Friday Confessions.

It’s been a week. The highlight: Making Richer Than God. When it’s ready, someone’s got to tell me how to link it or embed it. Because, damn, that was fun. Even more fun was the repeated conversation:

“How was your weekend?”

“Awesome! I got together with friends and made a movie about the economy using Barbies and Star Wars figures!”

“...what?”


However, I did kind of bring the meanie to the table this week. I told my landlord that I thought the guy who ‘fixed’ the heat vent did an appalling job. And I did so with passion in my voice. Honestly, it was complete Amateur Hour, screws awry and leaky seals. It squealed so badly when the heat came on that I duct-taped it up and had a good cry. “We have a nice place,” I said to my landlord. “We don’t want to gum it up with ugly stuff. This is appalling. Ghastly.” So now I am going to try to put covers on the thing myself. With dust filters, if I can get them. And I am charging my landlord, because he told me to. Also, I took the appalling vent off last night so I could take it to get the right sized new one, and had hot, dusty air blown in my face the moment the heating came on. I may be bitchier than necessary today.


Also, I told the boss I didn’t want to take a shift tomorrow. It’s my birthday and I don’t want to work on my birthday. Actually, I would quite like to go shopping for heat vents. Jesus. Apparently, I am middle-aged.


But I did sneak Max, the dog at Tremblay Motors, a slice of pepperoni from my pizza. Bitchy and middle aged? Apparently yes. Immune to Dog Stare? Not yet.


How about all of you?

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