In the Land of the Governator
By special dispensation from the retail gods (also known as the General Manager and HR Manager), Disgruntled Bookseller is on vacation this week, visiting the Kingdom of Cimmeria to celebrate her parents' 50th anniversary.
Let me begin by saying that reading about Arnold Schwarznegger being the governor of California from a distance of 3000 miles is one thing - actually being here is another. I swear he has people here hyp-mo-tized.
I was going to post the First Annual™ Disgruntled Bookseller Naughty and Nice Awards today, but first I must point out my extreme disgruntlement at the fact that Rival Bookstore Corp has opened a new store a few miles away from the ancestral abode, whereas the nearest branch of Big Bookstore remains an annoying 25 minute drive down the freeway. ("Freeway." So California.) This totally fucks my Life Failure Fall-Back Plan. You know - in case my life goes completely into the crapper I figured I could always move back to the parental domicile and work at the nearby branch of Big Bookstore which would surely be opening any day.
Personally, I can totally understand why Big Bookstore passed on my parents little patch of paradise. It totally bites ass out here. Where is "out here?" It is the Bay Area 'burbs. I will not get any more specific than that because I am too embarrassed to say. See, we used to be City folk. And I mean City with a capital "C". We were San Franciscans. Now, the Disgruntled Bookseller family seat lies at the end of a BART line, a good hour's drive away from the Promised Land. I think this is karmic retribution for all the times that my Mother and I laughed at all the underdressed suburbanites in their sensible shoes and dowdy clothes who came into the City at Christmas to look at the window displays. Other karmic retribution? My Mother had to sacrifice her Guccis, Ferragamos and Maud Frizons for those same sensible shoes after years of high heels on city pavement ruined her feet. (True story: my mother and I once ran into I. Magnin to buy her a pair of $120 Bruno Magli flats because it had started to rain, and she didn't want to ruin her $300 Bruno Magli pumps. Good times.)
Anyway.
Here I am, in the 'burbs.
And today I am wearing: Hush Puppies.
Let me begin by saying that reading about Arnold Schwarznegger being the governor of California from a distance of 3000 miles is one thing - actually being here is another. I swear he has people here hyp-mo-tized.
I was going to post the First Annual™ Disgruntled Bookseller Naughty and Nice Awards today, but first I must point out my extreme disgruntlement at the fact that Rival Bookstore Corp has opened a new store a few miles away from the ancestral abode, whereas the nearest branch of Big Bookstore remains an annoying 25 minute drive down the freeway. ("Freeway." So California.) This totally fucks my Life Failure Fall-Back Plan. You know - in case my life goes completely into the crapper I figured I could always move back to the parental domicile and work at the nearby branch of Big Bookstore which would surely be opening any day.
Personally, I can totally understand why Big Bookstore passed on my parents little patch of paradise. It totally bites ass out here. Where is "out here?" It is the Bay Area 'burbs. I will not get any more specific than that because I am too embarrassed to say. See, we used to be City folk. And I mean City with a capital "C". We were San Franciscans. Now, the Disgruntled Bookseller family seat lies at the end of a BART line, a good hour's drive away from the Promised Land. I think this is karmic retribution for all the times that my Mother and I laughed at all the underdressed suburbanites in their sensible shoes and dowdy clothes who came into the City at Christmas to look at the window displays. Other karmic retribution? My Mother had to sacrifice her Guccis, Ferragamos and Maud Frizons for those same sensible shoes after years of high heels on city pavement ruined her feet. (True story: my mother and I once ran into I. Magnin to buy her a pair of $120 Bruno Magli flats because it had started to rain, and she didn't want to ruin her $300 Bruno Magli pumps. Good times.)
Anyway.
Here I am, in the 'burbs.
And today I am wearing: Hush Puppies.
posted by ereshkigal at 4:29 PM
8 Comments:
Your cat vomited on the carpet. I tried cramming the damn pill down his throat. My hand is still bleeding. The 9 Lives Chicken and Beef tastes rather nice, a hell of a lot better than meatloaf, but leaves a strange aftertaste. Sweety still does not like to be on the balcony...I think he remembers.... Bean seems to like it, though. After an hour and a half out there, in quite wintery weather, I thought Sweety would be more amenable to taking his medication. I felt sorry for him, so I ate more 9 Lives -- Chicken and Tuna, this time, and tried once more to force the pill down his miserable gullet. He reopened the wounds from the previous hour, and inflicted new ones. He's scratching at the balcony door now, poor thing. It's snowing; wind howling at approximately 20-25 mph, with the occasional gust to 30 or so.... Let's try it again, shall we?
P.S. I cleaned their crap-box.
Please don't kill my cats. They are the only ones who will never abandon me to DIE ALONE LIKE A DOG.
Statistically, I am almost certain that dogs do not, in general, die alone. They are usually surrounded by their owners (or 'companions') in a nice, sterile environment. Even in the wild, dogs seldom die alone, since whatever predator that has brought them down provides at least some company. Even were they to die without predation, carrion-eaters are often flying patiently overhead, while earthbound parasites are never really far away. Ergo, your oft-repeated analogy no longer has the bite it once did. I think Sweety may have frostbite on his tail, as it was standing fully erect when I left this evening. Bean is pretending not to know him, perhaps in order not to be implicated in Sweety's atrocities upon my hand.
This is so NOT funny. If I thought for ONE FUCKING MOMENT that my Boys were actually on the balcony or being hurt in any way, I would make your life a living hell from this point forward.
DO NOT JOKE ABOUT THE CATS.
Also, it is "Sweetie" not "Sweety."
I know it can't make up for being ruled by Arnold in the 'burbs, but if it's any consolation at all, it's about 12 degrees outside here.
ecban
bring back chocolate. we miss you. so much to blog about, you'd have a field day. Until your head exploded. oy. Your mom got any of those Brunos laying around that she doesn't wear any longer? Size big? It is cold here, and that has brought out the ladies in fur. Oh for a spray paint can. ttfn.
I would never hurt your cats. "Sweetie" swallowed his pill today.
YAY! Thank you. I know you would never hurt the Boys. And you know, of course, that Sweetie loves you. He slept by the front door for months after you moved out. He is like a dog, that cat.
Post a Comment
<< Home