Hey peeps, can you all get together, do some mass interwebby Indian dance and get the gods to send torrential rain to Colorado? Because as you surely know, the Zadge’s state is on fire. Horrible, awful fires. Even in Denver, with the nearest fire 25 miles away, people are coughing.
Oh, and people in Denver are sweating. Particularly one who may have had an air conditioning unit that, ahem, took a suicidal plunge a few days ago. One hundred and five effing degrees, my amigos, 105 Fahrenheit. And don’t give me that “Oh, but it’s dry heat” shit. According to weather records, we broke the temperature highs set back in the days when Laura Ingalls Wilder was running around the prairie yelling “Pa, I just shoved the A/C unit out of the window of the log cabin.”
So the heat and the smoke and the dead air conditioners are just one reason the Zadge is happy to be getting on a plane tomorrow to fly to the comparatively-speaking-iceberg known as San Francisco, to meet Dr. Boy Toy for their
potentially disasterous “romantic” weekend adventure.
Another reason she is happy to get out of Denver is that the hotel where they will be staying tomorrow night will, presumably, have a functioning sewer system. As that is something sorely lacking in Old Vicky right now. The Zadge is far too stressed out to give you the horrific details, but let’s just say that “the shit has hit the fan.” She has no choice but to
declare bankruptcy and have the sewer line replaced next week. The Zadge now refers to Old Vicky as the Ten to Twelve Thousand Dollar Shit Storm.
Now, the Zadge must admit that she has several reasons why she almost, and just may still, cancel said “romantic rendezvous” with Young Doc in Cali. First, despite the fact that Young Doc was the one who suggested the trip, he is, apparently, expecting the Zadge to split the entire cost with him. He, who makes three times what the Zadge does and does not have to hemorrhage thousands on a Money Pit of a Shit Storm house.
Annoyed with him is what the Zadge is.
And if you happen to see Young Doc and the Zadge out to dinner this weekend, don’t be watching for the Zadge to reach out and pick up the check. Because her hand WILL NOT TOUCH HER WALLET AT MEALS.
Also? The Zadge, a woman happily accustomed to her single life, and her alone time, and her being able to use the bathroom without worrying about what some cheap-ass doctor can hear, and sleep without some dude trying to steal her side of the bed, and having to TALK TO SOMEONE ELSE FOR THREE EFFING DAYS, is a bit wary of the whole damn weekend. After all, you do remember the disaster that was the Young Canadian, do you not?
He was released from the slammer yesterday, with glowing reports! And, if the Zadge is being honest, she’d pick her dogs over a guy any day of the week.
So stay tuned. If you don’t see a post for a few days, it means the Zadge hopped the plane to Cali for god-knows-what-kind-of-weekend. (The Zadge has not told him about the blog, figuring he would soon be very good blog material, so she can’t really get on the computer and blog about him in front of his cheap-ass self.)
If you see a post sooner, the Zadge is happily esconced in her smoky, shitty, house filled with felons!