Monday, August 6, 2012
Day 351: Stupid Phone
This is the woman I'm trying to convince to take on the church job I'm unloading. She initially said yes, but now she's trying to weasel out of it without actually saying no — and all the while being as unpleasant as possible. And certainly I'm not going to force her to do it (oh, if only I could!), but I do want to get a definite answer out of her, one way or another.
I called her around noon today, and she said (tartly, crisply — she's a Washington apple!), "Could we please discuss this tonight?" "Of course," I said, dripping honey and insincerity.
And now I wait. To me, "tonight" when talking about something business-y means 7 p.m. She's going to call during Bunheads, I know it. Because in her Pill-ness she has intuited that I am someone who likes Bunheads . . . and she despises me for it.
Ha. Really, I'm assuming she hasn't called because it's all part of her passive-aggressive plan to weasel out of the job by overwhelming me with her obnoxiousness. But she has no idea how tenacious I am.
In other news, I finally have some paying work (and it's fun!), plus two more funnish jobs for next week, and I took a dinnertime walk, which was lovely. We also had some guys over to fix our bathroom wall (remember when the mirrored doors fell off our medicine cabinet, oh, months ago? We got the new cabinet installed, but it's a different size than the last one, plus the light fixture is totally different, so the wall needed to be plastered and repainted — and now it's done! Why rush, that's our motto), and it's so lovely in there; I will thoroughly enjoy tonight's bath.
I'm trying to finish Annie's Ghosts, which is a very good book, but even though I read and read and read it, I don't seem to be making a dent. Nonfiction . . . is kinda worky.
Oh, and for lunch I reheated the pasta I had at Macaroni Grill last night for Mimosa's birthday dinner. It didn't actually taste that good last night; I thought maybe they hadn't cooked it enough (a little too al dente). But today I realized that the problem is the pasta itself: whole wheat fettucine.
Whole wheat is just fine in some things: bread, crackers, cereal, couscous. Honestly, I can barely tell the difference. But for other things — pizza crust, English muffins — it is unbearable, and with pasta I have to do half and half and use only the thinnest noodles (spaghetti, angel hair) for it to be palatable. This was a big bowl of savory garlic-scented cardboard, and after two bites I threw it away.
It's 8:23. The Pill still hasn't called. She is pissing me off.
And of course I feel guilty about sticking our nice Parish Committee with a total Pill. But perhaps she'll behave once she gives in and accepts the job. (She is a nice person, usually, which is why I thought of her in the first place. I am very surprised and put off by her bad behavior these past few days. Oooh, maybe she is going through The Change. I should cut her some slack.)
OK! Moving on with my life. Apple, Bunheads, bath, coffee. Possibly a glass of wine. Will it make me mellow, or will it make me feistier? Wine can go either way.
I love a mystery!*
* Did anyone else immediately think of Jack, Doc, and Reggie?
. . . just me then?
Curses, Jack Dalton, I am freaking old. (But wicked cultured!)