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Sights & Smells of the New Year January 5, 2011

Posted by Kimmothy in Whatever.

One of my therapist’s favorite topics she likes to bring up every so often is “the triggers.” With recovering addicts, just about anything can be a trigger: a smell, a song, in one case bus fumes because the girl used to buy her crack downtown and smell bus fumes while she was doing it. I understand the concept – I’ve had actual physical reactions seeing certain types of drug use in movies and on TV (let’s just say I don’t watch a lot of Intervention) and it’s always scary and weird. But last night I had something like the opposite happen. A good trigger? I don’t know. Either way –

Brian came home feeling festive for whatever reason and had bought a lottery ticket and a Black & Mild cigar. He doesn’t buy either of those two things very often, so I don’t know what was up with him. Anyway, he lit up the cigar while we were out on the porch talking about our days and oh my God that smell. It immediately took me RIGHT BACK to when we quit smoking because I was trying to get pregnant. (He used cigars to help quit cigarettes; not sure how but it seemed to work for him and didn’t bother me, so whatever.) But instantly I had that same feeling of excited anticipation I did for all those months and it didn’t take too long to figure out that the cigar smell equalled the last time I was really happy and looking forward to something. It was really cool. I guess it would be kind of selfish of me to ask him to smoke cigars every night so it smells like happiness though. Cigar-scented incense, perhaps? I’ll have to look into that.

We’ve taken so much foreclosure detrius to the various dumps lately they’re beginning to recognize us on sight and even in one case, whose name I now know is Rick, he helps me haul the heavy crap out of the back of the truck if I’m there alone. I was in that predicament Monday and as soon as he saw me pull up, Rick jumped on his little front-loader and zipped right over to help. We got to talking about how the various metals are pretty valuable these days – I’m glad Rick is up on his economics – and I laughingly told him I was probably going to end up selling my car for whatever metal parts it has (as opposed to the plastic parts, which since it’s a Saturn that means it’s pretty much a riding Tupperware container) as opposed to trying to trade it in. He asked me how much I wanted for it and I froze for a minute thinking, Could I actually be wheeling and dealing something here? I told him five hundred because what the hell, right? He said, Well, I’ll be back here working this weekend and I’ll have cash in hand if you want to bring it over. It obviously hasn’t happened yet, but I’m damn skippy driving or dragging Bessie over to the dump Saturday, along with her title, three ignition keys and a big Whoopety-doo for my potential new hero Rick. Too early to officially be excited, but definitely pre-cited right now.

It was a little surreal returning to work after seventeen consecutive days off. Not all together bad, as I do like being back in a workday routine, but still. That’s our biggest break of the year and it was a little sad yesterday realizing we’re at the absolute furthest point from when it happens again; everyone agreed on that. There is some happiness though and that is my EX-boss, Shorty McAsspain, is no longer in any supervisory role whatsoever, as they hired a new person for our director from outside of our agency. Oh, the revenge is sweet on so many levels. She is so ill-equipped to deal with reality though that even after a demotion, losing out to another candidate to be the boss, having almost all of your job descriptions and duties taken away from you, you still insist on hanging around and riding out your humiliating new identity for as long as possible. I guess when you make over seventy grand a year to walk around and bother people it sort of makes sense. Wouldn’t be me, but then again I’d never know so who can really say. I do know I don’t ever want to be where I’m not wanted, so maybe missing all social cues is a blessing.

And just for fun, here is visual proof of how important a role the flat iron has played in my life:

Before: Jew-fro

After: Fro-be-gone!



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