Or, In Which We Discover That Friend #4 Is a Guest Blogger.
You know how I get with secrets. Here's a secret: Friend #4 has an issue with My Ex. (My Ex-Employer. Lets call my ex-job ... Elliot. My sedate work-spouse of 17.5 years to whom I was faithful until I was wooed away by hot young new employer with the tongue stud. Let's call him Teddy J.)
We had Friend #2's (n*10)th birthday GNO on Friday night. We all pledged GNO secrecy, spat into our palms, and swore that what is discussed at GNO stays at GNO.
Still, Friend #4 sent me this Guest Post! She is telling the Internet her business! Here's the guest post:
Ellen and I spoke Friday night at a gathering where all is to remain confidential. Without breaking said confidentiality, I can tell you that I had big plans for today and agreed to guest blog about them. Said plans did not happen, because of my cell phone bill.
Ah yes, a cell phone bill. A $293 cell phone bill to be precise. I have worked in exile for months in a conference room with two other women, five computers, and a speaker phone. I support multiple clients and continued to do so, even while working on site at one of them. Since it's not polite to discuss one client's business on a speakerphone in the middle of a conference room at another client, I used my cell phone. A lot.
My husband takes care of our bills and does a fine job at it. Unfortunately he didn't realize I had increased usage and was consistently eating into our carryover balance, and I never thought to tell him to look. We ran out of carryover minutes last month, about $230 before I was done talking. My employer does not have a good policy for reimbursing cell phone usage, so it is murky what I can be reimbursed. I have clearly shown that my personal usage is within my plan's limits. A meeting about it today indicates they will pay the difference, pending approval from someone who is on vacation until Wednesday.
What on earth could a cell overage have to do with blog-worthy plans? Tune in later this week to find out.
Check it out! A guest post from someone who isn't drunk. Or else she's drunk with bitterness. I think she's hinting at these secrets just so I don't follow my usual secret self-sabotage. (When asked to keep a secret I dredge up horrible information about myself and spill that.) So maybe I won't do that this time.
Later: Pig feathers tickle when pigs fly out of my ass. Today, I spent five minutes pulling on my socks and snapping them to make big clouds of dry skin billow around my feet. And I had just worn these socks one day. Uhhh ... like I always do.