Groggily, I reached over and started hitting buttons until it stopped.
At that point I became just slightly more awake, to the extent that I was aware of what time it was (though not what day) and that it seemed as though my alarm clock had been making an abortive attempt at going off.
That was when panic struck, as, still not fully awake, I started attempting to perform logical operations in my head based on the following set of observations:
- It was 5:15 in the morning.
- I was awoken by a sound my alarm clock had made.
- Off the top of my head, I had no idea what day it was.
The logical conclusion I came to based on these observations was that it was Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, my alarm clock, for whatever reason, had failed to properly go off at the correct time, possibly because the iPod couldn’t turn on and start playing music, and as a result I had overslept by fifteen minutes. The immediate course of action I needed to take, it followed, was to haul ass to the bathroom to take a quick shower, get dressed, and try to make my way in to work on time.
As I started to do this, I realized that the little icons that indicate that the alarm is turned on and that the iPod is the alarm source hadn’t been displaying on the clock when I’d rolled over to see what time it was, and, in fact, had appeared, briefly, when I was randomly hitting buttons and had hit the “Alarm On/Off” button, which meant that I’d either turned the alarm off when it came on fifteen minutes earlier, which seemed unlikely, or else I hadn’t turned the alarm on the night before.
With the assistance of the adrenaline that started flowing when I “realized” that I’d overslept for work, I’d become more fully awake and thought, “Why would I go to bed without turning the alarm on?”
Halfway to the bathroom the answer came to me: because it wasn’t the weekend, and I was not, in fact, going to be late for work.
Shaking my head in irritation, I made my way back to bed, having since figured out what day it actually was.
Eventually I managed to get back to sleep, though I still haven’t figured out why my alarm clock was making that noise.
Maybe it was some form of EVP, though if it was a ghost I probably wouldn’t have been interested in hearing what it had to say anyway. Nothing against ghosts, it’s just that I have little interest in hearing what most living people have to say, and I can’t really believe that dying does all that much to improve a person’s personality or the quality of things he or she has to say. Besides, I’m not interested in hearing what anyone – living or dead – has to say at 5:15 in the morning.
After I got back to sleep I actually “slept in” a bit, getting up sometime after 9.
I had a lot of stuff planned for the day, so I didn’t sit around for too long before I got to it.
First up was stopping at my bank to deposit the refund check from Adelphia.
Next on the agenda was getting a haircut.
Rather than the usual unattractive Hispanic or Asian lady, today I got my hair cut by an effeminate man of indeterminate ethnicity (I want to say Hispanic, but his accent wasn’t Hispanic), who had many positive things to say about the color of my hair, which I found a bit puzzling.
No, I wasn’t worried that he was coming on to me, it’s just that I hardly view my hair color as anything special.
Apparently, though, it is.
He asked, “Your hair, it’s naturally that way?”
I said that it was.
“So no dyes or anything? No highlights?”
I said no.
With a certain reverence, he said, “Ohhh, people pay lots of money to get their hair like yours.”
I wanted to say, “You mean people pay money to get their hair to look like some shitty shade of brownish-blonde that’s gone prematurely gray?” but didn’t. Nor did I say, in response to him speculating that people would love to know my “secret” that it consists of internalizing stress and anger, spending five years engaged in heavy drinking, and just letting time take care of the rest.
“So nice, with the streaks and highlights,” he said, eyeing the mounting pile of my shorn locks on the floor as if he had some kind of secret plan for them.
Maybe he’ll work out some new style based on my hair, and suddenly we’ll be seeing people all over sporting “The Jon Look.”
God, what a nightmare that would be, like walking around in some kind of extra-lame Bizarro World.
(As an aside, Kathleen pointed out that the guy might have just been hitting on me, which is, I suppose, entirely possible. If that was the case, I appreciate the sentiment, though I still haven’t reached a level of desperation that would make me even slightly interested.)
