Baby Fever?

I have a new favorite conversation to have with Becky. It usually varies a little bit but the premise is pretty much the same:

B: I feel like I have to pee every five minutes.
A: Are you pregnant?!
B: NO.
A: Are you sure? Cause Mom had that dream about you getting pregnant.
B: That was a while ago.
A: Well they don't call them prophecies because they've already happened. . . think about it.
B: Ok.
A: HAVE A BABY SO I CAN PLAY WITH IT!
B: No way! You have one! It's cheaper and easier for you to get preggers.
A: Sorry, I'm not relationshiping or sexing for that matter.
(Long pause where Becky tries to study and I stare at her)
A: GET YOURSELF PREGNANT!
B: No!
A: Lame.

I also have not had a drink in five days, and I have had a fever of 101 for four days so that's making everything a little more hilarious and a little more tragic than it should be. Just a little though.

*I just realized that saying I have not had a drink in five days makes me sound like an alcoholic. I'm not an alcoholic, I am just used to have a glass of wine at night. To wash down my sleeping pills. Before I start in on the tequila.

Reporting At It's Finest

I just found a note I scribbled on a scrap piece of paper that says-

Prognosis:

Humped . . . to death.

Something tells me this probably has to do with a conversation Becky, Alex and I were having about Becky's rabbit, but I sorta wish it had more to do with how we thought my death would be explained at a sexy 107 years old.

Or at least someone we know's death.

LA Ink

I think you will all be pleased to hear that there will be no more posts about the icy, unholy weather because I am not leaving my apartment until March. So, there's that.

In other news my baby sister (sister christian oh the time has come!) and L.K. just got neck tattoos. It's not as white trash as it sounds, because they're really cute, but when I tell people, "I spent four hours driving around LA so my little sister could get a neck tattoo" (motoring! what's your price for flight!) I feel like I should be following it up with, "And then we went to the drug store to buy one of them home paternity tests because Kate needs answers, and those rain gutters on her new double wide aren't gonna clean themselves."

Here's a photo of Becky's finished project:




It's not crooked. Her spine is out of whack. Scoliosis is awesome!

She wasn't going to tell our mom but the crooked spine thing freaked her out so she decided to go ahead with it. When she blurted out the news in the middle of dinner (way to play it cool Beck) my Mom dropped her fork and turned to stare sadly at her youngest daughter (most likely thinking, 'Why didn't you turn out more like Amy?' I mean, what else).

I, being the ever-protective older sister, and peace-at-all-times wanter, began ranting about how it wasn't that bad and it was really actually great because it means she loves her family and family the most important thing, isn't that what she always taught us, right after don't slouch or you'll end up all hunch backed, and always wipe front to back? And why didn't 'Don't get into credit card debt' make it on that list because that should have been the number one lesson, or at least made it into the top five, we really could have figured out - don't squeeze bees - on our own, not that I'm blaming my mistakes on you because I'm an adult and have been trying to get you to treat me like one for ages instead of leaving me chore lists when I'm home for Christmas, so I know I am responsible for my own problems but a little guidance would have been nice! **silence** Let's talk about Becky again.

After Becky tried her hand at explaining how her new tattoo was a good thing, and did she think Becky was going to need a steel rod in her back - my Mom shook her head sadly, before turning to me and saying, "Well, there you go. Now you're the favorite again."

"That's right I am!" I said beaming.

I never win that!

Now if I can just get her knocked up and imprisoned I'll be a shoe-in for MONTHS!

I Don't Have Dew On My Windows Anymore, It's Just A Sheet Of Icicles, And Yes, You Can Cut Yourself On Water. If You're Me.

I checked the weather this morning because I really wanted to run (ok, I didn't want to, but I ate two bags of M&M's, a package of Starburst, some nachos and about a billion chocolate covered oreos for dinner last night so I needed to, lest I die from diabetes before I make it to lunch today. I'm pretty sure, scientifically, a slow jog doesn't cure diabetes, but in my mind all sorts of things can happen. I also believe you can show your lip your prescription of Valtrex and SCARE THE COLD SORE AWAY, so you know, there you go.)

