You know what's funny? When it thunderstorms and the cats freak out so bad that all they can do is run around the apartment. As if nowhere is safe. Well, at the time I felt bad for them. And for me, because it was 2:30 in the morning and I was simultaneously running around trying to calm the cats and ducking when the thunder sounded like a shotgun going off next to my ear.
Last night was the first Summer thunderstorm, of which I'm sure there will be many. Last Summer we had more thunderstorms than I ever remember having, at least two a week. But so far this year it's pretty mild weather so who knows. Usually they come when it's super duper hot.
So, back to the cats. Poor little Tonks, the baby who likes to shower with me, was so scared. It was her first thunderstorm since.... well, she was born. Her whole body was rigid and trembling. She couldn't stay in one spot, even when I put her under the covers with us. I think "flailing" would be the most accurate term to describe her sheer terror. What I really want to do right now is go into how much I love nighttime thunderstorms, but I won't...
Alas, I digress. I'll move onto the real reason you're reading this post... poop.
So, as you may have seen in previous posts, I work in a loft office building. Commercial loft spaces are known for being more "laid back" and not quite as well-kept as the nicer Class A buildings. We have a lot of construction going on by us so the construction workers are always using our bathrooms. Because we're on the second floor our bathrooms tend to get used by these intruders more than others. Homeless guys are also known to wander into our men's bathroom and basically use the sinks to "cleanse" themselves. I honestly don't know how these vagrants get in because the door is locked. It baffles me. The poor men in my office usually go up to the third floor because it's so bad. One time our men's bathroom was completely covered in blood. No idea why.
You know, I should start taking short breaks at work (in lieu of smoking--- if smokers get breaks so should I!), and go down to the freight entrance to ask who wants to use the bathroom and charge a $5 fee to get in. They'll each get 5 minute to do whatever they need to do (don't think about it, it's easier that way). It would be very entrepreneurial of me if I did it. I figure, if I could take four short breaks a day and get 3 people each break, that would be $60 a day! That translates to $300 a week, $1200 per month, or $15,600 per year! That would almost support my handbag and shoe habit! Whoa... my brain can barely handle this thought process...
Today. Oh man. One of my colleagues was headed up to the third floor to use the bathroom and found a pile of poop in the stairwell. Everyone in the office decided that we needed a second party to verify that it was in fact poop. Somehow I was that person. It was clearly feces. At first glance you think it must be human, and it probably is. But I tried to tell myself that a large dog could have left it there. THANKFULLY it didn't smell. Cause I would have booted right then and there. And then the stairwell would have been full of both vomit and feces, and stunk like hell, and it would just be unacceptable that I, Sassy, contributed to a such a foul mess. Seriously, it's okay to throw up a bit in your mouth right now. Go on. Do it. I won't tell.
Lastly, I'm really bitchy today. And I thought I would share that with you. Partly cause I'm pretty mellow most of the time. Which could be because of the Xanax or Lithium that I'm on most of the time. If you say PMS, I'll strangle you. I don't believe so much in the "PMS" crap that is constantly being perpetuated. I think men are more moody than women for the most part. But today I'm just easily set off and I don't know why. Could it have been the pile of human feces? Perhaps. But unlikely since I was crabby before that event took place. People and things are just getting under my skin a little too easily. I had to turn the bitch dial up to HIGH today several times. And usually it only happens once a month or so at work. I don't have a problem being bitchy. In fact, secretly I enjoy it. But for 3 or 4 times today I was forced to rant, curse, send a snippy email and/or raise my voice on the phone, which generally means it's me. Sorry to all of my victims. Well, I'm sorta sorry.
Right now, if I was a guy, I would go home early, watch the Red Sox/Yankee game tonight and sit on the couch all night with a beer while I scratch my balls. I mean, really. When one has had such a crabby day, is there anything left to do but sit and scratch your balls? Unfortunately, I don't have balls (physically, anyway). So I guess I'll go to the gym instead and run it out. Hopefully, I don't run into this guy again. Cause lord knows I might just yank his damn pants up.