He wanted to stop cutting my hair at the point when it’s sort of puffy and round on top and makes me look like nothing so much as a Monchichi, but I told him that I wanted it shorter, so he broke out the clippers and buzzed it down closer to the scalp.
From there I went to the optometrist and picked up another three-month supply of contact lens cleaning solution, and headed off in search of a late breakfast/early lunch.
Breakfast/lunch was at the combo Taco Bell/KFC. Usually I order from the Taco Bell side of the menu, but the other night I was thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve had KFC, so that was the route I took.
After Scott and Brian were talking about some study that found that fast food ice frequently has more germs – and fecal matter – in it than the toilet water at the same restaurant, I opted not to get ice.
I was actually reminded of the study by the fact that an employee was cleaning up a mess by the drink dispenser that smelled very much like raw sewage. I’m not sure what happened there. Maybe someone spilled some ice.
After that it was on to Wal-Mart where I finally picked up some lamps. I’ve been needing new lamps for a while, as I’ve been getting by with only one, but I haven’t been able to find any that I liked. Today I decided that I was just going to go with the least objectionable.
I got a floor lamp for my bedroom, a small desk lamp for my nightstand, and a table lamp to put by the front door so that I can have some light when I get home from work and am putting my shoes and jacket in the closet.
From Wal-Mart it was on to the grocery store, and then home.
As I said, this was a very busy day by my standards.
Once I got home and put the groceries away and put the lamps together it was a bit after 2. Normally the mail is in by that time, so I headed over to check it. The mailman had just arrived, so I headed back home. I then decided to grab the Nano and go for a walk.
By the time I got back from my walk it was 3:30 and the mailman was still here, having just gotten started on the block of mailboxes that mine is in.
I hung out for a while, waiting, but it was becoming apparent that the mailman just didn’t want to go to the next stop on his route and was deliberately taking his time here, so I went home again.
Once there I discovered that while I had, for a change, closely followed my shopping list, there were some things that I’d forgotten to put on the list, so I headed over to Super Target.
That my mail, when I finally was able to get it on my way back home, was all junk was pretty irritating.
I’d been planning to make a fairly big dinner, using a couple Crazy Hot Italian recipes, but just as I was sitting down to watch Giada my phone went off to let me know that I’d gotten a text message from Brian.
He was inviting me to join them for dinner at what has, apparently, become their local hangout, the sports bar that Brian and I had lunch at last week.
I opted to join them, though this meant that I had to put my plans for making a pot roast in my newly acquired crock pot (technically it’s a “slow cooker,” as “Crock Pot” is a brand name) tomorrow. I’d bought the roast today and hadn’t put it in the freezer yet.
However, I have to use the meat that I thawed out for today’s meal tomorrow, so I had to put the roast in the freezer and postpone it until another day.
The sports bar, or rather “Sports Café,” was pretty packed. Brian, Kathleen, and I were joined by their friend Rebecca, who had gone to my realtor’s holiday party with Kathleen and I back in December.
Once I got out of the bar I realized that I am officially, after nearly two years, a non-smoker, as I was conscious of just how much my clothes and hair smelled like cigarette smoke.
When I first got there the smoke didn’t bother me. In fact, it kind of made me want one of my own, but after a while it got to be a bit much.
And that was my busy, exciting day, the highlight of which was probably having the big-boobed waitress call me “hon.” She wasn’t real cute (though by default she was cuter than the guy who cut my hair), and I know she wasn’t expressing any sort of interest, but it honestly doesn’t take much to make my day. Also, there’s just a certain classic appeal to a waitress who calls you “hon,” though the overall effect would have been better if she were a gum-smacking waitress with a beehive working in some greasy spoon.
The burger I had was pretty good, if terribly unhealthy (which is why it was good), as it included two slices of Canadian Bacon.
For maximum flavor I would have upped the cholesterol ante, though, and added a fried egg.
But that’s just me.
In any case, that was my busy day.
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