Irrelevant but amusing

The bathroom on my floor has a latch that doesn't quite close, so you just have to push on the door to open it. My afternoon break coincides with the cleaning guy's arrival, though, so I have to go downstairs to the other bathroom to pee. The latch down there works, so every day there's a loud bang as I run into the door. You'd think I would learn.

I won't use the word "irony" to describe anything because I am just not clear enough on its usage. There is a whole website where people try to determine whether something is ironic or not and the answers are determined by the percentage of opinion instead of some clear definition, so it looks like I should have majored in math. Periodically I present situations that could possibly be examples of irony to the smart people in my life and it just so happens that those people read my blog. (Eh? Eh? Thank you, I'll be here all night.) So here's the situation that may or may not be an example of irony:

I was trying to type out that bathroom door thing on my way back in from my break. I was walking slowly, trying to finish before I went in. I hovered just long enough to finish the last line and someone came charging out... I got hit by a door while writing about running into a door. Yeah, maybe not so much ironic as idiotic, but it made me laugh. Big dummy.

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Too tired for creative titles

I woke up last night when Chris called, but it took me a while to locate the noise. He said he was bringing the band home with him, as they touring through and had nowhere to stay. This is not the first time this has happened, but my reaction was different. Usually I have a minor heart attack about a bunch of strangers invading my living room, but maybe it was because I was already asleep and too tired to care or maybe- GASP!- maybe I have calmed down a little. This time, my thought was to ask Chris to pick up milk because we had plenty of cereal to offer. I murmured something about milk when he got home and he said I must have been communicating telepathically because he thought the same thing and brought some milk home with him.

Chris brought my purse into our room and kept the door closed. Riley escaped, but I didn’t hear anyone screaming in pain or outrage, so she must have been well-behaved.  They did play music late into the night, of course, but that comes with the territory.  We’ll see how agreeable I am with that a little later into my morning.

This morning I got up imagining my gracious welcome to my guests. They would all be passed out, of course, but I could leave a nice welcoming “Eat anything you want” sign on the counter.

“This is important,” Chris would explain to them. “She’s never this welcoming to people crashing our house in the middle of the night.”

Of course, that plan hinged on my ridiculous assumption that the counter would be clear enough to put something on it. Beer bottles, mayo and mustard jars, ham, some half-cooked sandwich that turned out disastrous wrapped in a paper towel… looks like they stopped at the store on their way over to feed themselves. I counted four bodies in the living room, which means there were probably at least two more in Ant’s room. Two guys were sharing the sectional, which is more of a regular couch with one slightly longer cushion at one end that is very difficult to sleep on.  Another guy had given up on the loveseat and opted for the floor. The last living room occupant had not opted for the floor but ended up there anyway as the air mattress had slowly deflated overnight.

Instead of being furiously annoyed, I felt glad that they had a place to crash. Maybe I’m becoming less of a harpy. Let’s not get our hopes up.  I’ll let you know how I really feel when I get home tonight and see what state the house is in. I’m willing to bet that Chris will take care of it, though. 

Note to self: “Pt is a pain in the ass” is not a valid cancellation reason.

Yesterday was ridiculous, but today I was already screamed at by a guy who said he just had a heart attack.  Not much of a mystery there, huh.  I did giggle to myself earlier when talking to someone who wanted to order their prescriptions through something called “Senior Dimensions.”  What I heard, of course, was “Senior Dementians.”