Que Semana Tan Larga

Greetings sports fans (okay, maybe not so many sports fans, given my circle of friends),

This week might just kill me before I can escape on Friday to see the true loves of my life, Jen & Irma, up in San Fran.

On Monday, the roofing company, which has been dicking us around with regard to a start date for our new roof, called and said they’d be there at 0730 on Tuesday. Fan-freakingtastic. It happens that, since I’m leaving on Friday and therefore have to cram everything into four days, I can’t be home much. Ma, similarly, is nursing Kaiser of Southern California through their Joint Commission reaccreditation, so she’s also having la semaine from Hell.

Granted, we could be bougie and not stay around at all, but Jeebus, the roofers need water and a place to pee! And it’s nice to be around when they do things like short out the master controller to our lights (our house is wired with an ancient, defunct system known as RemCon). So the different directions I’m being pulled in are driving me nuts.

Not as nuts as the cat, though. Yesterday, since they were pulling off the roof from the back side of the house, the cat could hide under ma’s bed (in the front of the house) and feel safe. Today they were all over the place, so the poor cat didn’t know what to do with herself. She ended up wedging herself under my bed upstairs for 9 hours. Boy was she glad to get outside when they left.

But on the bright side, I get to see my girls this weekend! I haven’t seen Irma since last September when she, Amy and I went to the Dave Matthews concert in Golden Gate Park. I did see Jen much more recently (July), but any amount of time is too much time between seeing my girls.

In keeping with my aunt’s theory that my car can’t go more than 50 miles in one direction without exploding, she has loaned me the Jag for the weekend. As usual, this has me molto excited. Hopefully this time I won’t spill orange juice all over its exquisite interior made of ever so many kinds of dead animal.

My aunt, brilliant at life as she is, also found silver polish, which I have been looking for at every drug and grocery and hardware store in the county. Watching Desperate Housewives (the scene where Bree gets the call about Rex) reminded me that Great-Grandma’s silver hadn’t been polished in, oh, how long has she been dead? Fifteen years? Crikey. So now I can have the joy of polishing the family silver (no, it’s not kept at the house, in case you were going to whois me and break in while I’m at school).

God, I’m everything I despise. I have a Jaguar in the driveway, several sets of family sterling, and Limoges china. Being a hypocrite feels good! Maybe I’ll become a Republican after all!

(or not…)

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