The dog woke me up at 3:59 a.m., wanting to go outside. I opened the front door and got hit by a blast of hot air. It must have been 85 degrees (at 4 AM!!) and the wind was blowing about 40 mpg.
And these winds? They aren't friendly, happy winds. They are the Santa Ana winds, desert winds that turn my sinuses into shriveled little raisins and make my hair look Robbie Benson's.
All night long the metal water heater cabinet outside the house (yes, klassy, I know) was banging in the wind, sounding like a tympani drum. Bonggggggg bonggggg. I put earplugs in but the sound drove Goldie crazy. She paced around all night, looking for escape. She climbed up on the bed with me but didn't sleep, eat, drink or go outside.
Finally this morning she had had enough. I was taking a shower, mindlessly rubbing some mold off the shower curtain when I felt something against my legs. I am almost blind without my glasses, but even I could see that there was a very large, shower-hating dog sitting in the tiny shower stall at my feet, getting soaked.
Sometimes a girl dog gets scared and just really, really needs her momma.
Mr Stapler and I went bar-hopping last night. This is unusual because the last time I went bar-hopping was...um...well...never. I don't go to that many bars because they involve too many things I hate - drunks, noise, people. When I do go, my usual modus operandi is to find some little corner, sit down and cling to the spot like a barnacle on a rock. I know, I know, I am a whole big ball of fun.
Mr Stapler and I are of that age where we are not among the stylish people with shiny hair who gather in groups and toss their heads about and show off their large white teeth to one another.
We are the people with dog hair on their sweaters who sit close together, listening in on other people's conversation and elbowing each other when it gets particularly inane.
Dude: All those guys, Mao and Lenin and then Stalin...
Dude 2: Yeah, and think about Winchester, he had to go up against Stalin and Hitler and shit...
Mr Stapler: (to me) Winchester? Does he mean Winston Churchill?
I hate to read about people's dreams, so I apologize in advance. But this one cracked me up: I was at work at a huge place. Somehow, we all sort of abandoned our posts to play games and goof off, playing volleyball, singing karaoke, running around like kids. As we went back to the office, I realized our boss was George W. Bush.
"Heh heh, this has been a lot of fun today," Bush said. "I really hope we can do it more often."
"Well, sir," I replied. "When we are at work, we have to work. That's why they CALL it work."
He looked so disappointed.