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Jun. 16th, 2007

T G I not F anymore

Last night was weird.

Well, ok, it started out nice. I left work and went to my brother's to see my new nephew, who is absolutely adorable and precious, and I actually got to hold him without sharing for half an hour. It was wonderful. 

So I left and ran home to get dressed and meet Jen at Paddy's at 7:30. Got there, had some drinks, it was fun.

Got home, ate an Arby's french dip (they are so bad but soooo good), and got ready for bed. I will admit I was slightly inebriated. I drifted off to sleep.

...and then the sleepwalking began.

When I was a kid, I used to sleepwalk and even got caught going out the side door once. That freaks me out because if my mom hadn't found me, there is no telling where I would have taken myself. I did it a few times, but it's been a while...since I was 12 or 13.

I will relay the story as it was told to me by Ryan, because he was writing on the computer and heard the commotion I caused.

Allegedly I got out of bed and tried to get to the bathroom via the closet door. Well, our sliding closet doors have been off their track for a long time now so they are just kind of propped in place (which is fine because we don't use the things we have stored in there). So I jerked it off the wall, it fell, created a ruckus, and Ryan came in to find me dumbly staring at the closet door at my feet.

So he asked me what I was doing and apparently I said, "Going to the bathroom to pee." He said "this is the closet," and I got mad and walked past him and started down the stairs. We have a bathroom upstairs, but I guess in my dream world it wasn't good enough.

Ryan followed me downstairs and waited for me to get out of the bathroom. When I did he asked me what was going on and why I came all the way downstairs when we have a perfectly good toilet upstairs. I guess I didn't like the question, so I wheeled around and yelled, "I DON'T KNOW, OKAY?!" and started back up the stairs.

He just kind of stoof there because he couldn't believe I had yelled at him... I NEVER yell. He heard me slam the door, so he got a drink and went back to the office to write more (all of this happened about 2:00 am or so).

But I had not gone back to our bedroom.

Later, about 4:00 am, he came to bed and tried to snuggle up with me. He said he was inching slowly toward my side because he didn't want to jar me and wake me up (especially since I had yelled at him earlier). He said he kept reaching and reaching until his arm was off the edge of the bed. So naturally, he freaked out because he had HEARD me slam the door when I came back upstairs so he flipped on the lights, afraid I had fallen out of bed and broken my neck or something. I wasn't anywhere in the bedroom.

He searched around before he finally found me asleep in the guest room. He came in and said, "Melissa, what are you doing in here? Are you mad at me?" (we have never slept apart unless one of us was out of town). He said I finally woke up (for real this time) and upon realizing where I was, became really confused and replied, "I honestly have no idea."

He started laughing after he realized what had happened, pointed at the door, and said, "Get back in there and go to sleep!"

His last words before I fell back asleep were, 'We're going to think this is really funny in the morning."

Jun. 14th, 2007

Raisin...friend or foe?

So I am sitting at my dest staring at a box of raisins I got from Subway a few days ago since they were out of the lovely packs of sliced apples, which I adore. I didn't want chips (because I try to stay conscious of what I eat, except the times when I say "fuck it" and go to a drive-thru) so I chose the raisins.

*** Sidenote: I have and always will refer to my desk as my "dest." It drives me nuts when people mispronounce words on purpose because they're lazy. A woman I worked with when I was a workstudy at UA was fat and sloppy and as a result, had fat, sloppy words. She used to call her desk her "dest" and a futile attempt by me and my best friend to make fun of her turned into part of our sometimes strange vernacular. We also say "lunt" instead of lunch (mispronounced by my preschool teacher). 

Anyway, back to the raisins...

I can't decide whether I want to eat them or not. Raisins are really good in things like oatmeal cookies and raisin bran and bread pudding. It has been a very long time since I just ate some raisins by themselves. I think they have a bad rap in my book because my mother used to try to get us to eat healthy snacks when we were kids so she'd stock up on things like raisins, apples, peanut butter, etc., sometimes combining the three (which is very good if you've never tried it). The raisins would sit in the cabinet, the peanut butter would be combined with jelly and bread, and the apples would be eaten by my parents. The raisins would just sit there. Every now and then I would condescend to try a box, but most of the time they were so dried out and old it would taste like I was eating a box of cockroaches. That's just effing SICK. 

So now, as an adult who has been abstinent from plain raisins for a very long time, I'm not sure what to do about them. Will they be good? Will they be dried out and jerky-ish? 

I'll let you know their fate.

I'm a LiveJournal virgin...

...and I've always wanted to keep a diary. I enjoy myspace blogs a lot and tend to get too wordy, so I thought I'd go to the next level and start a journal. So I am just going to start typing what's on my mind.

My boss is a weirdo. I think he honestly believes that I have the superhuman ability to be four people at once. I guess it's my fault because I am really damn efficient (and I am not blowing my own horn, it's a fact...that is how come I have the time to write in journals and such) and thus, he can pile on the work because he thinks I can handle it. Well, when I fill up a whole notebook page, scribbling as fast as I can as he rattles off whatever "menial" task he needs done without thinking that I might not be able to handle it all, it makes me want to commit murder. Some days I think, "I am going to leave as soon as something better comes along" and some days I like my job. Not today. He's on a task rampage and he doesn't understand that when he says, "I need a black and white sign for each of our locations" what exactly that involves. He thinks it's just simple as pie. What it DOES involve is trucking my ass all over town to take pictures, making sure I have photo releases for everyone in them, uploading them (from my camera, i might add), cropping and photoshopping them, designing the signs (they are big bio boards of clients with disabilities), getting the signs approved by management, calling around to get price quotes, filling out a purchase order, emailing the designs to the company, ordering the signs, going to to sign company to preview the signs, approving the signs, picking up the signs, distributing the signs, submitting the bill once it arrives, making sure the bill gets paid, and keeping a file of all my work. 

He thinks I am just supposed to shit out some signs. 

For most employees, this would be a week-long task, but for me it's only one bullet on my page of endless bullshit. 

I really didn't want to start out my journal with a bitchfest but he called just as I was in the middle of contemplating what to write first and ruined my mood.

I'm sure he will become an integral character in the posts to come. I'll write more later after I finish running all over creation.

June 2007



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