Anyway, I checked the weather and it said: -4. In case you didn't catch that, it's NEGATIVE four!!! Needless to say I put my running shoes away and my slippers back on.

I'm also supposed to start class today but I refuse to go out until it gets back into the positive numbers! POSITIVE NUMBERS!

*sigh*

I'm gonna go straddle my radiator.

Sorry About The Lack of Posts...

But I'm pretty sure either my right ovary or my appendix has launched a full scale war inside of my body. It's favorite thing to do, aside from having it's hair blow in the wind as it screams, "She make take our lives, but she'll never take! Our! Freedom!", is sear me with a glowing branding iron that reads, "Fuck Comfort, You're Mah Bitch", every few minutes.

I know that the ovary and the appendix are not in the same spot, but it's close, and I don't know my body well enough to judge.
I like to respect it's privacy.

Thank God!

Me: Hi?

Chicago friend: How’s your play?

Me: (Why would you ask me such a terrible question!?) I only have like four scenes done.

CF: FOUR?!?

Me: (Oh shit, I knew it was bad. I’m gonna get fired.)

CF:I haven’t started!

Me: (I don’t know if you can get fired from grad school. Kicked out? Maybe I’ll be fired and kicked out it’ll be a new thing I star- Wait! He hasn’t started?!?) You haven’t started?

CF: AAAAAHHHHHHHHHladjkjf0awoeihalsnhfjkasdhff

Me: Dude… settle down. (You are so screwed)

CF: You settle down!

Me: I am settled (now). I’ve started at least (I was crying before you called).

CF: I think I might need to refill my Ritalin.

Me: You shouldn’t do drugs (bwahahaha I win!)

CF: I NEED TO CONCENTRATE!

Me: You’ll be fine (yes!yes!yes!), just sit down and do it (as if I have any idea what I’m talking about. I’m just glad someone’s worse off than me.)

CF: You’re so put together. I don’t know how you do it.

Me: Oh gosh, I’m not really. (I drink. A lot.)

CF: *quiet sobbing*

Me: Let it out dude. Let it all out. (Sucker)

Call From France Circa September 2007

B: Your mom instant messaged me today.

A: What?! She didn't even tell me she had a screen name!

B: Well, I think the answer to that is that I'm more important.

A: I didn't ask a question, I was yelling.

B: Whatever.

A: How long has she had this alleged screen name?

B: I have no idea. Can I get on with my story?

A: If you say longer than a few weeks she's gonna get it.

B: I don't know how long she's had it. Just call and ask her.

A: Oh right! No way! Apparently we're not close enough for technological communication. I'll have to wait 'til she rides her horse over here.

B: You're not even making any . . . her horse?

A: She's a son of a bitch.

B: Anyway. . .

A: Anyway, go on with your story.

B: So, I ask her if she wants to video chat -

A: She has video chat?!

B: Amy!

A: I'm kidding. Continue.

B: So, I ask and she says no because she hasn't brushed her hair yet.

A: Hahaha-WHAT?!

B: Her hair! Isn't! Brushed!

A: Because her baby daughter - the one who lived with her for 20 years has never seen her without her hair brushed? I've had her walk in and start brushing her teeth while I'm peeing, I think we can all deal with her unkempt hair.

B: I know! Will you please call her. I can't deal with it anymore.

A: Sure . . . but I'm gonna have to put on some lipstick first.

I Wanna Borrow An Allen Wrench!

As a precursor to Vegas, we decided to attend a friend’s wedding. A little prep for our blood alcohol levels and stamina because we knew there’d be an open bar, not to mention a near empty dance floor for us to practice our mooooooooooooves.

