tuesday and taco

11-27-99

Some drunken jagoff stuck an alien sticker on the stop sign at the entrance to our apartment complex. Dumbass.

I was going to go over to Jeff's tonight for beer and cigars. Even though I'm exhausted from working too much, I figured it would be fun and I don't have to work tomorrow until 10. Had something of a meltdown after John looked at the schedule Aida printed for me and said, "I thought you said you had Tuesday off?"

I thought he was joking. I thought he made a mistake. Aida couldn't have scheduled me to work every day for three straight weeks. The only thing that's gotten me through the last few days is my mantra: "Tuesday. Tuesday. Tuesday."

Now, were I sane enough to chant a mantra, it would have to be "Week from Tuesday. Week from Tuesday."

She can't expect me to come in Tuesday. About twenty dogs are going home Monday. That means, among other things, that there will be about 5 dogs left on Tuesday. (Other things = eighteen or so doggie baths to do on Monday.) Why does she want me to come? Is it a mistake? I was going to Christmas-shop on Tuesday. Make gifts for Anna and Becky and Rob. Lie around the house in striped cotton pants and a tank top. Clean my own cats' litter instead of someone else's.

My brain is sadly saying: "Tuesday! Tuesday? tues...??" Tuesday's been flushed (sadly) down the toilet.

T-u-u-u-e-s-d-a-a-a-a-y-y....

So, speaking of Tuesday, did I mention that I have to work on Tuesday?

After the ghastly revelation, I sat on the couch and stared. I did the catatonic thing that scares the fuck out of John. I couldn't help it. I was holding, in one hand, a slice of leftover pumpkin pie with a bite out of it. John begged me to eat the pie.

When I sent him off to Jeff's without me, he sighed and stooped down as if to kiss me goodbye. Instead, he gently took my hand and mushed the pie onto my cheek. Smirked.

Okay, I'm really not in the mood to write about anything except my beloved Tuesday, but there is one thing I meant to record a couple days ago. There's this little chihuahua staying at the kennel. He looks just like the infamous, bilingual Taco Hell chihuahua, and his owners (cleverly?) named him Taco.

Alas, Taco is a Very Small Dog, and he has a Very Small Capacity. He almost never makes it to the morning, when I let the dogs out. He tries hard, and leaves his little Taco Turds in his food dish for me to discover when I clean his cage. When I told John the Tale of Taco, he said: "Doesn't that mean he drops his chalupas?"

Ah yes. Beats me at my own game, he does.