What a way to make a Livin'...

I really don't have much to say today. Or lately now that I think about it.

Wow. I was just sitting here, typing away, and Lyle walks over to my desk.

"Look around. Notice anything?"

We are all alone. Seriously. There's no one in the entire Enforcement Division except for myself and Lyle. I have to say it's fucking creepy. Maybe there's a fire that no one decided to tell us about. You'd have to have inter-office email for that and we're not high enough on the totem pole to have such perks. So Lyle and I could become extra crispy. We'll just have to wait and see on that one.

I did Happy Hour yesterday with a bunch of LiveJournal kids (Dru, Devon, Julie, Karen, Leigh, and Coleen--look at all those girls). I drank an entire pitcher of Miller Lite to myself, and was quite impressed with myself. But Happy Hour never lasts just one and which of course, ended up at Flatplex smoking weed. I love how when we were leaving the bar to pick up beer for home, Dru and I go into the liquor store.

"Booze or Wine? Booze or Wine?"

It was like Sophie's choice. He wanted to get two bottles of wine. I told him I thought that was a bad idea. He was, "You're right. That's too much. How 'bout we just get one bottle of wine and then a six-pack?"

'Cause that's a good idea. God, we're such drunks.

But it was. I got drunk and high and laughed a lot and Devon and I grabbed a cab home at about 1, devoured his Taco Today leftovers, and I passed out soundly, dreaming I was back in the Winship building at UT.

Holy Crap.

Mommy Dearest booked me to babysit, like, two weeks ago for today. And then she called a week ago to confirm. That's all any normal person would have to do. Book, confirm, and then assume all is set.

Not Mommy Dearest.

I looked down at my phone, and in the span of an hour, the woman had called me twice, one of them with URGENT attached to it. And the message was all "I hope you haven't made any other plans because I had you down for tonight." And then she proceeds to give me her address for the 8 millionth time (I've babysat there a lot--what kind of sitters is she used to?) and her name. She always says, "This is Cheri (pronounced sherry) Brandon, Jordan's mother. You've babysat for us." Like I don't have her in my phone. Like I would know anyone else who identifies themselves in regards to what their spawn is. Obviously. And how can I forget this family? The 6 year old still sleeps in his crib, for Christ's sake. That tends to leave a lasting impression. A lasting impression of insanity.

Ugh. This is going to be a looooooooonnnnnnnnnggggggggg day.