monster sarcasm rally

Yesterday, New Chick and I went out for our Christmas lunch. The rest of the department had a Christmas lunch, but conveniently neglected to invite us. So we took a super-long lunch and went to an Indian buffet.

The snow that had fallen the night before had melted, so the streets were a good 10 cm deep with slushy brown liquid. My shoes and socks were completely soaked by the time we got back.

At the end of the day I took the subway up to St Patrick station, and then got out to catch the streetcar the rest of the way home. It was about minus eight, but the windchill dropped it to just above Absolute Zero. I stood there in my sopping wet shoes and socks, with my asthma going nuts, waiting for the nonexistent streetcar. People started talking about the fact that there were no streetcars running anywhere in the city. 'But there are busses', somebody said. Then just to prove a point, a TTC bus resembling a large, red tin of sardines drove past us. A multitude of cabs (all occupied) passed us as well.

I waited there for about (a boot) 20 minutes, before giving up and walking the rest of the way. The wind was blowing straight at me. My lungs had decided that, no thank you, they would not care for any of this cold air; they'll just wait until we get home. My feet, well... You know how people say 'I can't feel my feet'? I only wished I couldn't feel my feet.

By the time I got home, the morgue attendants were waiting on my front porch to take me to my final resting place. But just then my phone rang, and, since there was an emergency requiring my attention, I had to go on living.

Moiraine said her new puppy had kennel cough, and she didn't want her other dog to catch it. Could I keep her for a few days? Sure, what the hell... It's not like I had any better plans.

Several minutes later the Dog Whose Name Means Marijuana arrived at my door. This dog, who was clearly named in a brilliant stroke of irony, is the most high-strung, neurotic, attention-seekeing person you'll ever meet. And she has the world's worst case of OCD. Last night, however, she spent the evening on the couch scowling at everybody and refusing to move. She didn't punch anybody! Not even the Stinky Monkey, who spent the evening attempting to wrestle with her head.

I plunked myself down on my couch and vowed that I was never leaving my house again. Several hours later, I hauled myself up off the couch and into bed. I spent the night trying to ignore the DWNMM, who spent the night pacing, panting and crying.

And now, here I am at work shivering and trying to keep my face from hitting my desk. Three and a half hours to go.

Merry friggin' Christmas everybody!