That and we also went because I absolutely love this woman:



Look at her. Not only is she gorgeous, and smart, but she’s f-ing hilarious. We met working at Starbucks (a job we both knew we’d be quitting a few months later, and so we ran amok of that store. Amok I tell you! We underage drank with the managers, refused to take out the trash on some sort of principle she came up with like “But we’re girls!”, didn’t do the dishes but instead left signs saying, “Bless this mess!”, and frequently called and requested to close early due to low customer visits, which was never true.) and the first thing I remember her saying to me was “MACE IN YO FACE!” to which I replied “Oh my god I love you!” and she said, “You’re my new BFF!” and the rest is friendship motherfucking history.

Although we go months at a time without seeing each other the second I get on the phone with her it’s like we’re sneaking cigarettes at her aunt’s house all over again, and I start giggling before anything has been said. It pretty much goes:

Me: Hello?
Jess: Hiiiiiiii Amy!
Me: *gasp* Jess??
Jess: **laughing**
Me: **laughing**
Jess: **laughing**
Me: **laughing**
Jess: **laughing-and-trying-to-say-something-in-a-pitch-so-high-no-one-really-knows-what-she’s-saying**
Me: **laughing-harder** What???

Then my sister starts yelling in the background, “You’re not breathing. Are you talking to Jess?”

We had a really great time, danced a whole lot with the fathers of the bride and groom, ate too much, drank a little (Becky drank a lot thanks to Jim’s urging, “You should make that a double”) and were in bed before 10:30. Naturally. Who stays up past 10:30?

I wish them all the best and happiness and all of that!!!


Oh, and their present is in the mail. I swear.

Uuuuunnnnggggghhh

Need sleep for like a week.

We got back from our annual Vegas trip last night, where we didn't sleep for three days, spents thousands of dollars on god knows what, got arrested for being TOO DRUNK, held up traffic on The Strip because we got the great idea that we should take The Strip as an order not a street name, and killed some guy.

Or that's what would have happened if we were not so damn old. Gabi and I spent most of the time in bed, reading, (in between our naps of course) and the rest of the girls planted themselves at the dealertainer blackjack tables at the Imperial Palace.

Dealertainers are amazing. They're impersonators. . . who deal.

They also stop dealing periodically to get up on a three foot stage to sing a few songs. I saw up Mariah Carey's skirt, watched Stevie Wonder pretend to be blind and feel his way down the stairs and then actually trip and fall flat on his face, and for some reason heard Aretha Franklin sing Alicia Keyes songs all night. My favorite though, was Michael Jackson, and despite the fact that he couldn't go four minutes without grabbing his crotch and pointing at Katie, which caused her to shudder repeatedly, I wanted to take him home with me and make him dance while I fold laundry.

Later (when I'm not completely sleep deprived and get full permission from Bub) I will be posting a series of, er, posts tentatively titled: Why My Sister Was Not Allowed To Talk During The Entire Weekend Because Everything That Came Out Of Her Mouth Was Something A Sister Should Never Have To Hear. Ever. / Her New Nickname Is **edited** The Original.

The One Where I Try To Wish Her A Happy Birthday

Living 2000 miles away from your family has it’s ups and downs. I miss my Mom and sister and friends like I would miss my left arm if it got chopped off in some freak logging accident. (Because I do a lot of woodsmanship. In my free time.)

There are really great things about living alone, like not having to share a bathroom with four other people, going crazy and putting my towels on the left side of the shelf even though I usually put them on the right, not having a huge note to remind me which side of the shelf the towels go on, not having any note anywhere reminding me where anything goes because in Amy’s house fruit can go on the top shelf of the refrigerator if it wants to! and the remote controls, oh!, the remote controls have free reign of the apartment, they can end up in the bathtub with a stack of magazines if the mood strikes me.

