Eight Feet Deep

 Paul from Tokyo, my IT con­sul­tant extra­or­di­naire, tried to teach me about tags over the week­end but my feet started swelling and it freaked me out so I didn’t learn a whole lot. Ah Paul, it might be awhile before I can snatch the peb­ble from your hand. Nonethe­less, those red (for now at least) words which are of unequal size on the right side­bar are the tags I am talk­ing about. Give them a poke and see where they take you. Neat huh?

 A prod­uct of a cou­ple of middle-aged col­lege friends on a week­end, one in Japan one in Beau­mont, Texas. Much zany fun.

 Just a short thought. If I had more time today I would look up the ori­gin of the say­ing: “He/she woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

 I haven’t ever fig­ured this one out though hav­ing gone through rela­tion­ships which require 1) a bed and 2) a side of a bed, or if it is a really com­fort­able rela­tion­ship 3) a bed, a side of a bed and a side of fries, I know what it means to wake up on the wrong side of the bed. It means a lot of unpleasantness.

 This morn­ing I didn’t wake up on the wrong side of the bed exactly. I sleep by myself so the only prob­lem with wak­ing up on the wrong side of the bed is hav­ing to decide whether I want to roll back over to get up and go to the bath­room or get up and walk around the bed to go to the bath­room. Because that’s usu­ally what I do when I wake up. I know, I know, too much information.

 This morn­ing I woke up irri­tated and it wouldn’t mat­ter what side of the bed from which I exited the bed.

 About 5 a.m. I woke up and couldn’t sleep. Prob­a­bly some time about 6:45 a.m. I drifted off into light slum­ber when all of a sud­den, that phone ring from my T-Mobile — you know that sweet, sickening, bell-like tune, that makes you want to do a Qua­si­modo – sang out: “De De De De De, De De De De De, Come answer me. F**k you let me be.”

 So I get up. I look at the screen and see no famil­iar name but I see famil­iar num­bers, which are ones ema­nat­ing from my part-time job’s home office in Dal­las. I answer the phone and it goes: “Screec­c­c­ch­hhh, Squaaaaaannkkk, Deetleleteletlee.” I think: “Why is my office send­ing my cell phone a fax at 6:57 a.m.?” Actu­ally, the bet­ter ques­tion is why is my office send­ing my cell phone a fax at all? I don’t have a fax at home.

 I tried to call my boss’ num­ber. His voice mail said it was Fri­day and he was in the office. The last part might be true, but I know good and well today is Mon­day. I try call­ing his boss. She didn’t say what day it was on her voice mail but she was on voice mail, so… I hung up.

 I got back in bed and “De de de de de De de de de de.” And I thrust my right thumb harshly down upon the lit­tle red tele­phone with the sign of the beast, or what­ever that is, above it.

 Back to bed where I had decided to alarm myself at 8:30 instead of 8. If I am a lit­tle late to my office, it’s the main office’s fault for fax­ing my cell phone. I fall asleep about 8:10 and my dying-cow alarm knocks me out of bed, ready­ing me to either birth or bury what­ever calf that might be on hand. Thank good­ness, like always at least not for some 25 years, no cows.

 Not long after arriv­ing at work our monthly, regional tele­con­fer­ence began. At the end where Q & A are bandied about, I asked my boss who or why tried to fax my cell phone. He said we would talk about it after the con­fer­ence. It turned out to be no big deal. The main office was try­ing to fax my col­league who works out of her home. The unan­tic­i­pated rings really didn’t aggra­vate me. I  guess maybe if the mis­take had been made by some­one I despised for some rea­son that ticked me off I would have been really pissed.

 But there was no one to really get angry with so I am instead just left a lit­tle tired after the whole ordeal. I can’t help but won­der what the reac­tion would have been with a bed-partner? Sheesh. Recall­ing some of the femme fire­balls who at one time staked their claim to a side of my bed, chances are the sit­u­a­tion would not have been as mel­low as I now feel look­ing back on the episode.

 Maybe that whole “wak­ing up on the wrong side of the bed” relates to sleep­ing with some­one, as in a rela­tion­ship. I got to look that whole thing up as it will nag at me like an old girl­friend. But I think I should first take a nap.

Oh and PS, New­ton whipped/spanked/beat (sound­ing a lit­tle too S & M here?) Corrigan-Camden Fri­day night by a score of 40–21