My New Coworkers

This morning I wake up at  my normal time--6:00 and go through my normal routine. I let Scooter out. I feed the cats. (Not that I had a choice. Have you ever tried not to feed cats? Of course not. No one has. If they have, they are never found again. I think of it like the scene in The Lion King with the hyena's and Simba's uncle. They will only find bones left.) I make my coffee then watch the morning news.

The morning plan is to go to the DMV, so I take my shower and got ready and then wake up my husband. It's rainy and dreary, which totally matches the mood going to such a place. An hour later, after the DMV screws me without even offering me dinner, we are back home in time to prepare for the rest of the day.

My husband loads up the trailer full of scrap metal from the house he's working on and we start the long ride to trade it in. I think there are two kinds of people in the world. The moles that work in the offices and the squirrels that work out in the light. The moles, like me, usually stay inside to work, protecting our pale skin from the sun and rarely moving from our desks. The squirrels, like my husband, scamper about in the sun, moving from place to place, playing with their nuts... Umm...Well, you get the point.

We are driving down the road when my husband suddenly says, "Is that Blah?" (Not his real name). He points at a vehicle up ahead.

Me: "I don't know." Translation: Or really care.

Him: "I think it is." Suddenly he's changing lanes like a Nascar car driver at the last lap of a race. With a trailer full of metal behind us.

He finally catches up to Blah. *HONK* HONK* *HONK* goes the horn.

Me: What the??

Him: "HEY BLAH. WHAT'S UP MAN? HAHAHAHA."

They are laughing and b.s.ing in some weird guy code and I'm in the passenger seat looking out the window, mumbling, "I'm so embarrased right now," to nobody because I'm no longer a mole surrounded by moles. I'm a mole with a squirrel, living in his nutty world.

After we lose Blah in traffic, he's like, "What's Blah doing driving that car. I wonder if Boo knows." Boo is another friend of Blah's. Boo is obviously not his name either.

He calls Boo. "Hey, Boo. I just saw Blah driving a Land Rover. Dude, what's up with that?"

From there the conversation goes on, filled with many more "dudes" and I stop listening. Suddenly, I realize this is just like working amongst the mole people. There is still gossip. It's just contained to a smaller group and it happens at 45 mph. And I don't know the people or care.

After we take care of the metal and a few other things, we drive back home and I mention how I'm trying to think of something to call the people who work outside for a living for my blog (the squirrels). We go back and forth, without thinking of anything. Then 20 minutes later he's like, "Say I'm smokin' ass."

Me: "You're smoking what??" Eww... Ass?

Him: "Never mind. Say I'm smokin' muscles man." That's when I realize we are back on what to call him for my blog.

Me: "Oooh. You wanted me to say you had a smokin' ass. Huh. Well, I guess I can call you Smokin' Muscles Man if you want." I'm not calling him Smokin' Ass. Plus, I'm not even an ass girl. I like arms on a man. Wait, what are we talking about? Oh, right. Anyway, from now on, my husband is SMM. Or maybe Smoke for short.

Later on Smoke and I and our son go up to a house we are working on renovating. It's a family project. We are trying to fix up this house so that we can live it in soon.

We get there and next thing I know I'm scrubbing down bathroom walls and painting. Yes, the mole who is afraid of the light and whose worse pain was in her fingers from typing too much.

Smoke: "Do you know how to paint?"

Me: "Not really. But it's just like Karate Kid, right?"

Smoke: *blank stare* "No."

Damn. It's ok anyway, since all I can remember is wax off and on. I can't remember the painting exercise. But I admit Smoke is a good teacher and the next thing you know I have a door painted and some trim done. It's not as impressive as the fence Daniel did, but it will do.

By the time we get home, I'm tired. Dead tired. I'm still tired. It's taking me forever to post this. But I promised myself I would.

I made it through my first day of unemployment, but worked harder than I ever did before. Figures. Tomorrow, the mission is to see how long it takes me to get to my friend's house. Smoke swears it's 40 minutes from the reno house. We'll see!

Good night!