What a Day
The day started out well. I woke up actually kind of cold, which is refreshing, had my coffee, started well. Later, I had a great lunch with my friend Elsebeth. She's a Danish woman in my community group, and she lives right around the corner from me.
Amy left for Castellon yesterday, so I'm in this big flat by myself. I love it. I was determined to come up with a plan to pamper myself tonight. Or if not to pamper, at least to enjoy myself.
At around 8 I had a concrete plan for the evening. I would take the metro to Troy and Heather's apartment, pick up some pictures and books and stuff I needed from there, and end up at home around 9:15. Perfect timing to run over to La Vita e Bella--a great little takeout Italian place around the corner. I would get myself some delicious pasta to take home and eat while reading. Since it's cool at night, I might stay up and work on our team's display for staff conference while comfortable.
Perfect plan, right? Now, just to carry it out, step by step.
Step 1: metro. Line 4 is hot, but I have a fan and a book, and have mastered the art of fanning myself with one hand while holding the book with the other. I don't even have to stop the breeze to turn pages.
And that was the last step that went well.
I was about 50 metres from the Cady's apartment complex before I realized I had picked up the wrong set of keys--the ones NOT including their keys. This normally wouldn't be a problem, except the Cady's are in Colorado at the moment. I had no choice but to turn around and head back to the metro.
10 steps later I felt a big fat raindrop on my arm. I looked at the sky, puzzled at how it could be raining when there wasn't a cloud in sight. It took about 2 seconds for my brain to register and my eyes to turn to my arm, which was sporting a lovely spot of bird poop.
I am a statistical impossibility. Unless I'm mistaken, most people go their whole lives without being pooped on by birds. Am I wrong? Even if they do, it's maybe once or twice their whole lives, unless they work in a chicken farm or something. My count is now up to 3 in the last couple years, not to mention
the gross dead-pigeon incident that was somehow even more disturbing than bird poop. All have been in different places, at different times. There is no pattern.
I was so anxious to get it off my arm that I quickly swiped it against the nearest tree. It got the poop off alright, but I skinned my arm on the tree in the process, and still felt gross.
Another metro ride home, not as successful with the book and the fan because I was trying to hold my arm away from my body because of the bird poop germs.
Now on to the Italian place, where I ordered what looked like a lovely creamy pasta. The day was not wasted! I got home, sat down with my ice water, and put the first lovely bite in my mouth.
The sauce had gorgonzola in it. Think of a mix of bleu cheese with a taste that matches the smell of dirty feet. There are very few things in the world I hate more than gorgonzola cheese. I don't care if I just paid for this pasta, I will not eat this. I suppressed a gag as I carried it to the kitchen.
But here's the thing--I'm really cheap. Even if I can't eat it without gagging, I can't throw away a perfectly good (minus the horrible taste) pasta with cherry tomatoes and spinach that I paid for. I got the bright idea to rinse the pasta, spinach, and tomatoes. How hard could it be? Then I could put some olive oil or some pesto on it, and it would be edible again.
Gorgonzola cheese is not easy to wash off of pasta. It breaks up into minute, almost microscopic chunks of foulness that lodge themselves in the center of each penne noodle. But again, I am cheap. If I have to wash each noodle individually, I WILL SAVE THIS PASTA!
20 minutes later, the pasta is clean and pestoed, and I don't even want to look at it, much less eat it. Looks like a nectarine for supper for me!
This story has a happy ending. The nectarine was wonderful and hit the spot. Which just goes to show you that just because you do something stupid, get pooped on, skin your arm, and unwittingly shove dirty foot cheese in your mouth, the cloud has a silver nectarine. Or something like that.
Amy left for Castellon yesterday, so I'm in this big flat by myself. I love it. I was determined to come up with a plan to pamper myself tonight. Or if not to pamper, at least to enjoy myself.
At around 8 I had a concrete plan for the evening. I would take the metro to Troy and Heather's apartment, pick up some pictures and books and stuff I needed from there, and end up at home around 9:15. Perfect timing to run over to La Vita e Bella--a great little takeout Italian place around the corner. I would get myself some delicious pasta to take home and eat while reading. Since it's cool at night, I might stay up and work on our team's display for staff conference while comfortable.
Perfect plan, right? Now, just to carry it out, step by step.
Step 1: metro. Line 4 is hot, but I have a fan and a book, and have mastered the art of fanning myself with one hand while holding the book with the other. I don't even have to stop the breeze to turn pages.
And that was the last step that went well.
I was about 50 metres from the Cady's apartment complex before I realized I had picked up the wrong set of keys--the ones NOT including their keys. This normally wouldn't be a problem, except the Cady's are in Colorado at the moment. I had no choice but to turn around and head back to the metro.
10 steps later I felt a big fat raindrop on my arm. I looked at the sky, puzzled at how it could be raining when there wasn't a cloud in sight. It took about 2 seconds for my brain to register and my eyes to turn to my arm, which was sporting a lovely spot of bird poop.
I am a statistical impossibility. Unless I'm mistaken, most people go their whole lives without being pooped on by birds. Am I wrong? Even if they do, it's maybe once or twice their whole lives, unless they work in a chicken farm or something. My count is now up to 3 in the last couple years, not to mention
the gross dead-pigeon incident that was somehow even more disturbing than bird poop. All have been in different places, at different times. There is no pattern.
I was so anxious to get it off my arm that I quickly swiped it against the nearest tree. It got the poop off alright, but I skinned my arm on the tree in the process, and still felt gross.
Another metro ride home, not as successful with the book and the fan because I was trying to hold my arm away from my body because of the bird poop germs.
Now on to the Italian place, where I ordered what looked like a lovely creamy pasta. The day was not wasted! I got home, sat down with my ice water, and put the first lovely bite in my mouth.
The sauce had gorgonzola in it. Think of a mix of bleu cheese with a taste that matches the smell of dirty feet. There are very few things in the world I hate more than gorgonzola cheese. I don't care if I just paid for this pasta, I will not eat this. I suppressed a gag as I carried it to the kitchen.
But here's the thing--I'm really cheap. Even if I can't eat it without gagging, I can't throw away a perfectly good (minus the horrible taste) pasta with cherry tomatoes and spinach that I paid for. I got the bright idea to rinse the pasta, spinach, and tomatoes. How hard could it be? Then I could put some olive oil or some pesto on it, and it would be edible again.
Gorgonzola cheese is not easy to wash off of pasta. It breaks up into minute, almost microscopic chunks of foulness that lodge themselves in the center of each penne noodle. But again, I am cheap. If I have to wash each noodle individually, I WILL SAVE THIS PASTA!
20 minutes later, the pasta is clean and pestoed, and I don't even want to look at it, much less eat it. Looks like a nectarine for supper for me!
This story has a happy ending. The nectarine was wonderful and hit the spot. Which just goes to show you that just because you do something stupid, get pooped on, skin your arm, and unwittingly shove dirty foot cheese in your mouth, the cloud has a silver nectarine. Or something like that.
posted by kelly_w at 6:24 PM
4 Comments:
Good one girl :)
Oh my gosh, that was hilarious to read, but I am sorry that your day turned to crap. "The sun'll come out tomorrow."
T
LOL. um, not only has your funnyness gone to a whole new level, but so has your cheapness. most cheap people have nothing on you. it's a gift i think.
how about using resourceful instead of cheap?
no, you're right, i'm cheap.
amy laughed at me.
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