But the really not so great things are like if it’s 2am and I can’t sleep so I want to wake up my little sister and ask if she wants to get Denny’s with me, and when she says no I tell her, it’s ok Bub, we can just watch repeats of Absolutely Fabulous instead, now scoot over I need some blanket – I can’t. I don’t get barged in on by my (unfortunately) extremely morning person Mom, half-dressed and singing me a good morning song she’s been singing for twenty seven years while I glare and glare and glare. And while it sounds like the latter should be in the ‘good things about living alone’ list, I really miss my oddly cheerful Mom and her lack of clothing when she’s home. Luckily, my Aunt M (mom’s little sister) lives in Chicago and when I go to stay with her once a week, I can usually count on running into her in the kitchen without a shirt on. Or reading a book at the table without pants. And I love that about my family. That they (we) start to get dressed and then get totally distracted, or hungry, and can’t really think about putting on a top until our oatmeal is ready. And it’s just so comforting that Aunt M does it too, because it reminds me of my wonderful, topless, singing mom. Now, if only she would start labeling the cereals in order of most to least liked it would be just like home!


Happy Birthday Mama! Or, She-Who-Gets-Prettier-Every-Year!



I love you this much!

New Year's Day: A Recap

7:30am drive from San Diego to L.A. (after two hours of sleep) so that L.K.'s cat won't be lonely anymore? No Problem!

Carl's Jr. breakfast? Check.

Leaving important electronic devices including a camera and a cell phone in San Diego? Check.

Losing medication and having to wake up the entire house to search for it, realize it's still in your pocket, throw under a bed quickly so girl next to you will "find" it but she doesn't so you spend ten more minutes "looking" for it asking if she's sure she checked under the bed, she finds it, the whole house rejoices, and you've saved the day? Check.

Back track fifteen miles on the 405 because now you want Jack In The Box breakfast? Check.

Getting pulled over for doing ninety and not being able to cry your way out of it because it's a female cop? Checkity, check, check, check!

New Year’s Resolution #1: Procrastinate Less And Try To Pay Attention To Ooh What’s That Shiny Thing?

I should be working on the play I’m supposed to have finished by the time I start school again, but am I worried about that?

Hell no!

Jack Bauer is trying to kick a heroin habit in a single 24 hour period AND save the world yet! again! Who am I to deny him my attention? He needs me.

Other things I’ve done instead of writing this-thing-that-has-become-impossible:

1. Braided my hair with ribbon.
2. Baked brownies using oregano so that if I ever make pot brownies I’ll know what they look like.
3. Vacuumed my whole house without unplugging it a single time. Try that people with houses bigger than 800sq ft!
4. Internetted.
5. Unbraided hair, disgusted with the look of ribbon.
6. Resisted the urge to watch the last 14 episodes of 24 in a single sitting.
7. Watched all of season 6 Friends episodes instead.
8. Ate oregano brownies.
9. Texted Alex about love of Jack Bauer’s new sidekick.
10. Napped.

There should be some sort of electrical device that zaps me every time I don’t write when I sit down to do so. Not that I would ever hook it up, I’d be too distracted trying to figure out how to get hospital corners on my brother’s bed, mumbling something about how I shouldn’t have quit nursing school to get my master’s or I’d know how to do this still.



I hope everyone has a very Happy New Year and has no need for hospital corners or the wiles of a Jack Bauer-esque figure! But if you do, rest assured he will save you no matter what sort of limbs or internal organs he's missing, because he's just that amazing.

Warm and Fuzzy Christmasy Stuff

I’m back in Southern California after four months of living in an (unheated) apartment in Chicago (which clearly nominates me for sainthood. Clearly.). Although four months does not cover twenty-seven years in the paper, rock, scissors game of time, and all of California should be imprinted into my DNA, I am still shocked and ecstatic beyond belief at the warmth and sunshine. Seventy five degrees on Christmas people. SEVENTY FIVE! That’s a Christmas miracle.

