4.29.2009
Progress, Part Two
The "recovery" is moving along at a rapid-fire, lightning-quick pace now. Only 44 months later, the flooded-out, abandoned house that sat a block down on our street since Katrina, complete with moldy furniture, was finally demolished. Progress, people! Next up, cranes on the skyline....
Four-Year-Old Blues
Lately, I feel like I can't do anything right when it comes to mothering. Everyone has told me how wonderful four-year-olds are, that they're finally in a sweet, agreeable, tantrum-free phase, and some of the time, I agree with them. Emmeline is funny, and smart, and sweet. But she's also incredibly defiant, and I'm incredibly tired.
It seems like lately that everything is a battle. And I mean everything. It starts off in the morning with her arguing about what I'm fixing her for breakfast, we then move into an argument over whether or not she can have candy after breakfast, and then transition into the battle over what clothes, shoes, and underwear to wear to school. Believe me, I let her pick whenever possible--even when that means she goes off to school in a dress that's too short and is wrinkled beyond belief and is accessorized with a pair of scuffed-up old shoes that are worn on the wrong feet (for some strange reason, she prefers them to be on the wrong feet).
It seems like lately that everything is a battle. And I mean everything. It starts off in the morning with her arguing about what I'm fixing her for breakfast, we then move into an argument over whether or not she can have candy after breakfast, and then transition into the battle over what clothes, shoes, and underwear to wear to school. Believe me, I let her pick whenever possible--even when that means she goes off to school in a dress that's too short and is wrinkled beyond belief and is accessorized with a pair of scuffed-up old shoes that are worn on the wrong feet (for some strange reason, she prefers them to be on the wrong feet).
4.23.2009
A Question?
Has anyone ever noticed? That Travers Mackel? Can't report the news? Without sounding like? A teenaged girl? Who makes every sentence? Sound like a question? Am I the only one? Who finds this? Really irritating? And thinks that he needs? Some coaching? And that WDSU? Is quite possibly? The cheesiest local television? News channel?
Just wondering. I don't know why I even watch their evening newscast, as none of the reporters really do it for me. And their constant patting of themselves on the back has me rolling my eyes constantly. I guess I watch it out of habit, because I like ol' Roop in the morning, and I prefer NBC nightly news at night.
But still? Travers Mackel is really irritating. As is Fletcher. And don't even get me started on how happy I am that the stupid DARN scale retired with Dan. And get off my lawn.
Just wondering. I don't know why I even watch their evening newscast, as none of the reporters really do it for me. And their constant patting of themselves on the back has me rolling my eyes constantly. I guess I watch it out of habit, because I like ol' Roop in the morning, and I prefer NBC nightly news at night.
But still? Travers Mackel is really irritating. As is Fletcher. And don't even get me started on how happy I am that the stupid DARN scale retired with Dan. And get off my lawn.
4.22.2009
Conversations With a Four-Year-Old, Volume One
E: Mommy, Ryan was talking about his tee-tee at school today. He has a tee-tee because he's a boy.
Me: Yes, that's right. Ryan's a boy.
E: Yeah, he's a boy, but I told him I didn't want to hear about his tee-tee. I told him that's biscusting.
Me: Biscusting?
E: Yeah. Biscusting. That's when something's really gross.
Me: Yes, that's right. Ryan's a boy.
E: Yeah, he's a boy, but I told him I didn't want to hear about his tee-tee. I told him that's biscusting.
Me: Biscusting?
E: Yeah. Biscusting. That's when something's really gross.
A Quiz
If you woke up at 4:00 a.m., realized that your husband had never made it home from work, then called his cell phone and discovered it was either turned off or the battery was dead, what would you do?
A. Call his cell phone obsessively every 5-8 minutes in the hopes that he'd eventually turn it on and answer it.
B. Start calling hospitals to see if he'd been in an accident.
C. Start calling police departments to see if he'd been arrested.
D. All of the above.
I went with option D and didn't get a lot of sleep last night. I've never been so happy in my life to see him as when he finally showed up around 7:00 a.m. Of course, I was extremely irritated with him as well. Turns out his boss asked him to stay at the restaurant all night and re-inventory the food, as they discovered last week that there was some sort of error that was resulting in their food costs being off by about $150K. He just forgot to mention that to me. And forgot to charge his cell phone.
Husbands. Will they never get the whole "call me if you're going to be late" thing?
