Yeah, I had to work yesterday. Yes, I had to interrupt my lovely sleep with The Boy I Currently Like to call in to make sure I didn't have to work today. But I think I can get through this week.
Cute Coworker told me when I called in that he found and disposed of the decomposing mouse that was causing the office funk. It was in my computer. IN MY COMPUTER, y'all. I believe a call to the Health Department is on the horizon.
Yesterday, Cute Coworker didn't think Stuart Little could really be rotting away inside the actual computer housing, but apparently he took my words ("Dude, mice can get into the tiniest places. I bet it is in there.) to heart. I thought The Boy was in dreamland while I was on the phone, but I guess he overheard my side of the conversation. He said Stuart probably not only died in my computer, but he probably lived there, too. And he is probably right, because, where the fuck else would Mike the Office Rat live if not in my computer?
My boss comes back this week, though. We did just fucking fine without her this past week. Yes, I realize how ridiculous it is to say that we did just fine without her and I had to work over the weekend. But honestly, the stuff during the week went smoothly when Cute Coworker and I were left to our own devices. Now we get Eating Issues McGee back to micromanage us.
I think I can make it through the week because I feel a ton better after getting to spend a good chunk of quality time with The Boy. And ("I Turn My Camera On" is on tonight's The Simpsons. AWESOME!) we have plans for Tuesday (spicing up Monday in a Hat, y'all!). That fixes my dilemma about whether or not to see South at the Turf Club that night. I love them and I've only missed one of their shows in town. However, it would have been a late night taking the bus to and from St. Paul. I'm also kinda broke this week. And trying to make it through three more excruciating work days after the show is something I did not want to face. I'll live without seeing them. Guess I'm growing up or something.
Plus, I got to go to my nephew's first baseball game tonight. This is their first year pitching (he's nine, going on 10). It ended up being not nearly as painful as I thought it might be. My nephew is apparently the closer. This means that he pitches the last two innings. There was no closer needed for this game. They won quite handily. And Jesus H. Christ, y'all, that child has a rocket arm. His accuracy, though? Well, he only hit one batter. It should be an interesting season.