When my sister (who was also returning from four months away from the motherland) and I de-boarded the plane in Long Beach the entire group of passengers sighed at the love we were all feeling for each other now that we weren’t subject to inhaling ice. And then the captain kissed every single one of us when we left, on the mouth, and the flight attendants showered us with skittles and rainbows before handing us each our own bottle of champagne and hiring limos to take us home.

Or at least that’s what it felt like.

And we proclaimed: Damn you coats! Where just hours ago you were there to keep my body temperature just slightly above hypothermia, now you are nothing but a Berlin Wall separating my arms from the warm sea air! And you – you wool hat! How dare you take up so much space in my purse, because that’s where you’ll be staying for the next three weeks – Sucker!

From the airport we drove straight (except for the detour to Taco Bell) to my Mom’s house where she greeted us with hugs and kisses and *gasp* had the heat on.

The heat. Was. On.

“Mom,” I said stripping down to my underwear. “Why do you have the heat on? It’s a thousand degrees in here!”

“It’s 76 Miss Smarty Pants, and it’s on because it got down to 66 in here. I was ready to put on my parka.”

My sister put her arm around me and we tilted our heads together as we stared lovingly at our precious little mother.

“Aren’t you the most spoiled, cutest thing ever!” I said right before I ducked her lightning-like right hook, as she swat me with a magazine for being ‘flip’. (I will never be an adult to her. Of course, I still insist on filled stockings from Santa so maybe this is a two way sort of sword, or er, street.)

So, the heat is still on in the house and I’m walking around in shorts and a tank top and I REFUSE to put on anything heavier, (even though I’m pretty sure it just started raining) and my mother is following me around with a blanket and a portable heater everywhere I go saying, “I’m so cold! Put this on.”

*sigh*

It’s good to be home.

So It's Almost Been A Year But I Have Really Good Excuse Hiding Around Here Somewhere

I have a cold sore that refuses to go away. It’s only been three days, but still. Settle down dude. I think it thinks it’s gonna move in and start keeping home on my lip. I got news for you Herpes. . . I plan on being able to look at people without them jumping back in fear very soon, not to mention, I would like to kiss my sister on the cheek on New Year’s without the fear of giving her the death, so BACK UP OFF YO!

On the plus side(s), this is the second outbreak I’ve had in four months so I’ve decided it’s my body’s way of getting it all out just before the end of the year so that my 2008 will be chock (chalk?) full of healthiness. Thanks for thinking ahead virus! You! Are! Awesome!

Also, I know you all are thinking, “Just be grateful you don’t have the kind that shows up on your down theres,” and you’re right. I am grateful. Very, very grateful.

Oh. And I’m gonna start updating regularly again. This was just a preview, a warm up if you will. I’ll be doing lunges in the corner ‘til it’s time to post again.

Neighborhood Watch

My mom’s Latin boyfriend likes to build stuff. He’s one of those guys who will spend all of his free time in the garage tinkering and sawing and nail-gunning things. (Well that’s not totally true. A good part of his free time is spent watching TV with my mom while they polish off a bottle or two of wine and he rubs her feet even though she doesn’t ask him to. It’ll be like, “Honey will you refill my glass? I need something to wash down these cheese puffs.” He’ll laugh, “Sure baby. Now take off your socks I’m going to rub your feet.” This is where I start choking because yes, I’m sitting there with them. “But they’re not sore. I sit down all day.” “You crazy girl,” he laughs, ignoring her protests and my contorted face of horror - a look that suggests, “Hey man about to touch my mom’s bare feet, I just want you to know that the only reason I’m not slapping the wine glass out of your hand and rushing off to the nearest high school biology classroom so I can use the eye wash center is because I like you as a person and you make my mom laugh. But seriously dude. Feet and me are not cool.”)

I tend to not really worry about what he’s doing out there in the garage at all hours of the day. And when he comes in the house at 8pm all dusty and tired, nods and says, “I gotta go pick up some light bulbs and fishnets.” I just give a thumbs up. Because it doesn’t seem dangerous. I don’t think you can build a bomb with fish and the proper lighting.