A. Call his cell phone obsessively every 5-8 minutes in the hopes that he'd eventually turn it on and answer it.
B. Start calling hospitals to see if he'd been in an accident.
C. Start calling police departments to see if he'd been arrested.
D. All of the above.
I went with option D and didn't get a lot of sleep last night. I've never been so happy in my life to see him as when he finally showed up around 7:00 a.m. Of course, I was extremely irritated with him as well. Turns out his boss asked him to stay at the restaurant all night and re-inventory the food, as they discovered last week that there was some sort of error that was resulting in their food costs being off by about $150K. He just forgot to mention that to me. And forgot to charge his cell phone.
Husbands. Will they never get the whole "call me if you're going to be late" thing?
What I Learned Today
Whew--it's over. The grand opening of our new office and all of the minutiae that were involved in pulling it off are done. Now, for the things I learned today:
- If you send out 1,200 invitations to an event, consider yourself fortunate if 50 people reply to the requested RSVP.
- It's hard to plan how much food to have for an event when no one RSVPs.
- When people who didn't RSVP show up at the event, expect some of them to complain about the fact that there isn't enough food to go around.
- It seems that some people live for showing up at an event so that they can complain about the logistics of it.
- If you feed them, they will come.
- Portabello mushroom tarts taste a lot better than they look. They kinda look like something you'd scrape off of your shoe in horror.
- Some adults get waaaayyyy more excited about free pens than they should.
- My new office is pretty.
- Some people get really pissy when they don't have a pre-printed name tag because they didn't RSVP. My advice? Get over it.
- I now remember why I got out of the PR/special events business.
- All in all, it went really well.
4.16.2009
Note to Self
Try to be a lighter sleeper the next time Emmeline sneaks into your room at 5:00 a.m., finds the nail polish in your bedside table, and proceeds to paint her toenails and fingernails. And her toes. And her ankles. And her calves. And her fingers. And her wrists. And her forearms. And the sofa. And the coffee table. And the rug. And the floor. And the Elmo chair.
P.S. Find a new hiding place for the fingernail polish. And buy more nail polish remover.
P.S. Find a new hiding place for the fingernail polish. And buy more nail polish remover.
4.11.2009
CEJ+
Dear Charles:
I love you. I miss you. I remember you. I wish you were still here. It seems wrong that you're not. You should be 30 years old. You should be married. You should have kids, or at least one on the way. You should be here. You should be playing with Emmeline and be her favorite uncle. We should be sitting on Mom and Nick's porch, catching up on what's going on in each other's lives. You should have a good job that you love. You should be making Mom and Nick and Patty and Paul proud of the man you've turned out to be. You should be the brother that I love to hang out with during the holidays. You should be the person who's found himself. You should be here.
You should be here. I try to tell myself that you moved on because you were ready to do so--because you had one of the kindest, wisest souls that I've ever known. And it's true. But you should still be here. We weren't ready for you to go.
Eight years. I love you. I miss you. I remember you.
Charles Eric Johnson. 1978-2001.
I love you. I miss you. I remember you. I wish you were still here. It seems wrong that you're not. You should be 30 years old. You should be married. You should have kids, or at least one on the way. You should be here. You should be playing with Emmeline and be her favorite uncle. We should be sitting on Mom and Nick's porch, catching up on what's going on in each other's lives. You should have a good job that you love. You should be making Mom and Nick and Patty and Paul proud of the man you've turned out to be. You should be the brother that I love to hang out with during the holidays. You should be the person who's found himself. You should be here.
You should be here. I try to tell myself that you moved on because you were ready to do so--because you had one of the kindest, wisest souls that I've ever known. And it's true. But you should still be here. We weren't ready for you to go.
Eight years. I love you. I miss you. I remember you.
Charles Eric Johnson. 1978-2001.
4.09.2009
I Think I Would've Gone With Mary Jane
My favorite part of the story appearing in the Times-Pic this morning entitled "NO Man Convicted of Attack on Tourist" would have to be this:
Rayfield, who was acquitted of an armed robbery charge in 2003, took the witness stand in his own defense, saying that after a night out with a friend on Bourbon Street he was walking up to his sister's apartment in the Iberville when police grabbed him and slammed his head into the wall.
His sister, Marijuana Rayfield, also testified for the defense that her brother couldn't have been involved in the crime that morning.
The jury deliberated for 1 1/2 hours before finding Rayfield guilty as charged.
Can someone please explain to me why you'd even consider naming your child Marijuana?
