So, remember back in May, when I had my stalker? Yesterday was Stalker Day #2. I always have to wonder what these people think when they leave our house, because you know, we really are pretty odd.
Granted, it's not exactly normal around here, because everyone's been sick, but I am on the upside of it now, asthma aside, so I went ahead and had them come. Last time, I got one person, a very sweet girl named Lindsey, for the entire day. She was pretty quiet, but tagged along to the eye doctor with us, among other things, then watched the LOST season finale with us. We made it a party, of course, but never explained to the other people why this girl was watching me intently, and charting my every movement into her laptop.
She said that no one would believe the data, because at one point, I was watching Project Runway on the DVR, with my laptop on my lap, while talking on two phones at the same time. What can I say? It's Utter Chaos around here.
So yesterday, I started out with a sweet girl -- poor thing -- who was met at the door by me in my jammies, fresh out of bed less than three minutes before, looking like the Wild Man of Borneo (with cleavage). I'm talking hair totally askew, floodwater, bleach stained blue jammies, and a Faith Ministries T Shirt. It wasn't pretty, I'll say, but she still came in.
Good thing, cause she got to watch me do some cleaning for a while, and by the time I was done with my bedroom, she'd scored a brand new set of luggage -- a gift for 5 years of employment with the company, intended for Thomas when he went to school, but never opened, when I realized that the boy only travels with a laundry basket and a backpack -- and a vintage 60s brocade set that she just mentioned was pretty. It was a weird combination of puke green and blue that really did look nice, with a matching jacket, in mint condition and, after she tried it on, fit her like a glove.
My stalkers can score some goods, man.
So we hung out most of the day, because I am still kind of blah from the leftover of the cold/asthma/whatever the heck is going on with me, and just kind of cleaned, did laundry, watched TV, and started to list some patterns, but never really got around to it. Kind of boring, really.
But then, at 3 o'clock or so, I was chatting on the phone with my friend Ann, when someone knocked on the door. We'd already had one guy here, asking if we wanted lawn work done, so when I saw a guy's partial head through the window in the door, I prepared my "sorry, I have teenagers to do that" speech, and opened the door, telling Annie to hang on for a minute. I have, however, gotten so used to the canine version of Utter Chaos, that I forgot to get the dogs away. Well, actually, I figured I could deal with it through the screen, so I didn't need to restrain them -- and didn't particularly want to, because when a strange man is at your door, he kind of backs off and thinks twice when Cujo's around.
When I got the door open, I was met with a much cuter, shorter version of my college boyfriend (who was 6'8", so who isn't shorter, really). He was a cutie patootie, and way too cute to be raking leaves. I felt like an idiot when I asked him how I could help him, and he said he was here for the study. Oopsie! I forgot about the changing of the guard. Invited him in.
And Boo lunged and bit him, right on his coat. Dayum. He probably would've taken a piece out of him if I hadn't grabbed him back, totally mortified. So Mr Cutie is standing there, wondering if this stalker stuff is worth it at all. He finally came in, after a little convincing and, after being assured that the beast had been restrained in Seth's room, actually relaxed a little bit.
Poor guy. And it got worse. Within an hour we were on our way to see Jill's senior pictures. All 219 of them. No joke. They took 219 photos of my darling Bratty Girl. And, good sport that he was, he actually was interested for a while, giving a little -- all positive -- input. After a while, he quit faking it, pulled out "The Autobiography of Malcolm X," and got comfortable. What a trooper.
I think he probably had a hallelujah moment when Dan got home, and we sat down for dinner. Now, this guy didn't get any luggage, and God knows he didn't get any vintage boleros, but he did get a mighty fine pot roast. Heck, that in and of itself, skewed the results, because cooking for me is a rarity. I guess I should've pointed that out, but he was enjoying himself too much. Even helped with the dishes. I was seriously starting to bond with him.
Settled in watched Monday's episode of Dancing with the Stars on the DVR, then watched some Jeopardy while Dan went out to buy some new dog bowls (to replace the ones the Boo had chewed up) and get some movies. Boo, by now, was having a love fest with my stalker, bringing him toys so he'd play with him, and looking pathetic, like he knew that he'd been bad. Even jumped up on the couch next to him and went to sleep, using his backpack as a pillow. Oh yeah, they called it Puppy Love.
Till he went to leave. When he stood up and went to shake Jill's hand goodbye, he got a wee little growl, that went up exponentially the longer he stayed there. It's obvious that Jill will never get married while this dog breathes. Stalker just backed away slowly, and took his leave.
How many people thank their lucky stars that their stalker survives their bodyguard? Honestly. But hey, it's all in the name of money, cause I get paid $250 bucks for being stalked, and money is always good. And if I didn't have to pay bills with it, I'd be buying this fabulous , because it is probably the prettiest thing I've seen all week. From bopbbysgirl, on the bay.
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