Send in the clones

I’m going to temporarily lift my moratorium on workblogging to pitch a fit because the cleaning crew is somehow cleaning EVERY bathroom on EVERY floor simultaneously. My bladder? She hates me. And housekeeping, of course.

I don’t drink alcohol anything during the day, except for the occasional, glorious cup of coffee. I don’t really get off my ass much at all — I’m glued to the computer and it never fails that, the second I get up, something urgent rolls in. So, call it a pre-emptive strike.

But at 7 p.m., I remember that I have a bladder. And that’s usually what prompts me to go the hell home already. (That and delirium.) The ritual is the same every night: I visit the toily on my floor. Barricaded. Men’s room, too — I have no shame. So I will work my way down the stairs, looking for restrooms that are not filled with five women with mops and brushes. By the time I get to the first floor, I’m ready to introduce the mops to the business end of their holders.

I’m convinced they somehow beam themselves downstairs, or else send in their clones or at least close family members who will taunt me with their, “Oh, you wanted in here? Hah. Tough! I will hang out in here and laugh at your miserable little bladder out there!”

Seriously, for the next four months three months and 27 days, I have a 33-mile drive home. Please don’t make me do it jaundiced. I drove home tonight in 21 minutes — don’t fuck with a girl who has to pee. And sure, I could have stopped at a nearby business to relieve myself, but I was also trying to make it home for “American Idol” so extraneous stops weren’t an option.

As if I needed another reason to move closer.

Speaking of, what the HELL is up with the high rates/move-in fees/pet deposits/pet rents per cat/security deposits/ass-wiping fees that these apartment complexes have the audacity to charge? In BFE? Christ, it’s not a fucking honor to live in Maryland. Get a grip, you holier-than-thou apartment-management types. All I want is one bedroom and a damn toilet. Hell, just the toilet will do — lord knows I never use the ones at work. …

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