2002-02-21

mamadeb: Writing MamaDeb (Default)
2002-02-21 10:15 am

Bits and pieces and stuff

I'm currently working up courage to call a plumber so that A. we can get our showerhead repaired and B. so we can see about moving the stove and the washing machine/dryer hookups so I actually have room for the washing maching/dryer hookup. Then we can by a stackable and I will be a real person (somewhere along the way, I've defined that as "adult owning one's own laundry machines, or at least not having to schlep laundry to the laundromat." Do not ask me why, nor do I define anyone else not owning said devices as a not-real person. Just me, and mainly just me on laundry day.)

I know the plumber. He's a very sweet guy. My boss, who manages apartments, uses him. I just need to call. It doesn't help that we hope to go away next week. More on that anon.

My boss. My boss is a very bright and talented lady who knows her businesses well - she's a real estate broker, an office manager, a building manager and runs a renovation contractor as well. She is basically a very good go-between, knowing people, supplies and money matters. And she does have a way with people. I've seen her - and she's *small* - stand up to a scary-drunk man, yelling at him. "Just *look* at yourself. Didn't you *promise* me you'd shape up?" And he acted like a bad schoolboy. It was, well. Amazing.

But she's also mercurial. One moment, she's happy and smiling and joking, or cuddling babies, the next she's angry. I'm the receptionist/secretary. My job ranges from stultifying boring when the phone doesn't ring and there is no work, even make work, I can do to rote and mechanical to juggling customers, listings, phone calls and agents all at the same time. Because, as in everything else, things tend to all happen at once. I can multitask. But at one point, what she sees is me fielding phone calls while an agent is taking a listing because the client was bored waiting for me. And she gets upset. *sigh*

On the other hand. My husband is. Unique. He was watching Cheney on Leno night before last and then as it was repeated on the Daily Show last night. Cheney mentioned being an "avid bird hunter" and how he'd found "undisclosed locations" in various states with pheasants, grouse and quail. Jonathan thought it was hilarious. "The Axis of dinner." When I nodded - I mean, obvious, right?, he said, "Because those are game birds." It seems my husband, who has only ever done target shooting with a 22 at scout camp because basically we're forbidden to hunt (animals killed by any method other than the one specifically prescribed are rendered unkosher, and killing animals needlessly is also forbidden.) heard "avid bird hunter" as meaning "bird watcher." But this is also the man who brought home an egg-shaped tea pot surrounded by little bunnies because it was *cute*, totally oblivious to how very Easterish it was. And he wonders why I never use it!

And yes, I love him for that.

Trip/Purim planning is proceeding slowly. I need to bake today. And maybe write Cara a story.
mamadeb: Writing MamaDeb (Default)
2002-02-21 09:20 pm

If He Knew

Happy Birthday, Cara

*He'd hate me if he knew.* Cyanide took another pull at his beer, and stared at his best friend. Skids was smiling as usual, amused at the world in general, laughing with Harley. Maybe that was all it was - just Skid's pure joy in life. Skids was everything good, everything lovely. Everything hot and sexy.

He remembered how Skids' sleeping mouth had tasted all those months ago, how it felt warm and soft against his lips. How safe he'd felt wrapped in Skids' arms. How right it had felt New Year's Eve.

But that was only a joke.

Skids liked jokes. He was flirting with Harley now, making silly faces and batting his eyelashes, and Harley, who was practically *married* to Mik, was flirting back while that damned Russian glowered at both of them.

Cyanide wished he could glower, but what would be the point? Only Mik would know, and Mik didn't matter. Oh, God, Skids was looking at him with that smile. He found himself smiling back because that was the only thing anyone could do when Skids looked at him. And Harley was looking at Mik, and there was so much love in his face.

Cya took another drink and wondered if he would ever be able to look at anyone like that. Not too likely, given that he was wasting his time being in love with another guy, no matter how lovely and shibby and wonderful the guy was. He didn't even *like* guys. He liked girls. He was *straight*, except that no girl was Skids and so he didn't bother with them anymore.

Oh, God, they were kissing. Again. How would it be to kiss Skids? Heck, if he was going to imagine things, what if Skids kissed *him*? Wrapped his arms around him, pressed that so lovely body against his? Leaned him back...tossed him to the bed. Touched him.

If Skids wanted to touch him, Cyanide would let him do whatever he wanted. *Whatever* he wanted. He knew it was wrong, he knew he shouldn't want that, but it would be okay with Skids.

Except. Skids would hate him if he knew.