Fireball Whisky
Just like every morning, my alarm clock rings at 5:25 am and tears me out of my well-deserved sleep. And the amazing dreamland where I get to see half naked men that I otherwise don’t have time for.
I was just sitting on the beach sipping cocktails and watching the muscular lifeguard as he walked around the beach, stopping every now and then to talk to some children that were running and jumping around. The tight-fitting swim trunks left little to the imagination... Even through the tinted lenses of my sunglasses I could see the contours of his impressive manhood as clear as day.
However, before he could turn around to walk back to his tower and present me with his hopefully equally appealing backside, this fucking alarm clock rings, of course, and yanks me out of the warm Caribbean sun with its annoying beeping!
Without further ado, I grab the horribly beeping bugger and throw it against the opposite wall with all my might. Unfortunately, it doesn’t stick to the wall as I had imagined in my drowsy brain. It shatters into individual parts, flying off in all directions. Fucking plastic!
To claim I am a balanced person this early in the morning is really far from the truth at this point. Early in the morning I’m short-tempered and often a bit irascible. But who wouldn’t be, after staying up late at night working on lists and reports for work?
Carefully, to avoid stepping on the splintered plastic with my bare feet, I crawl out of bed - but not carefully enough! At the attempt to dance through my bedroom into the adjoining bathroom like a ballerina, which I am not, to empty my overflowing bladder, I stub my little toe on the door frame.
Cursing, I hop around on one leg and try not to injure myself even more.
My cat, is watching me with great interest. But to me it feels more like she’s glaring at me, because my spontaneously occurring Tourette’s syndrome has woken her up. The fat monstrosity that has escaped the depth of the Hellmouth is probably hoping that I’ll fall straight into the cupboard where her food is. Gluttonous fur ball!
Just when I want to tell her that she can kiss my ass, the animal comes to life. I thought... But Ace just stretches out yawning, turns around her own axis a few times and curls up to go back to sleep as if nothing had happened.
“Stupid bitch,” I mutter, offended. I would love to do the same. But real life awaits me, with all its inconveniences.
Dog-tired, pissed off and badly hurt, I limp into the bathroom. Relieved, I sit down on the toilet and let things run their course. There is almost nothing better than finally being able to go to the toilet when the bladder is pressing.
After matching the status of my bladder to my physical condition, I turn on the water in the shower to warm it up while I brush my teeth.
One look in the mirror is enough to convince me that I should have just stayed in bed. I have dark circles under my eyes that I can only cover with several tons of makeup. On top of that, my hair looks like I spent the night in an electrical outlet. They stick out in all directions!
That’s it!!! I never sleep with my hair loose again and decide to buy some hair ties after work to tame the mane. Or I’ll just shave my head…
With a slight shake of my head, I turn away from my frightening reflection, undress, step into the shower and sigh with pleasure as the warm water hits my bare skin.
While I’m still in the shower, I decide to welcome the day the way it deserves; with the middle finger! If I was more rested, I might be able to admit that it’s actually my own fault... Far too often I sit at my laptop for far too long and bust my ass just so that I can? get promoted and my application doesn’t end up in the trash again.
With a moan, I enjoy the warm water on my skin and watch in fascination as it flows down the drain and all the tension falls away from me. Straight into the sewer. Unfortunately, my morning beauty routine never manages to completely wash away my bad mood. But once the first outburst of anger of the day has subsided, I actually find my immediate surroundings quite beautiful.
For a short time, I find myself in my own little world. Freshly showered and dressed only in a towel, I strut into the kitchen a few minutes later with my head held high. True to the motto “When life gives you lemons, pour yourself tequila!”. I don’t, of course. Instead, I consider pressing my head directly into the coffee powder and snorting the shit through my nose directly into my brain. This seems a bit more effective than simply brewing a pot, filling a cup and drinking it for breakfast. On an empty stomach, of course.
I don’t have much time for breakfast anyway, because I’d rather sleep a little longer than deal with such mundane things as eating. A little meow reminds me that not everyone in this household can decide for themselves when to eat.
To suck up on me, Ace grazes around my legs and looks at me innocently from her big yellow eyes. I know that this look should trigger something in me and actually I find it cute, but... it just doesn’t work on me.
I know my brother was always impressed by it. He just couldn’t deny this hairy monster a wish when she rolled back and forth on the floor. Or when she rubbed herself against his legs over and over again. Sometimes I believed that she was more important to him than I was. But I was taught a better lesson quickly.
When he finally moved to his girlfriend’s place (or moved in with his girlfriend), he didn’t take Ace with him. I was sure that he wouldn’t leave her with me. She was actually his cat. He had brought her without asking me what I thought about it. And now I had her stuck with me, because I couldn’t part with her either. The apartment would be so terribly quiet without her…
With a sigh, I open the cupboard and fulfill my duties as a can opener before I face my daily life, which consists of carrying my boss’s work after him. Which doesn’t mean that he himself doesn’t work. Oh no. This man is a workaholic, through and through.
His name is Nathan Thrive. He’s a greasy 35-year-old paper pusher, who will inherit his father’s company at some point. I genuinely hope that day never comes, because Nathan already refuses to take my efforts towards a promotion seriously. Or even consider to promote me in the near future. And so I suffer my sad existence as his executive assistant. He urgently needs to look up the word “executive” again, because at times I really do feel more like his personal assistant. The fact that I haven’t had to massage his feet yet really borders on a small miracle.
I have fulfilled a small dream with my choice of job. Ever since my early childhood, I’ve loved to read. I made little notes on each book, which I later put together and mailed to the authors as a little critique. I loved it! Even if it has always made me a bit lonely, much to the chagrin of my parents, because only a few children could understand my passion.
But I didn’t consider that a tragedy at all. It allowed me to concentrate on my grades. Jesus, I worked my ass off. And how lucky was I that my grandparents left me a nice amount of money that I could use for college?
Nothing was more important to me at that time than to finally escape from my suffocating idyllic town, Mystic. There may be people who were born to live in small towns. I wasn’t! Everyone knows everyone and knows everything about everyone. There is constant gossip. There are simply no secrets. Not to mention that nothing exciting happens either.
So, I applied to Yale, and after months of waiting, I finally got accepted as a literature major there. New Haven was not necessarily more exciting than Mystic, but Zachary Martin wanted to go to this university. There was no other option for him. All the men in his family went to Yale. And I was madly in love with Zach. This would be our chance - away from all the nosy neighbors and classmates.
Or so I thought.
Pretty soon, however, it became apparent that I would only have a chance with Zach if I grew a penis overnight. I could only watch helplessly as he fell in love with Alexander (Sandy) Williams, who was graduating with a degree in philosophy and politics.
There I was. In New Haven. Without my family and without friends... only with my books and I knew that there couldn’t be a more loyal friend. Good old Ernie knew it and I knew it too! So, I swore off the boys and concentrated on my studies. Everything else would come naturally.
But I was wrong about that, too. All I had in the end was a degree and an endless stream of rejections from several publishing companies. So I went back to Mystic, firmly convinced that I would die there as an old bitter cat lady. But fate had other things in mind.
My brother was offered a job in Manhattan and, because he would never be able to afford an apartment there on his own, he asked me to come with him. And then one night, I met Nathan Thrive, editor-in-chief at Thrive Publishing Group.