Manbearpig?

Despite the awesome (though still sweaty) weather, I'm afraid to rescue my bicycle from the patio closet where I deposited it more than two months ago. I don't have a helmet yet, but that's not the root of my fear. Rather, it's the family of Crabfrogcrickets that dwell in the closet that truly freak me out. I've never seen such abominations in my life. They have the body shape of crabs (like huge lozenges), the "skin" color and texture of frogs, and the legs of mutantly large crickets. I can tell they are a family, because there is one of about every size from tiny baby up to big daddy. It's a large multigenerational Catholic family, too... there are a lot of 'em. I've become a little more inured to the big fucking hugantic bugs and spiders around here, I guess. But these ones really creep me out because they make joint-popping sounds when I open the closet door. It's like their legs are that big... it makes me want to set fire to them or spray them with Windex, not because they threaten me, per se, but just because they are SO WRONG. But instead I think I'll just avoid that closet. Maybe something bigger will come along and eat them. I bet they taste like chicken.

Today's mission was to enclose the porch/patio in some kind of netting so that the cat could roam out there sans leash... and so I could read my paper without him dragging me out of my chair. I spent about $20 at Ace getting garden netting--the real light vinyl kind you throw over your vegetable garden to prevent it from becoming the most popular salad bar amongst the local woodland creature population. The result looks like a clusterfuck, as most homemade project without instructions or design time tend to. But I was confident that it would dissuade the cat from leaving the patio. Well, it took him some time, but I blinked and he was suddenly on the other side of the netting. So not only did I have to undo the net to tackle him, I don't even know how to fix the clusterfuck. So now it will simply be a cat slow-down net so I can stop kicking the door jamb every time I come in and out to keep him from bolting. But he'll still have to wear the leash, only now there will be no walkies. He'll be leashed and lying down or leashed and tangled up in a net. Sucks to be rash, huh Fenway?

What is it with working on the weekend? What the fuck? Who else on earth has to do this? Is it really not enough to work a 48 hour week? I feel like I was given a guilt trip for not volunteering my Sunday afternoon to head back into the office, 20 miles away. Instead, I ended up doing a half day of work in my low-tech home so that I could at least claim to have made a contribution, but REALLY... what is this bullshit about? Don't feed me this line that architects, like lawyers and doctors, must do whatever it takes to get the job done. Those people make three times what I make straight out of their higher ed graduation. And they go on lengthy vacations. And get scads of misappropriated respect from the laypeople. I get shit. I get lousy stress working on junky projects that no one will care about even at the ribbon cutting ceremony. I AM NOT ON CALL. YOU DO NOT OWN MY TIME PAST 40 HOURS. Any time I'm willing to work past that is because I like to do a good job, so please start approaching your requests for my sacred weekend time in that light. I do not have a fiancee or wife or girlfriend or mom to cook my meals, do my laundry, feed my cat, do my grocery shopping, clean my bathroom, and return my library books. THERE MUST BE A TIME IN MY WEEK TO DO THIS AS WELL AS FIGURE OUT WHY THE FUCK I MOVED TO RALEIGH. Every minute I spend in the office is another minute that my ACTUAL life goals are not realized. So, do not be SURPRISED, do not act DISAPPOINTED, and certainly do not try to GUILT me if, for God's sake and my own, I want two full fucking days of not having to work. Fuck you, gees.