( continues...) going to get here? They’re going to get me! They’re going to rape me, kill me and throw me in the Chicago River!”

“Lucy, it’s OK. The officers just turned on your street. We’re going to get to the bottom of this right now. Hang on just a moment. The officers should be coming into the building in just a minute.”

“The front door is opening,” Lucy whispered through her sobs. “There’s a chain, but I don’t think that will hold it.” She squeezed herself into the corner of the couch, as if to make herself invisible, just as Lucille Ball began stuffing her face with chocolates.

Through her panic, Lucy heard a calm, quiet voice through the door, “Lucy? Honey? Are you in there? Lucy? Sweetie? We can’t get in because all the doors are bolted. Could you let us in?”

Lucy began to cry harder. “It’s my mom. It’s my mom!”

She stumbled to the door, still clutching the phone, and dropped the chain to fling herself into her mother’s arms. Lucy’s mom took the phone and explained to the operator that there was no intruder; it was just she and her sons trying to wake Lucy to let them in to the apartment. Yes. Everyone was ok. Of course they would confirm all of this with the police. Of course it was ok if the police did a walkthrough of the apartment. Dimly, Lucy heard the phone click. She couldn’t bring herself to let go of her mother.

Lucy’s mom calmed Lucy enough to sit her back on the couch while the police did their walkthrough and Lucy’s family brought in their luggage. The police assured the still crying Lucy that no one suspicious was around, but that she did do the right thing in calling 911.

As Lucy’s family carried in the last pieces, trying not to chuckle, and Ricky admitted to Lucy that homemaking wasn’t as easy as it looked, Lucy was able to calm herself down. And when her brother asked if he, the horrible intruder, could hug her, she began to laugh, as the credits of I Love Lucy rolled.

Oh, poor Lucy.

Where's the part where she gets to be in the show?

It was one of my more ridiculous fear-filled nights. And I was, I think, 19. So it was a long time ago. Funny, though.

Thank god for cell phones! Nothing like that will ever happen again.

The police assured the still crying Lucy that no one suspicious was around, but that she did do the right thing in calling 911.

He spoke true.

I do have people that come and clean my house because if I didn't it would be a health hazzard. I like the big projects, but can't stand dishes, or doing the floors. DH does the dishes and the cleaning people do the floors. They annoy me putting everything in the wrong place. On the counter will be an empty knife block, all the knives in the drawer. A cabinet with all glass stuff and one with all plastic stuff, why is this not clear? Sigh. I just rearrange after I get home. Now I concentrate my effort on trying to keep stuff picked up somewhat. Often every surface is covered with paper, clothes, tools, etc. In a perfect world someone would follow me around and keep stuff organized the way I would if hours permitted.

I llike doing my own laundry. In fact, I must go do some now.

I love having a clean bathroom and kitchen, and I mean clean clean. As in, bleaching the surfaces every second day. But I can happily let plates sit in my bedroom in piles until they get moldy, and newspapers and take away cartons pile up in the sitting room. I'm a conundrum.

Just talked to mom. She's had a baster emergency (dad melted it. Bad dad! No cookie!)

Is anyone else's brain going to a bad place? No? Just the dyke then, yep...(No, Cindy and ita went there too! I feel so relieved)

AIMEE! GO TO THE DOCTOR! Maybe even if the asshat gyn won't see you, there's a nurse practitioner in the practice who would? Or if you call back and explain that "Jackhole, I don't HAVE another PCP, and the wait will be at least X weeks before I can get an appointment, and I've had a kidney infection before, so don't make me SUE YOUR ASS". LAME, is what I call that.

Hmm. Apparently I need Jars to clean my kitchen and bathroom, while I keep the bedroom and living room fine--the only reason my bedroom gets messy is the pile of laundry, the pile of CLEAN laundry, and occasionally the books spilling off the bookshelf. Of course, it helps that my apartment is tiny, so food in teh living room is practically in teh kitchen anyway. So keeping dishes and trash in the proper places is not hard.

Dear Jars: I will wash your dishes if you will clean my bathroom. Anybody who brings me a load of groceries so I don't have to go to the store myself? I kiss them!

And with that, dear Bitches, good night!

Ok. Bad Lifetime Movie update of the night:

Charisma Carpenter's bra just matched her shirt. Very weird.

I mean, really! Who doesn't need one of these???

But you can just get a $15 cast iron pan at the hardware store that can do that and about a zillion other things too!

t hugs my cast iron skillets tight

Never did find the pass. Bah.

But, we did start homebrewing adventures, and now have 5 gallons of wort fermenting away in our basement, hopefully soon to become an English style brown ale.

Pretty much simultaneously, I was cooking Tom's birthday dinner of roast chicken and vegetables (the latest CI version) which, while a bit fussy as CI can be, was awesome and we used up a lot of root veg we had kicking around- beets, turnips, rutebaga, carrots, and blue potatoes.

So, a fun night in the kitchen.

Have to go back to work tomorrow. Don't wanna. Sigh. I also have my first class of the semester, which I'm kind of nervous about, because it's at a different school (Salem State) and I'm transferring the credits. So, it will be more convenient, and cheaper (SO MUCH CHEAPER) but it's new and different and I fear change.