Today officially marks the final day of the only Summer that I've had completely off where I wasn't "technically" unemployed. Well, not unless you count the Summer after 4th grade, but cut me some slack- that was the Summer I was working on my thesis: "Board games: agents of fun, or agents of DOOM?" (I got a smiley face and a gold star for that one!)
It's been strange, having all this time off. Mostly I loved it, but a little part of me feels like I was trapped in Bizarro World for Slackers and/or the Morbidly Obese for 3+ months.
A brief overview:
- Less than a week after classes ended in May, I decided to bite the bullet and get surgery on my right foot (seen HERE) for a nerve problem called Morton's Neuroma, which basically started when I was 16 and discovered super-duper pointy-toed shoes from London. It grew steadily worse as an adult, where my penchant for horribly disfiguring shoes didn't exactly compliment my choice of a career that keeps you on your feet for roughly 80% of your waking hours. I may have had a great shoe collection, but the fact that I couldn't wear 99% of them, and my foot felt like it was both on fire and being gnawed at by rabid wolverines with anger-management issues most days meant I needed to finally do something about it. Well, long story short, I got the surgery, the healing took forever, then it got infected, then THAT healing took forever, then I started worrying if I might accidentally fuse to the couch and have to be cut out like that morbidly obese lady on Nip/Tuck that one time. I watched so much Bravo TV that I joined a 12-step support group (and you think I'm joking- how cute!). Hey- the first step on the road to recovery is admitting that you have a problem tearing yourself away from Andy Cohen's strange world of overly-tanned shrieking housewives and fake boobs. So basically what I'm getting at here is that, beyond trying to get my cats to sing "Tardy for the Party" in unison (that Pooter- always coming in late on the third chorus!) and obsessively monitoring my foot for gangrene, the first 2/3 of my summer wasn't much to write home about, unless you live in the sort of home where a scab finally falling off is cause for celebration, like mine was. Moving on...
- Gwen came and visited me over Memorial weekend. As expected, it was awesome, cocktails were consumed, the Mall of America was properly assaulted, and early morning barfing was had. This picture pretty much sums up the weekend:
- Work is nearly complete on the very craptacular bathroom in Casa de VonPartypants that was the very inspiration for "Operation Fix This Fucking House" in the damn first place. Remember that? It started like 10 years ago and still isn't done? No? Sigh. Well, anyways, the grossest bathroom on the planet is no longer as such, and I will never again have a peach & shit-brown tiled abomination like that in my home again, thankfully. Before and after pics soon, but here is a teaser for the few home-improvement nerds out there- THIS is the tile we used on the floor & a few other places. And by "other places" I mean that I made out with it. With tongue.
- Being that I wasn't getting paid this Summer (but I am next Summer! Hello non-boxed wine!), I (along with my partner in crime, Blondie, as well as a rotating cast of wonderful misfits) spent many hours frequenting local saloons and houses of ill-repute for what the patrons have dubbed "happy hour." There is nothing like time spent imbibing in cheap cocktails and appetizers on a shady patio somewhere to better remind you how awesome your friends are and that, even with a gimpy foot and (at the time) a hazy job future (see previous post for results. Hint- I got the job), your life is still pretty fucking fantastic.
If everyone isn't doing the "Flailing Hunchback" or the "St. Louis Bloomer Stretch" and saying things like "We be squishin' the oatmeal HARD" by the end of September- well, I'll be a monkey's left testicle.
Have a good Monday, my little ganglions of monkey underpants. Well, at the very least, have some sort of Monday that doesn't involve surgery or animal testicles anyways.
Sometimes I dream of immobilization and getting better acquainted with my couch. I think I'll pass on the gangrene or oozing wound part though. Anyway, happy to hear that your foot has healed! I bet your students/coworkers have missed you.
When the conversation come around to "How would you quit if you won the lottery", people are always surprised at my answer.
I wouldn't quit.
My experiment is to come in late, surf the net, possibly for a lot of porn, go home early, and do no work. If asked to do something, I would politely decline informing them, "You see, I'm a lottery winner now".
I just want to see how long it would take to get fired.
Ohhh. Now if I win the lottery I hope I have a job again and can do that...see how long it takes to get fired. ;)
It's been three months and I'm still feeling that wedgie.
Two things - Your feet are only 10% less sexy when spoken of in a clinical context, and is that an atomic wedgie going on in that photo? I thought atomic wedgies were urban legend. I've never actually seen one.
I sincerely wish to thank you, and the Great State of Minnesota for resolving the budget issue.
I am especially glad that the rest stop between Austin & Rochester there on I-90 was open, less I would have just been peeing on the side of the road Thursday afternoon.
Oh, if you have any of that tile left, you should make it into fashion accessories. I think about three rows of that would make a killer belt for you.
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