My friendly neighbors were a little more curious than me and asked what he was building all the time. And I had no idea. It occurred to me that the reason I didn’t think to ask was because throughout the first 18 years of my life my father spent every single evening in his office in the garage “working on stuff”. Becky would walk down there to tell him it was time for dinner and he’d be morse-code talking with someone in Polynesia, or sautering some sort of electrical panel back together. Usually he was fixing a TV Becky and I had found on the side of the road. Some kids brought home puppies, we brought home broken TVs. But he always fixed them, and so we always had an upgrade of sorts and a TV in every room. All our friends came over to our house because it was the only place you could watch 90210 in the kitchen and not miss anything when you had to run downstairs to get the laundry, or go to the bathroom to wash your hands. When my college roommate suggested we chip in together and buy a TV I was shocked. What do you mean pay? Who pays for TVs? And why the heck are they so expensive, this is ridiculous, let’s go drive around the neighborhood.

Just recently when I visited my Dad I noticed a new lamp and commented on how neat it was, to which he replied, “Thanks, I found it by the dumpster at the back of the building.” Of course you did. Now that I’m older I do buy my appliances, so it would be a little embarrassing that my Dad is fishing stuff out of the trash except for the part where he’s so proud he brought it back to life. Who am I to take away his pride, I get excited when I vacuum well.

So I don’t really care to know what E is doing in the garage at all hours of the night. Whether he’s building a dresser or a the beginnings of a space ship, as long as it’s making him happy, it’s really none of my business now is it.

Plus my neighbors are apparently keeping a close eye on him, so I’m sure they’ll let me know if they start seeing dead bodies.

Lark Creek Elementary School

*gasp*

They're making a movie out of Bridge to Terabithia.

I cannot express how much I love that book and how excited this is making me. I re-read it my freshman year of college (ASU) because since I wasn't blonde I didn't have any friends, except for my roommate who spent the night the very first night we moved in and then the only reason I saw her after that was if she was picking up her mail or asking me to take her to her boyfriend's house because he got lost somewhere selling sheets of acid and couldn't pick her up. Anyway, it was just as good. To the point of making me cry when it ended. But at that point in my life I cried when my VCR didn't tape Taxi like I told it to, so you know.

On my list of exciting literary things, this is number three. Right below meeting David Sedaris(1), and finding this picture(2):



That is a Stephenson manuscript, written by hand.



Ok, so maybe being brunette wasn't the only reason my roommate was my only friend.

Coffee & Carrie

Because I don't usually get to my desk until a good hour after I arrive at work (coffee and Carrie) I didn't notice the door was shut to my office. That is until Miss H walked in and screamed.

"Oh no! My door is shut!"

Interesting.

"My door is shut." She repeated.

"Hmmm."

"What should I do?"

"Open it?"

"Oh."

I'm not really sure what else she thought there was to this. Does she not understand how the doors work? I imagine she's opened closed doors before. It's not like she comes home every day and says, "Dang. Closed again," sighs, slumps her shoulders and sits on her stoop waiting for someone to help her figure out what to do next; her door winning another exhausting round of Stumped. Or maybe she was half expecting the office to be Muppet-y and if she opened it she'd see ninjas mid-ninja star fight. (Which is something I think we all want.)

I started talking about how ridiculous she was being until Carrie stopped me and pointed out a totally untrue fear of mine.

“Didn’t you just tell me you’re still afraid of Vampires?” I had said no such thing.

“I said no such thing.”

Plus being afraid of things that want to kill you in a sexy way is not the same as freaking out because you don’t know what to do with a closed door. Obviously.

Am I the only one who read Anne Rice novels in elementary school?!

You know what Anne would say? She would say, don’t open it. They can’t come in unless they’re invited.

