Split Happens
Tuesday, May. 30, 2006 at 11:16 a.m.
AUGH!!
C, my co-worker with the infinite number of issues, once again is having trouble finding childcare. Her babysitter is AWOL and she has no back-up plan. Well, actually, her back-up plan is to not come in to work. Today, however, this is not good. I have to leave an hour early because I have a CT scan that I�ve rescheduled twice to accommodate someone else�s schedule, and D, the perpetually useless supervisor, had to do the overnight shift because no one else was available as we have no backups for any shift. So she�s leaving shortly, but C can�t get someone to babysit, so guess what?
D told her to bring the kid here.
This is an almost-two-year-old. This is not an infant that can be happy for extended periods in a carrier. This is an active child, and for some reason, active children decide they demand my full attention. And sit on my lap with their little sticky bodies that register at over 30,000 BTUs. And demand my candy bar in piercing tones that can bend metal.
***Well, it�s now 3 hours later (I hate it when my job interferes with my life) and it turns out the C was able to hand the kid over to a neighbor for at least a while, so I have been saved from the potential evilness of a small child.
I don�t hate children. I like children okay. They taste like chicken.
Anyhoo, the Hubster and I had a nice weekend except for when we went bowling yesterday. We�re really struggling with bowling and of course, the recommended course of action is to spend $300 on new bowling balls that are �reactive for the way lanes are built now.�
I�m not sure if this is a load of hooey. What I do know is that my game has gone straight into the gutter (gah! Literally) and I�ve seen other folks get their new reactive fancy bowling balls and suddenly start throwing 50 pins over their average. This all has something to do with plastic balls having no friction, yada yada, stuff and all that.
But speaking of plastic balls:
Of course, this is only funny when your mind is in the gutter. Like mine. With my damn cheapo bowling ball.