Wherein, you decide who’s the Alien
~ Employee calls in with Monday Sickness for the 2nd time in about 3 weeks. What’s that? If you’ve ever been an employer you know what I mean.
~ I head off to my Sick Care provider ’round 10 or 11 AM. Though I’ve been there many times recently, parking is unobtainable almost anywhere; even, at the top level of the garage. I imagine it’s Monday Sickness all around.
~ When I do finally find parking and head in, the place is packed wall to wall. Almost exclusively it’s people with apparent metabolic syndrome, perhaps better than half morbidly and grossly obese. I stop to have a "moment of humanity," to reflect at how much I can’t wait for universal, single payer "healthcare" to become a reality so that I can begin to chip in for their costs. Cough.
~ I saw one or two lean individuals with things like plaster casts or braces on their arms or legs — as though their condition is a result of some misguided and unadvised misfortune on some athletic field or something. Serve’s ’em right. Fuck ’em. It’s the middle aisle supermarket jockey’s I’m all about, today.
~ I head in to get X-Ray and MRI images on DVD of my neck/shoulder for review by various entities outside the Glorious Safety Net that, due my dickheaded shortcomings, I don’t unquestionably trust with my life or mobility. Maria Maria (as she calls herself) is out. The folks in records department tell me she’s out to lunch. Metaphor?
~ Sos I go over to Harry’s Haufbrau to get lunch super heavy on pastrami for my brother & family who are moving into a super cool old house with big yard all around on an old orchard homestead smack dab in the middle of a newish townhomes development. When I place my order, dumbfuck old guy behind me pleads that he’s just one, and can he go ahead? "Yea, OK, sure man; but I’d have never asked that." He goes ahead anyway, in spite of the rebuke. WhaddamI, gonna starve in the next 5 minutes? I drop off lunch and have a good time heckling for a few hours.
~ Head back to Sick Care Provider and Maria Maria to discover she’s still out to lunch. Or, is it that really, she was out for the day with Monday Sickness, as I’m now finally informed.
~ I come home and engage in out-of-context sanity whilst reviewing email, Twitter, chewing on blog post ideas. Walking and raw feeding the dogs. But not before a hellish drive plagued by people who learned to drive only today.
~ And while I made reservations to take the Valentine out to dinner for the first time on this occasion since I can remember, I forgot to get the flowers. Go. Perhaps I should get a card, too? Nothing remotely says what I would say. Blank card? Don’t like the pictures or drawings or cartoons, either. Square peg. Round hole. It’s just flowers, love.
~ I get tulips in a pot with dirt that won’t rot in three days. Perhaps she’ll smile this spring when they’re still lovely.
~ We head out at ’round 7pm for California Cafe in Los Gatos. Restaurant pretty packed for a Monday. They have a Valentines menu. Most tables are for two. How lovely. It’s a Valentines menu (did I write that already?). What joy. After 10 minutes or so at table without so much as a whiff of an overworked server with a minor in annoying behavior, I head to the bar for drinks.
~ But dinner was good. Really good. The gimmick of the occasion didn’t compromise the quality. Damn!
~ They comp’d us another round of drinks ’cause I had to get the first. Not damn!
~ Perhaps aliens aren’t so bad; or, perhaps it’s not so bad…being an alien.
Are you an alien? have you seen Aliens? So Tell your Facebook Friends and Twitter followers, using those newfangled clickable buttons. You won’t be reported. Promise.