Rayfield, who was acquitted of an armed robbery charge in 2003, took the witness stand in his own defense, saying that after a night out with a friend on Bourbon Street he was walking up to his sister's apartment in the Iberville when police grabbed him and slammed his head into the wall.
His sister, Marijuana Rayfield, also testified for the defense that her brother couldn't have been involved in the crime that morning.
The jury deliberated for 1 1/2 hours before finding Rayfield guilty as charged.
Can someone please explain to me why you'd even consider naming your child Marijuana?
4.08.2009
Us Versus Them
I don't know why this stuff still gets to me. Almost four years later, you'd think I'd be over it. That I would have long since grown accustomed to the callousness, insensitivity, and downright meanness of some of my fellow Americans. But after seeing the ridiculous mid-west flooding versus Katrina comparisons begin anew, it still brings out the same reaction in me that it would have in 2005. It makes my head start buzzing and my heart start pounding. It makes me want to cry and punch something at the same time.
If you haven't already, please go read Scout Prime's excellent post on the false comparisons that are being drawn between the recent flooding in North Dakota and the flooding in New Orleans after Katrina. She says it much better than I can.
I talked with an old boyfriend on Facebook recently, for the first time in oh, about 20 years. After telling him that I'd lived in New Orleans for the past 10+ years, had gone through Katrina, etc., his response was interesting. He said he'd been one of those people that sat around in their living rooms, watching the coverage of Katrina, and commenting on what idiots we all were for living there in the first place, etc. He said that I was the first person he knew of that actually lived in the area and was affected by Katrina and that, to be quite honest, he felt like a bit of an asshole for his earlier analysis. His comments didn't offend me--at least he was honest about it.
If you haven't already, please go read Scout Prime's excellent post on the false comparisons that are being drawn between the recent flooding in North Dakota and the flooding in New Orleans after Katrina. She says it much better than I can.
I talked with an old boyfriend on Facebook recently, for the first time in oh, about 20 years. After telling him that I'd lived in New Orleans for the past 10+ years, had gone through Katrina, etc., his response was interesting. He said he'd been one of those people that sat around in their living rooms, watching the coverage of Katrina, and commenting on what idiots we all were for living there in the first place, etc. He said that I was the first person he knew of that actually lived in the area and was affected by Katrina and that, to be quite honest, he felt like a bit of an asshole for his earlier analysis. His comments didn't offend me--at least he was honest about it.
4.02.2009
The Google
Today's odd Google search that led someone here: "Can chihuahuas have grits?"
I'm seriously concerned about some of the weirdos out there on the internets, a large portion of whom seem to end up at my blog. I'm also concerned about the fact that this blog seems to come up as the likeliest place to look for answers to some of y'all's very weird questions.
I'm seriously concerned about some of the weirdos out there on the internets, a large portion of whom seem to end up at my blog. I'm also concerned about the fact that this blog seems to come up as the likeliest place to look for answers to some of y'all's very weird questions.
3.27.2009
A Question
If you live next to railroad tracks that are pretty much in regular use by freight trains, and the weather is bad enough that all of the meteorologists are saying that tornadoes are a possibility and to listen for the tell-tale sound of a freight train, what do you do when you actually hear a freight train? Snatch up your daughter and immediately run and hide in the bathtub, since your house isn't large enough to have an interior room? Or hope it really is just a freight train and ignore it?
This is what I was thinking last night around midnight. Luckily for me, there were no sounds of approaching freight trains, either caused by actual freight trains or by tornadoes. Man, that was quite a thunderstorm, though--it sounded like bombs going off.
I think Kelly had a good point--maybe this weather will keep a few more people off of the streets who might ordinarily be out and about looking for someone to shoot. Come to think of it, I didn't hear about any overnight murders on the news this morning. Maybe we're on to something here....
This is what I was thinking last night around midnight. Luckily for me, there were no sounds of approaching freight trains, either caused by actual freight trains or by tornadoes. Man, that was quite a thunderstorm, though--it sounded like bombs going off.
I think Kelly had a good point--maybe this weather will keep a few more people off of the streets who might ordinarily be out and about looking for someone to shoot. Come to think of it, I didn't hear about any overnight murders on the news this morning. Maybe we're on to something here....
3.26.2009
Laying Odds
So, should we start placing bets now on when the inevitable comparisons will begin anew, contrasting those hard-working, earnest mid-westerners in Fargo, as they battle to keep their town from flooding, with New Orleanians, those shiftless, lazy, morons who just sat around whining and asking for hand-outs after Katrina?
