Perkins, the cats are gonna sit one on either side of your pillow, and take turns poking you in the night.
I know this because mine do this to me.
I am typing in my fancy new riding gloves. I have yet to unpack the old ones, and they were falling apart anyway. I rode to work this morning without gloves, which made me feel naked. House manager piled me and my bike in her minivan to take me from the office to the actual group home. I got lost on the way home. Dan and I got lost a whole lot driving back there this evening to make sure I knew how to get there tomorrow.
I like my gloves. I do not like my sense of direction. Or lack thereof.
Pardon me, Daniel wasn't lost. I knew right where he was the whole time.
Susan, fabulous. How did I miss that?
I left the shade on my front window open today, and when I came home, the cats were sitting on either side of the window, watching for me.
When I had Lucy outside Deena's house, the neighbor cats sat in the window and glared for about fifteen minutes straight. I don't think they even blinked.
Pardon me, Daniel wasn't lost. I knew right where he was the whole time.
Grumble. Can't be lost when you haven't been someplace.
Okay, I shouldn't have left the map on the kitchen counter, but I knew where I was. Just...not where the street where the group home was located.
Speaking of drinking and European sex (and who cares if it's
exactly
what we were talking about, let's indulge!), I am both packing and drinking a Seabreeze. (This liquor ain't just going to
evaporate
out of the apartment. Is it? Because if it is, I'd better drink faster.)
This packing for a backpack stuff? Hard. I keep being tempted to bring things that are cute rather than serviceable. Shoes, I can deal with. I think I'm going to bring my Tevas for just about everything, then a pair of regular old flip-flops. I figure, they can be used for showers
or
to look sassy if nessecary (Because I'm skanky like that.)
But, must I really say no to one satin cami? If it gets wrinkled enough, it looks like it's supposed to be that way! What if I go to a pub and there is a pretty Irish/Italian/Swiss/French boy? And I can roll up my little khaki skirt until it takes up just about no room at all!
Of course, once there, the real problem with the Irish/Italian/Swiss/French boy is not turning into that girl who flips over the accents. I don't want to be that girl. (I so am.)
Me: Be cool be cool be cool.
Dude: 'Allo.
Me: Let's make out.
Of course not, honey. You knew right where you were, the whole drive.
Me: Be cool be cool be cool.
Dude: 'Allo.
Me: Let's make out.
That's totally me, with chicks!
Even if they don't have an accent.
Confirmation! The date tomorrow, she is a go. I have suggested a Sri Lankan place for dinner. She will meet me there rather than giving me her address, because the axe murderers like a challenge.
[Hefts axe] "Where is she? ...Gee, I hope nothing's happened to her."
