Random Thoughts

My mom and I used get McDonald's a lot when we would be out and about on the weekends. I remember her saying, as she was balancing a hamburger and fries on her lap while she drove 70 mph down new 90, "This is how we're going to die." It used to crack me up. And I think of her saying that frequently. Normally when I'm turning left onto 32nd from 56th.

There are cars parked alongside the road and I can never see if there's anything coming. So I creep out, as far as I can without completely being in the intersection, and then I just gun it. I normally get lucky and there are no cars. That is, until this morning. I think I gave someone a heart attack. And after I had safely gotten out of his way, I said to myself, "This is how I'm going to die." Then I chuckled and thought of mom.

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I bought little plastic, colored, key thingies to designate my building key from my door key. The keys look exactly the same, but the building key is a tad longer than the door key. So I bought a pack of four plastic thingies - red, yellow, blue and green. I was thinking about which color I should use for what. After much deliberation, I decided on yellow for the building key and red for the door key. Why?

When I had my bottom of the barrel night at Lock & Keel a couple of months ago, I couldn't figure out which key to use for the building when I got home. I was trying all of them. And the nice gentleman who walked me home kept saying "This isn't your building." and I kept arguing with him, "Yes it is!" So, I thought, if I'm stumbling drunk, which color is going to stand out the most to me so I will immediately recognize the building key? Why, yellow of course!

I think like a drunk. I'm not proud, but it's the truth.

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One of the women Jamie and I had dinner tonight with picked up the check for everyone. Oh, happy day!

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I haven't cried in two days. The bags under my eyes are finally gone.

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It's freakin' freezing here. It's actually 39 degrees, but it feels a helluva lot colder. So cold, in fact, that lately I've been sleeping in my sweats. And that, my friends, is quite rare. I'm quite picky about my sleep. It has to be perfect. I do all I can so that it's not ruined. I put my hair up in knotted ponytail on the top of my head because I hate turning over and having all 50 lbs of it getting in my face. I usually only sleep in my undies because, again, I hate turning in my sleep and having my shirt bunch up around me and I have to straighten it all out which wakes me up. And that just ticks me off. So, no clothing.

But now, I'm sleeping in my wool socks, my sweat pants, my t-shirt and a sweatshirt. And I'm not troubled by this. I'm not waking up at night all bunched up or discombobulated. Either I'm suddenly okay with being discombobulated, or the pretty pink pills are really knocking me out. Whatever. I'm sleeping through the night. Good stuff.

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A couple of Wednesdays ago, I went down to put my sheets in the dryer. But there were rugs in the dryer. Well, Wednesday is my laundry day. Just who was using the washer and dryer on my day? In any event, I'm a good neighbor, so I took all eight rugs, which were still wet, out of the dryer and hung them up on the clothes lines that are strewn about in the laundry room and put my sheets in the dryer.

When I went to get them out of the dryer, much later because I went out for a while, they were folded and set on top of the machine. My instant reaction, jaded person that I am, was "Who the hell touched my laundry?!" But then, after thinking about it, I bet it was the person who left the rugs in the dryer. She/He saw that I hung them up and to return the favor, and maybe to say sorry for encroaching on my laundry day, they folded my sheets for me.

I have nice neighbors.

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Shaun texted tonight to assure me he would not wait a couple of days to check on me. I feel loved.