I Got My Lungs X-Rayed And They're Fine, You Know, Except For The Fluid

My grandma is making me drink a crazy concoction of red zinger tea, vinegar and cheyenne pepper to make my pneumonia go away. I don't remember her ever going to medical school, but she claims this will cure my horrible cough - along with joint inflamation, and the sewer problems plaguing our inside toilet. (We don't have an outhouse, let's not get carried away, but we do have a bathroom in the garage. Cause that's how we roll. Garage bathrooms for everyone!)

I'm here to tell you that vinegar and pepper do not make a good replacement for cream and sugar. I don't know where she got this crazy reciepe but maybe the gagging is supposed to distract from the coughing. Now she's got her little Russian, 88 year old, worker-man making me this stuff every hour, and he speaks very forcefully to me when I don't finish my tea. He probably would be yelling at me if he could, but his vocal chords don't work very well anymore. The angrier he gets, the more his voice turns to a whisper.

Russian: YOU DRINK TEA OR you get sick in the lung.
Me: But have you tried it? It's torture.
Russian: I drink all the time. Is good.
Me: Yeah but how do you know it's doing any good, I mean listen to yourself man.
Russian: Ah. . . I think you make fun of me yes? Now you drink more. I stand here and watch.
Me: Like a spy? You're not an ex-KGB are you?
Russian: DRINK!
Me: This isn't the U.S.S.R.!
Russian: asldkjfao ieurjwal nerfas ff9.
Me: I don't know what that means, but I'm not drinking that.
Russian: **stares up at me with crazy eyes**
Me: **am not distracted. will not back down and drink poision tea.**
Russian: **still staring with intensity of someone that's killed for less**
Me: Stop it.
Russian: **stare**
Me: FINE!
Russian: Ha. Russian always win.
Me: Yeah, good job with that Crimean thing.
Russian: What?
Me: I love tea.

Listen Old Man Winter

This isn't funny.

"Fair 49
Feels Like:
46°
Barometer:
30.13 in and steady
Humidity:
48% "

Fuck you it feels like 46.
Why don't you make it 49 that feels like it's 82?

My space heater at work keeps blowing the circuits down the enire east side of the office building. Well that and this building is so crazy right now that if you brew coffee and turn on your calulator at the same time - the whole place blacks out. Throughout the day people run down the hall yelling, "Turn off the lights in Payroll, I need to add up this spreadsheet!" or "Goddamnit, I just want some coffee, who's the genius who decided to send a fax?"

I think I'm bringing in some blankets with me tomorrow.

I Love How They're Individually Wrapped In Foil

I walked into my office at 6am today to find a group of men standing where my wall to the outside used to be. A pleasant surprise. I mean if my wall is to be replaced with something, it may as well be a line of calloused, tan men. Or a giant pyramid of Ding-Dongs. Whatever.

So that was cool, until about 6:05am when I realized it was 37 degrees at my desk and the men were not keeping the chill out as well as I would have liked. They offered to help keep me warm, but I know what that means. You can't trick me, tricksters.

The secretary leaned in my office and told me she was going to call everyone and tell them not to come in because the workers wouldn't be done for another hour. Which was really nice of her because no one besides us comes in until 9, which if my calculations are correct, will be AFTER the men are gone. I also like to wake people up to tell them things that don't pertain to them, but I typically only do that when I'm drunk, and in love with them.

"Hi."
"Who is this?"
"Lifen, I just wanted you to know that the olly reason I (*hiccup*) drove to that Starbucks is cause I hate coffee."
"What?"
"I love you."
"Uhm."
"Shhh. You should (*hiccup*) be sleeeeeeeping."
". . . Amy?"
"I think you knowed."
"You probably shouldn't drink on a school night. Pull yourself together. I'll see you in class tomorrow."
*click*
"Goodbye Mr. Welch."

High School was a rough time.

Along with calling all the other employees to warn them about the construction they will not be party to, the secretary also opened all the doors in the office to air it out - because apparently the GIANT HOLE WHERE MY WALL USED TO BE isn't breeze-y enough.