Today’s blog post is brought to you by the maintenance man at my building and my not-so-spidey senses. Before we jump to 10:30 am when I had my run in with the handy-man, let’s go back to 8:45 am when GB called.
Last night I made the unhealthy call of going to bed at 3am. I mean, I didn’t have anything particular to do the next morning but it’s still not good for your body. Anyway, I went to bed pretty late and was off in dreamland when I got an unexpected call at 8:45am. Considering the fact that I was in the throes of sleep I could not make out who it was.
Each important person in my life receives a specific ringtone so I know how important that a phone call is. For example my mother’s ringtone is The Beatles’s ‘Twist and Shout’, while Mr. Grumpy’s is ‘Reindeers are Better than People’ from Frozen. And just like Mr. G’s, the ringtone that so urgently woke me this unnatural morning was ‘Do you want to build a snowman?’ from Frozen.
As the song went on I could only lay there in my bed, helpless to stop the music, wishing it hadn’t waked me up. And yet, with all that hate, I found mental strength to fight with Ana while she happily sang her song.
Piano intro. Elsa?
Do you want to build a snowman?
Come on let’s go and play.
For the love of God, Ana.
I never get to see you…
And I picked up. Tired of fighting with a made up character I decided that the best way to end this one-sided fight was to answer the call. By then I had come to and knew it was GB. As I yell ‘What!’ on my side of the phone, she merely says ‘It’s raining and I’m waiting for the bus. Is it raining there?’
Sigh. I cave, we talk. 15 minutes later I’m back to the magical world of dreams.
A couple of hours later, around 10:30 am there is a knock at my door. I am too far gone to hear it. There is another knock at my door. I only hear a muffled sound that has incorporated itself into my dreams in the form of Michael the Archangel (Dominion) beating the crap out of David Whele. There is a knock and there is a voice.
Miss! Ah-bub-bah-dub-da da.
I hear nothing. More muffled noise. I am too consumed in my dream of shirtless Michael to move from my bed. I hear my living door open. I snap into sitting position. My mind is too foggy to know what is happening. Before I freak out I realize that if this person had a key to enter my home then it must be a person that works in the building. I walk into the living room. There is a man standing there. I can’t see his face since I am not wearing my glasses and all I see is a figure and everything else is blurred. He hasn’t seen me so I speak.
No, I’m sorry! I thought there was nobody here.
I’m so sorry! I was in deep sleep and didn’t hear anything.
It’s okay. You scared me, though. I’m here to fix your door. You can go back to bed if you want.
Nah, its okay.
Okay, I’m gonna fix your door and the other stuff you asked.
And I walked back to my room. Half stunned, half asleep. I run to get my glasses because I wanted to get a clear view of my surrounding and of the handy-man in case I needed to ID him for murder or any other type of felony. Yes, I’m paranoid.
When I finally get my glasses I become aware of what I look like. My hair, again, is a mess. My mouth reeks of death. And get this; I noticed that last night I decided to wear my too big, see-through white pajama pants with neon pink, polka-dotted panties and my psychedelic, cat in space pajama shirt which is easily 3XL. And no, I was not wearing a bra, again.
At this point I feel like giving no damns about how I am dressed. Yet, I start seeing a pattern in my preference for house clothing and am considering sleeping and walking around in a gala dress, full make up and awesome hairstyle every waking moment of my life.
Signing off, TWS