Dear Future Leslee,
Things! They continue. I’m trying to decide what I want to talk about first, but to be honest it’s all amazing. Well, it isn’t ALL amazing. Some of it is ridiculous. I’ve often said that my life feels like an inside joke that I’m not in on, and this hasn’t changed much over the years.
I am finally settling in to life at my Mamasita’s place, and I can honestly say it’s gotten better. Still no internet on my lappy, but we went grocery shopping and I rectified most of my existential angst and juvenile frustration with the careful application of tzatziki and zucchini. The woman has cable and really good knives, which I appreciate, and a washer and dryer that weren’t built before I hit puberty, so things could definitely be worse. Also, last Wednesday she re-stocked the booze cabinet, and as long as I’m just a little bit drunk I really don’t mind my family that much at all.
I should probably mention that I did come home a few nights ago to find my mom asleep in front of the TV, which wouldn’t be weird, except that she was mostly topless.
As for work, I’m back at the clinic for now, which means all the pregnant ladies, all the time, and it’s fabulous. It’s really delightful to be in a place where the nurses and the doctors and the patients all love me, and will tell me so, day after day after day. Mind you, I did threaten to punch the research nurse if she stopped loving me, which is probably not the best way to maintain functional work relationships. There is also the possibility that the threat of violence is the best way to ensure a good working environment, which is what I’m really hoping for, because otherwise I’m screwed. Well, at least if I get fired, I’ll leave this place the way I came in: punching everyone.
I have actually gotten a real, honest-to-goodness full-time job at the hospital, which is so exciting it hurts. One of the doctors I work with is the department head (my bosses’ boss) for the position, which I was unaware of until he told me that I he needed to interview me as the second stage of the application process. I’ve been calling this guy by his first name and making fun of him and sending him emails with smileys for the better part of a year, so I guess if he’s still willing to give me a job I must be doing something right.
I’m taking swing dancing class now, and it is pretty great, except for that one guy who smells like pee. Like, strongly. Of pee. He also has probably the worst teeth I’ve ever seen, and I’m something of a teeth connoisseur, which is likely one of the creepiest things I’ve ever said about myself. After talking to my Mom about this, she suggested that he might have kidney failure and should probably see a doctor. I’m an advocate of telling him this, nicely (if there is a nice way to tell somebody they smell like pee) but both the Woman (who takes the class with me) and the Gorg disagree. The Woman claims that it is not our place to tell this man he smells like pee, and the Gorg thinks it’s unnecessary. Quote: “If it is kidney failure, then this is one of those problems that will solve itself.”
…best kind of problem?
Anyway, other than horribly offensive things and moderately offensive things and my family and my job and my various nefarious activities, nothing much is happening. Fall is on its’ way. I can feel the chill in the air, and it’s making me nostalgic for grade five, and the happy optimism of a new year of French grammar and beating people up in gym class.
I’m still fucking serious about dodgeball,