Detour

I'm allergic to my friggin bed. I'm not even kidding. After two weeks of sniffling, coughing, booger blowing and feeling great otherwise I finally realized today that I have freaking allergy. To my bed. I go to work: feel fine. Go to school: fine. Come home: fine. Step foot in the bedroom: coughcoughsneeze. Lay in bed: eyes water and I begin to cough up my lungs. Damn.

Other than my inability to break down alcohol, which I usually just simplify as an "allergy" when explaining to people why I'm so wasted all the time (because bringing up enzyme deficiencies seems to be a real buzz kill for most) and my spontaneous swelling of mouth, feet and hands when I get stressed out or touch a certain type of metal found only on weird smelling department store hangers I have gotten by pretty easily without a traditional allergy. I'm pretty convinced that I psychosomatically cause my stress symptoms out of pure boredom but was actually diagnosed as being allergic to stress in 8th grade. Ha, I'm pretty sure I was just allergic to tween boys or locker rooms or any other traumatizing adolescent accoutrement but whatever. This is a full fledged stereotypical allergy with irritating symptoms and all. So now I'm out to sleep on the couch tonight and if this little controlled experiment doesn't work I'm cutting my head off tomorrow. 

In lieu of anything significant to say I direct your attention here. Text Messages from Last Night is the funniest collection of absurdity I've seen in a while but you can search your very own area code to see what all the wasted people are thinking in your city. Score. 

Here are some of my favorites:

Made Ya Look

Alright, I forget where we left off. Heart problems, ok. Turns out googling my brains out was not the best idea because four weeks and three doctor appointments later revealed not a thing has changed since my last cardiologist appointment- eleven years ago. He said I'm good to go, I can run up flights of stairs and pop babies out without worry. Cool.

In other news: it's the dreaded finals week where I try to squeeze every lecture from the quarter into the next 12 hours, because I'm clearly focusing on other priorities right now, which culminates in a three hour test at eight o'clock Monday morning. You would think I should get credit just for passing the social experiment of being trapped in a room of 300 kids at the crack of dawn after days of sleep deprivation but sadly, no.    

Also this little lady finally scored herself a job. A sweet-ass one no less.  You're looking at a full fledged server at one of "Seattle's finest seafood restaurant" dum-da-da-dum. So here I am, one step closer to becoming a professional server - my goal is to become this plump Paula Deen-looking lady who has worked there for 24 years and calls everyone Sugar. I get to wear starched white collared shirts, 70's fish button ups on special days and a seasonal fruit or fish pin if I so desire, which I do, naturally. As of today I'm halfway through my eight, possibly nine, day training session (bootcamp) and I'm feeling more and more confident milking old men - for cash (sicko). Also no one is allowed to visit me at work. Partly because I want no evidence of me in a trout shirt but mostly because I'm constantly on edge worrying that any minute they're going to realize I've been faking my years of experience by merely distracting customers with my smile and perky boobs- so for the sake of anyone witnessing me wet myself out of pure nervousness- no fish for you. It's gonna be a long summer of an intensive Spanish class and driving all the way to Ballard to serve the golden agers their Sunset Dinners before 6 o'clock (bedtime). But for now, I sit in front of the computer convincing myself I'm making progress (but hey, aren't we all).

Ps. Man has a shiny new blog (muahaha- I win) here that you should check out posthaste. There are some great pictures of what's been going on around the house in my absence. I'm gone all day and come home to find pieces of a concrete wall in the driveway, the garden ripped up and a man sized hole jackhammered into the ground. sheesh.