Chewing on Icicles

My commute continues to suck, but I do get along well with Kanga and Tulip (who, by the way, wore a much cuter sweater/jeans combo yesterday, so perhaps I was a bit hasty in my judgment) and tonight we are supposed to duck out early for our first happy hour.

One severe drawback, though, is lunchtime. Or rather, the lack thereof. Kanga and Tulip subsist off of coffee all day long, and apparently eat a feast for dinner every night. While I like me an evening feast as much as anyone, I like a morning and midday meal as well. Since my puny car can’t make it down their road, and they have been shuttling me from a nearby parking lot, it’s not very easy to pipe up around 1:00 and say, “Sorry, could you quit working for a sec and take me to my car? I need sustenance.” So I brought a can of soup, yesterday, and ate alone, in their kitchen.

Which is colder than their basement where I work. I don’t think they heat the main house at all, and the basement is only a degree or two warmer. I wore long underwear, wool socks, a hooded sweater, and boots yesterday and still spent most of the day shivering like a junkie on hour 26 of withdrawl. So needless to say, warm soup was welcome, even if I had to eat alone. (And quickly, because it cooled off immediately.)

Bar-B has yet to spend more than ten minutes in the office, but I like her, too. Yesterday she came in to tell us about a new painting she had bought, and then had to rush back to let the contractor go to lunch, since he was working on her kitchen remodel. Then she made some quip about the heat, and trotted out of there, with her cat in her arms. She managed to comment on both lunch AND the lack of heat in one sentence, and while I felt like that was rubbing a little salt in my newbie wound, I also considered launching myself at her feet and begging her to take me with her, and her cat.

Meanwhile, though, the actual work that I’ve been doing for Kanga and Tulip has been interesting. I have proofread a couple of little things, and get to start working on the catalog, today. That stuff is waaaay more fun than my last job. So I see it as cold, hungry progress.

The Funasaurus continues to call me melodramatic, for some reason.

Meanwhile, last night we went out to eat in Denver, and as we were getting near the restaurant, we heard a weird banging and sirens. I turn to get a better look, while The Funasaurus ducks and covers. A white pickup truck with a very bent fender and what appears to be a shot-out tire comes clattering past us, followed by not one, not two, but more like FIFTEEN police cars. Then a few more appear from another direction, along with an odd assortment of undercover cars, all with blaring lights.

I have no idea what was going on, but I have never seen that many sirens in my life. I have yet to hear anything about it on the news, but I will let you know as soon as I do. That was not normal. And I will get to the bottom of it.

Have yourself a warm Friday, folks. And eat a sandwich for me at lunchtime.

Sigh.
(insert patented Funasaurus Eye Roll, here.)