Fuck. This. Week. My parents have been out of town for 6 days. Obviously I threw a party immediately after I dropped them off at the trolley station, even though I was instructed not to throw parties. This party went well, and this is measurable by the fact that I went home at 6:30am. No problems there.
The next morning I dealt with a family crisis, which I won’t divulge here but you probably know my family well enough by now to assume copious amounts of alcohol were involved. My weeklong drama continued into work, where all of our customers got blowjob pictures. Yay April Fools! I cleaned up that mess and arrived at my parents’ abode to feed the animals when I discovered a lake of raw chicken juice in the kitchen.
It didn’t take me long to figure out some sort of irreverent button mashing incident turned our working fridge into a display model, and to re-activate the freezing/cooling features I had to press the lighting and ice button simultaneously for 4 seconds (thank you reading the manual). What I don’t understand is why it’s so goddamn simple to convert a refrigerator from a working device to an ostensibly working device which will actually do nothing to preserve food and any bag of dead chicken bits contained therein will thaw in your unaware bliss. What I also don’t understand is how I didn’t throw up when I was mopping up the combination of dead chicken juice and whatever rusty filth had been brewing under the fridge since the last time we moved it.
So somehow Thursday vanished and Friday became Tuesday as my mind sought to just start the whole damn thing over. I did not post on time.
Because I’m just not pleased with the aesthetic result of juxtaposing my original writing with this preamble of excuses, I’ll “publish” it separately in a few moments after I’ve finished sprucing. Please stand by.