F*ck.Them.

This week has been such a bummer.

Last week, we had the 4th and all the festivities with that. I had to work going in to the weekend and by the end of it, I was worn out. Monday, brought my monthly cycle (there should be a rule somewhere that it never starts on a Monday). That day I got a rejection letter in the mail about that job I interviewed for a few weeks back. I’d kind of figured that I hadn’t but the news still stung all the same. I wadded up the envelope and then tore off one corner of it to write my grocery list on. This is what I think of you now, I thought. I wrote down toilet paper and tampons. Yeah, kiss my ass.  If I didn’t think it would be so rough I would have wiped my @ss with the envelope, too. But, why inconvenience myself – I’d already been inconvenienced to go all the way down there in the middle of the day to waste my time interviewing. And, a panel interview, too. Those things are brutal. Fuuuuuuuuuck them. F*ck.Them!

Wednesday, Charlie had interview. This was part of a process, too. She had taken a test the previous week to be qualified for the job and then had to go through an orientation and one-on-one interview. We were all sure she had it until she called me sobbing that she’d just gotten an email saying she didn’t pass the PTA (whatever the f*ck that stands for Potential Turd @ss? Professional Tit Assessor? Pre-engineered Twat Accessory? What?). Talk about disappointment. Fuuuuuck them, too!

That night I met her in the driveway with cold beer in hand and the dogs running around greeting her as they always do when she drives up. (There’s nothing to cheer you up more than a cold beer and dogs who are glad to see you, in my book)  She changed clothes and we sat in the carport sipping beers. She started to tear up and I said, “Let’s go on down to Jacks and have some pizza and wings.” That seemed to do it and off we went.

I mean, there are different degrees and situations of cheering up.

On a nice day, on a weekend I’m off there’s Piedmont Park, Joe’s on Juniper and the dog park. A family affair.

Nights where we just are in the mood for tacos there’s our fav Mexican joint in the neighborhood. I did note that last night was margarita Wednesday and thought it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to go there. I still texted bartender, Ashley to ask if she was working and got a reply back of “Nooooo, NO!” Hmm, even Ashley wouldn’t go near there on Wednesday nights. All I needed was for this night to happen again.

But, I digress. Saturday nights we like to go to the edgier neighborhood to the Graveyard Tavern and then Mary’s. We hadn’t had a Saturday night like that in awhile which needs to be in the near future again.

But, real emergencies we go to Jacks Pizza and Wings. It’s cheap and good and an interesting crowd. Despite Charlie and I being the only lesbians in there no one seems to bat an eye – even when we decide to make out a little bit at the table. There’s Denny – an old man in overalls and a straw cowboy hat who looks like one of the farmers that my father eats breakfast with at the truck stop every morning sitting at the bar with his big mug of something they always keep filled. Even Denny doesn’t stare and he should because we’re two hot blondes and we’d be, like, the start of a porno to him but he nods, acknowledging us.

We sat at a high top and had honey bourbon wings, slices of pizza that we both could only eat half of and draft high life’s. The wounds of the week licked and the pain dulled – until another day.

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