3.17.2009
Random Musings #6
The Directv receiver/DVR that's attached to the ridiculously large (by my standards) television in our living room broke about a week ago. Did you know that if you have service through Directv, even though you pay them a subscription fee of $75 a month, you're on your own if any of the equipment breaks, unless you've opted to pay them a $7/month maintenance fee? So now, in order to have television in our living room again, I have to pay $100 for a new receiver AND agree to a new 24-month contract for services. Correct me if I'm wrong, but if I had a receiver through Cox and it broke, wouldn't they give me a new one for free? Isn't that part of the whole service contract? We give you equipment to use our service, and if it breaks, we'll replace it? Yes, I looked into just telling Directv to go screw themselves and going with Cox, but the price that they want to come out and install cable at our house is even more than it'll cost to replace the damn receiver.
I hate cable companies and electric companies--can someone explain to me again why monopoly laws don't apply to them? Note to self--tag this post with "Directv Sucks" and "Entergy Sucks." Might as well not let Allstate have all of the fun, as someone from that fine company ends up at this blog at least once a month after doing an internet search for "Allstate Sucks." Which it does. Big time.
I hate cable companies and electric companies--can someone explain to me again why monopoly laws don't apply to them? Note to self--tag this post with "Directv Sucks" and "Entergy Sucks." Might as well not let Allstate have all of the fun, as someone from that fine company ends up at this blog at least once a month after doing an internet search for "Allstate Sucks." Which it does. Big time.
3.11.2009
Ah, Spring
Oh, how I love spring in New Orleans. The weather is lovely, daylight savings time goes into effect, and it's nice enough to sit outside on the porch in the evenings.
How can I tell spring has arrived in New Orleans? Why, by the big-ass flying cockroach that scuttled across my floor this morning. I was still groggy and not quick enough to stomp him with my shoe, so I'm sure he's lying in wait for me now. He's probably in our bedroom, cruising in and out of the closet, and perhaps taking little rest breaks on my pillow as I type this.
We'll know that spring has fully sprung once the buckmoth caterpillars take over the trees, streets, and sidewalks and start stinging us. As Emmeline says, "Don't touch the hairy caterpillars!" My four-year-old is a smart girl.
Ah, spring.
How can I tell spring has arrived in New Orleans? Why, by the big-ass flying cockroach that scuttled across my floor this morning. I was still groggy and not quick enough to stomp him with my shoe, so I'm sure he's lying in wait for me now. He's probably in our bedroom, cruising in and out of the closet, and perhaps taking little rest breaks on my pillow as I type this.
We'll know that spring has fully sprung once the buckmoth caterpillars take over the trees, streets, and sidewalks and start stinging us. As Emmeline says, "Don't touch the hairy caterpillars!" My four-year-old is a smart girl.
Ah, spring.
3.04.2009
A Letter to My Daughter, 03/09
Dear Emmeline:
Four years have passed since you were born, and, as mentioned earlier, all of my well-intentioned plans to keep a journal of your babyhood and toddler years haven’t panned out. I really meant to do it, I promise, but like most parents, overcome with the task of the actual parenting, I haven’t often taken the time to put my thoughts into words. And now, in the blink of an eye, my baby girl is four.
You were such a beautiful, easy baby. I rarely remember you crying after the first few weeks-- once I learned what you needed from me, which was not much, other than love, you were about as happy as a baby can be.
There were many, many times when I had absolutely no clue what I was doing and was convinced I was going to be a failure as a mother, like on our first night together, in the hospital. Kenny and I had no earthly idea of why you were crying and tried everything to get you to stop--feeding you, changing you, rocking you, singing to you, putting you in your bassinet, all to no avail. When we finally called the nursery to ask the nurse on duty if she had any advice, her answer was simple. “Do you have a pacifier? If so, then give it to her.” And we gave you the pacifier, and you stopped crying--as simple as that. We had several more sleepless nights those first few weeks after you were born, while we were still muddling our way through this new relationship—I remember one night in particular, when I couldn't get you to sleep, no matter what I did. I finally gave up, and the two of us watched Purple Rain together--it's amazing what you can find on television at 3:00 a.m. (You seemed to prefer the scenes with Morris Day and the Time as opposed to Prince, but you were an infant, so I'll forgive you.)
Four years have passed since you were born, and, as mentioned earlier, all of my well-intentioned plans to keep a journal of your babyhood and toddler years haven’t panned out. I really meant to do it, I promise, but like most parents, overcome with the task of the actual parenting, I haven’t often taken the time to put my thoughts into words. And now, in the blink of an eye, my baby girl is four.
