with such requests. For example, my father isn’t satisfied with the size of the coffee cups available in their apartment at the ocean, so he has asked that I bring back one of his own coffee cups from his home, ignoring that he could simply REFILL HIS FUCKING COFFEE CUP IF HE WANTED MORE COFFEE. I have a hundred more equally insipid tasks to complete and objects to obtain before I return to the beach. I suppose a vacation’s efficacy is diluted if one hasn’t made someone else miserable.
Today, bitching. Tomorrow, the honeymoon! (But probably not.)
