So today I learned I have Norwegian rats in the crawlspace: they tunnel under the foundations!
Big fucking yikes to all of that.
I flew back to California last night. The taxi should have taken maybe 25 minutes but I think it took twice that amount of time, and I spent the entire ride hoping that I would get home without being in a car accident. I made it home late but unharmed aside from the stress of being a passenger in a car with someone who maybe shouldn't have a driver's license.
I'm at the office because I got notice that they're testing the new fire alarm system in my building today, and I already was at a "if I didn't have noise-cancelling headphones, I would stab you for the sounds you keep making" level of irritation on my flight last night with the dudes seated in my row. Very much would like maintenance to finish up testing so I can unpack my suitcase, do laundry, and get some groceries.
Today is being a Monday. Working on catching up on things after a weekend visiting K's family in Tucson. I teach my class at UCI in 30 minutes. Thankfully that's a fully remote class now so I don't have to commute to the other side of the city to do it.
The group chat with my college roommates informed me today that we graduated sometime in the second week of May (no one remembers the exact date) THIRTY YEARS AGO. We are all appalled.
Steph, I feel like the group chat should have waited until happy hour to spring that news upon you.
Right? I replied "I feel personally attacked," and one of my roommates said, "This feels like age discrimination."
There’s a guy here at the bar with a man-bun, a pencil mustache, several gold chains, and an ascot. I don’t know what to make of it.
The biggest weirdo in your bar had better watch his back. When you come at the king…
Emmett is deeply into Rothfuss right now.
He lives in my town. You know he's never going to finish that series.
I read David Morrell's Murder as a Fine Art (Thomas de Quincey mysteries). And now I have to read Confessions of an English Opium Eater. I'm headed down the historical murder mysteries rabbit hole.
After waiting FOUR FUCKING MONTHS for an appointment with a pediatric endocrinologist who can prescribe Oliver's testosterone, and after jumping through the therapy, letter and paperwork hoops, the doctor cancels THIS MORNING. Less than 3 hours before the appointment. No idea when another one can be scheduled.
Ugh on the cancellation, Cashmere. How awful!
Trying to remember why Murder as a Fine Art floated into my consciousness recently. It's ringing a bell but not bringing up any attached information...
I know everyone on Earth is more organized than I am(with the possible exception of my new attendant and her family, which might be a separate rant sometime, but not right now) but i could really do without being part of formal meetings with agendas and dots like the commander likes, especially I don't know why "Introductions' and "adjournment" are always included like those are mysterious parts.