You were such a beautiful, easy baby. I rarely remember you crying after the first few weeks-- once I learned what you needed from me, which was not much, other than love, you were about as happy as a baby can be.
There were many, many times when I had absolutely no clue what I was doing and was convinced I was going to be a failure as a mother, like on our first night together, in the hospital. Kenny and I had no earthly idea of why you were crying and tried everything to get you to stop--feeding you, changing you, rocking you, singing to you, putting you in your bassinet, all to no avail. When we finally called the nursery to ask the nurse on duty if she had any advice, her answer was simple. “Do you have a pacifier? If so, then give it to her.” And we gave you the pacifier, and you stopped crying--as simple as that. We had several more sleepless nights those first few weeks after you were born, while we were still muddling our way through this new relationship—I remember one night in particular, when I couldn't get you to sleep, no matter what I did. I finally gave up, and the two of us watched Purple Rain together--it's amazing what you can find on television at 3:00 a.m. (You seemed to prefer the scenes with Morris Day and the Time as opposed to Prince, but you were an infant, so I'll forgive you.)
2.20.2009
2.09.2009
Random Musings #5
Does every large office building have a crazy person who insists on talking to anyone and everyone in the elevator? You know the one--the person who asks about your weekend and you say it was fine. Then, because it's the polite thing to do, you ask how her weekend was. And then you get to listen to a monologue that lasts all the way to the 18th floor, with multiple stops on the way up to let other people onto the elevator. And all the way up, you have to nod politely while the crazy person tells you about her trip to the gynecologist, and then somehow that segues into her telling you all about the terrible fight that her husband and her daughter had over the weekend. And all of the other people in the elevator are looking at you with sympathy, because you're the one that got stuck talking to crazy lady today. Or even worse, they don't realize that you're not friends with crazy lady and they think you're crazy by association, because why in the world are the two of you (even though crazy lady is the one doing all of the talking) having this wildly inappropriate conversation in front of 10 other people in the elevator? We have one of those. Today was my day to be her elevator friend. Have I mentioned that we don't work together and don't know each other outside of the confines of the elevator? Crazy. Lady.
If I ever win the lottery, my dream is to immediately run out and buy the biggest, heaviest, tank-like old car I can find. Perhaps an old Cadillac or something. And then, when I'm out driving in my very large, very heavy car, I will simply stop avoiding wrecks. That jerk who gets in the left-turn only lane and then forces me to slam on my brakes in order to avoid him when he goes straight and cuts me off? No more braking for you, buddy. Ditto to the people who run traffic lights, slam on their brakes for no apparent reason, swerve into my lane while reading the paper or talking on the phone, or try to get around me in a traffic jam by taking the emergency lane. I won't go out and purposely seek out ways to get into accidents, mind you. I'll just stop avoiding accidents because of the stupidity of other people. After I've had my fill of not avoiding accidents, next up on the list is traveling around the country to ride all of the biggest, tallest roller coasters I can find. And then perhaps a nice relaxing vacation in Italy.
If Mardi Gras krewes don't have a code of conduct for their float riders, they should. Maybe I'm just getting old and cranky, but I think it's incredibly tasteless when a rider starts making the universal sign for "show me your tits" at a girl along the parade route and thinks that's a fair trade for a string of plastic beads. Despite what you see on television, the majority of Mardi Gras really is attended by families--save that stuff for the drunk tourists in the Quarter. I once had a rider request that I "hop like a bunny" in exchange for a string of beads. I'm sure you can imagine the universal sign I gave him. Don't be an ass just because you're on a float. Thankfully, most of the float riders are great and want nothing more than eye contact and an enthusiastic "Hey!" for their beads.
I'm swamped at work, again. I think it's highly inconsiderate that NIH set a due date of the Friday before Mardi Gras for grant progress reports. I'm kidding, mostly. But they do seem to have a knack for setting their deadlines around holiday weekends. If I ever get to take off for Thanksgiving, 4th of July, Memorial Day, etc. without having to kill myself to meet their deadlines, I'll be a happy camper.
The move to my new office is coming along and should happen right on schedule, around April. I'm trying not to think too much about the fact that one of my co-workers told me that the fire alarm doesn't work up on the 25th and 26th floors and that I should probably make sure I have a buddy on a lower floor who'll be kind enough to call and let me know if the need to evacuate the building ever comes up. That's slightly disturbing, considering I've already been abandoned at work once before. I used to be the public relations person for a government agency and was responsible for not only taking pictures for use in publications but also developing said pictures. One Christmas Eve day, I was holed up in the darkroom for several hours. When I came out, the entire building was dark and locked up. The boss had uncharacteristically let everyone go home early for Christmas and no one had thought to come to the darkroom and tell me that. Good times.
