Yesterday at work I had a two hour long conversation about celery. With Lynne. I’d love to tell you what exactly we were saying, but I think we were both asleep at the time. I believe I ended the conversation by saying something like “next time I’m at the grocery store, I’m going to get up in celery’s grill and ask it what the fuck.
And then I had a little incident with the breast pump.
Have I ever told you that I bring my breast pump, Mr. Thirsty, with me to work so I can pump during my dinner break instead of reading People magazine or something awesome like all normal people? Well, I do because I’m dedicated and kind of heroic and quite probably a better mother than you.
And I do it standing up in the men’s staff bathroom because it’s the only private place in the whole building and nobody uses it. The director wants us (I’m not the only one with a kid on the boob juice)to use the kitchen on the second floor just off a very dark and super creepy old room where monks used to have their dinner and also sometimes pray they’ll stop popping boners when they shower next to the other monks and stuff.
And people have keys to that room and to the kitchen. And there’s a window in the kitchen door which makes it anyone? anyone?
And my breasticles are shy, you guys, and they won’t do it when they think somebody can see–just like when you’re in a public bathroom and there’s other people there too and it’s dead. silent. and you CANNOT PEE and the more you think about peeing, the pee is just like “Fuck you! I’m not coming out!” And so you sit there just waiting for everyone to leave and then somebody farts and you try really, really hard not to laugh.
It’s exactly like that except totally different.
Anyway, I have become the stealth pumper and I run into the men’s room super fast so I don’t get caught by the feds or the director or somebody and then when I turn the pump on, I stand really, really close to it so as to muffle out the whoo-pssh! whoo-pssh! of the pump because it’s a pretty unmistakable sound and if I get caught, I’ll be dragged out by my ear and sent to the kitchen and I DON’T WANNA PUMP WITH DEAD MONKS WATCHING ME because they’re scary.
Also, they smell like dead people (probably).
This is a long post, right?
And so there I am, and I’m pumping and I’m thinking my thoughts and planning my plans and admiring my new boots and wishing I wasn’t standing up in the men’s room milking myself, when out of the corner of my eye, I notice something scurry across the floor and it was coming TOWARD ME!
And so I looked at it and it looked at me and it was a fucking spider the size of my head! (not really, but it makes this story soooo much more interesting. It was still big though. I didn’t take a picture so you’re going to have to trust me.) and normally I’m not scared of spiders but it scared the hell out of me and I yelled “GAH! SHIT!” and then I lost my grip on the pumpings and dropped the cups to the floor which made a terrible echo-y clatter as they spilled and splashed the walls.
And guess who was just outside the door when all hell broke loose in the mens’ room?
There wasn’t anyone outside the door and I know this because I checked before I started wiping Homeslice’s dinner off the floor and the walls and my NEW FUCKING SUEDE BOOTS.
And no, I had not waterproofed them yet, like an asshole.
And I got it all cleaned up and everything and poor Homeslice had to have formula for dinner, but I didn’t get caught pumping in the men’s room which is good, so this story has a mixed ending of both happy and sad pony feelings.
That’s the most interesting stuff that’s happened to me in the last 24 hours.
PS:I’m going to have to sit under my desk and pump from now on because I’ll be damned if I go into that men’s room again.
PSS: The spider is waiting to kidnap me and take me to her web and eat me. I’m reasonably sure that could happen. Like, 75% sure. It was a BIG motherfucking spider, okay?