To the guy in the electronics store that used to be Radio Shack:
I am so sorry I lost it on you on Wednesday. I don't know what came over me, but you didn't deserve the full force of my biting sarcasm crashing down upon your head. Clearly, when faced with a woman with her hair in pigtails, wearing a loud lime green skirt and clashing tank top, who is waving around a television cable, and insists on calling the filter on the end "the silver doohicky," all you can do is use your calm, reasonable, "I'm dealing with a freak who doesn't know what she's talking about" voice. I get it - I totally get it. I've been there and done that - I worked in a public library, so I understand. And how did I react? Not only did I unleash The Look, I used The Voice. You did not deserve to be hit with both guns at the same time.
And not only did you fix what I'd spent twenty minutes earlier that day (and forty minutes a few months back) fighting with, you didn't charge me for it, and were actually pleasant. Which made me feel like an even bigger ass.
Good on you, electronics store boy. May you live a spider-free existence.
To Lise:
I still have your apartment keys from when I picked up your mail while you were cruising around California in a convertible. You lucky bird, you. And we've been trying to co-ordinate our schedules so that I can return them to you. But since we're both ladies of the world who travel extensively, that's been impossible. So when you invited me to go out with you and your friends on Wednesday night at the bar down the street, I cleared some mental headspace and decided I would be there.
So where was I Wednesday night at 9pm? Glad you asked - standing in the middle of what was once my living room and was now a pile of furniture and cushions, waiting for my dinner to cook and making little whining noises. Not only did I have to put my apartment back together, I had to pack for another road trip (having not recovered from the previous one), water my plants, and eat. My brain was fried, and I felt like a marble on an uneven floor - I didn't know which way to roll first.
I'm sorry I flaked out. We'll go to Starbucks next week and laugh at my silly little anxiety attacks.
To Ex-Future-Ex:
I have no clue what came over me earlier this evening. Maybe I was jealous that you get spam in your comments, and I don't, so I lashed out at the spammers and grammatically-challenged in this post. It's your blog and your place to "school" your commentators - next time, I'll hold my tongue.
To the woman with the loud and annoying children in the Dollar Store who let the door close on my foot:
I'm not at all sorry I sarcastically thanked you for holding the door open for me. So there.