On a related note, at that same job, I once wrote a long email to my mother, describing in great detail what an absolute jerk my boss was. Everyone--and I mean everyone--who worked for him hated his guts because he was such an egomaniacal tyrant. Anyway--I accidentally sent that email, meant for my mother, to a gentleman who worked for the state agency that was in charge of regulating our local agency. I have never in my life been so mortified as when he called to let me know he'd gotten the email. Thankfully, he thought my boss was a jerk as well and didn't forward the email on to him. The friends that I keep in touch with from that job still like to bring that story up. Needless to say, they thought it was much more entertaining than I did.
That's life on this end. See y'all after Mardi Gras.
If I ever win the lottery, my dream is to immediately run out and buy the biggest, heaviest, tank-like old car I can find. Perhaps an old Cadillac or something. And then, when I'm out driving in my very large, very heavy car, I will simply stop avoiding wrecks. That jerk who gets in the left-turn only lane and then forces me to slam on my brakes in order to avoid him when he goes straight and cuts me off? No more braking for you, buddy. Ditto to the people who run traffic lights, slam on their brakes for no apparent reason, swerve into my lane while reading the paper or talking on the phone, or try to get around me in a traffic jam by taking the emergency lane. I won't go out and purposely seek out ways to get into accidents, mind you. I'll just stop avoiding accidents because of the stupidity of other people. After I've had my fill of not avoiding accidents, next up on the list is traveling around the country to ride all of the biggest, tallest roller coasters I can find. And then perhaps a nice relaxing vacation in Italy.
If Mardi Gras krewes don't have a code of conduct for their float riders, they should. Maybe I'm just getting old and cranky, but I think it's incredibly tasteless when a rider starts making the universal sign for "show me your tits" at a girl along the parade route and thinks that's a fair trade for a string of plastic beads. Despite what you see on television, the majority of Mardi Gras really is attended by families--save that stuff for the drunk tourists in the Quarter. I once had a rider request that I "hop like a bunny" in exchange for a string of beads. I'm sure you can imagine the universal sign I gave him. Don't be an ass just because you're on a float. Thankfully, most of the float riders are great and want nothing more than eye contact and an enthusiastic "Hey!" for their beads.
I'm swamped at work, again. I think it's highly inconsiderate that NIH set a due date of the Friday before Mardi Gras for grant progress reports. I'm kidding, mostly. But they do seem to have a knack for setting their deadlines around holiday weekends. If I ever get to take off for Thanksgiving, 4th of July, Memorial Day, etc. without having to kill myself to meet their deadlines, I'll be a happy camper.
The move to my new office is coming along and should happen right on schedule, around April. I'm trying not to think too much about the fact that one of my co-workers told me that the fire alarm doesn't work up on the 25th and 26th floors and that I should probably make sure I have a buddy on a lower floor who'll be kind enough to call and let me know if the need to evacuate the building ever comes up. That's slightly disturbing, considering I've already been abandoned at work once before. I used to be the public relations person for a government agency and was responsible for not only taking pictures for use in publications but also developing said pictures. One Christmas Eve day, I was holed up in the darkroom for several hours. When I came out, the entire building was dark and locked up. The boss had uncharacteristically let everyone go home early for Christmas and no one had thought to come to the darkroom and tell me that. Good times.
On a related note, at that same job, I once wrote a long email to my mother, describing in great detail what an absolute jerk my boss was. Everyone--and I mean everyone--who worked for him hated his guts because he was such an egomaniacal tyrant. Anyway--I accidentally sent that email, meant for my mother, to a gentleman who worked for the state agency that was in charge of regulating our local agency. I have never in my life been so mortified as when he called to let me know he'd gotten the email. Thankfully, he thought my boss was a jerk as well and didn't forward the email on to him. The friends that I keep in touch with from that job still like to bring that story up. Needless to say, they thought it was much more entertaining than I did.
That's life on this end. See y'all after Mardi Gras.
Conversations With a Three-Year-Old, Volume 9
E: You're my bestest mommy. I like being around you all the time.
Me: Aw, thanks.
E: Except for when I don't like being around you.
Me: Aw, thanks.
E: Except for when I don't like being around you.
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