Ask And You Shall Receive

Yesterday Mitch and I went to the mall on the hunt for a Father's Day gift, a backpack, gifts for my co-workers, and a watch. We returned with none of those things and severe fatigue.

Over the past few months I have been doing bits of work here and there for a math-a-thon at the school. (You'll understand the connection shortly.) This year's theme was Superheroes named after math concepts such as "Numerator" and "Denominator" and the like.

This morning I received two gifts from the math-a-thon coordinator. A T-shirt that says "Numerator" and lo and behold--A BACKPACK! The backpack also says "Numerator".

Needless to say, I am going to be the COOLEST camp counselor on the west side of the Mississippi (and that's a LOT of territory).

Things Found In My Bed

So due to the general lack of storage space and the complete abomination that is my room during this packing for CA process, I have been sleeping with quite an array of crappe in my bed. I have been snuggling up to the following:

A pair of earrings
A photo envelope
Nail clippers
Water bottle
Various shirts
A pen
Nylons
Hangers
A box of tampons
Nail polish remover
Nail polish
A headband
A nip of Bacardi
An envelope full of money
A shot glass from Spain
A Wizard of Oz pill case
Ribbon
A Company program


...to name a few.

I wish I was kidding.

Things Annie Tried To Say

She tried to say: "Is this parking for retards?"

She actually said: "Is this tard for re parking? I guess I answered my own question."

Grievance

As a seven-year-old, if I heard "She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain" or "Pop! Goes the Weasel" playing with a delightful music box quality from some unknown location it meant that it was around 1:30 and that the ice cream man was making his rounds. I would try to scrape up enough change to purchase a Bubble Play or Screwball and sprint up the street to meet him at the corner. (We lived on a dead-end street with three houses rendering it a hassle for the boxy truck to take the trip).

As a 21-year-old living on St. Alphonsus St., if I hear "She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain" or "Pop! Goes the Weasel" playing with a music box quality one more time I will be filled with enough murderous rage to kill an entire orphanage. I exaggerate. But seriously, is it really necessary for the ice cream man to park a stone's throw from our building and sell his goods while keeping the music on for (what I've timed today to be) an hour and a half? It is irritating enough for me never to want a Bubble Play again. Fine. I exaggerate some more. Bubble Plays are delicious.

Musings

Celine Dion followed us to New York. While in the New York underground our ears perked up as a karaoke track played the opening of "My Heart Will Go On" and a woman perched on a bench began to sing.

Things I Found in my Bed

Hey kids,

I realize that Jess and I haven't been up on "things we found in our beds" lately, which in her defense probably has something to do with her travels. I, on the other hand, have no excuse. So this morning, to sum, I was sleeping in a tiny little ball in my full-sized bed, with:
1. two shopping bags - express and american eagle
2. two books - chuck palahniuk's "Diary" and "Everything is Illuminated" by an author I can't remember
3. My laptop, phone, and phone charger
4. iPod headphones. not sure where the actual iPod is.
5. tulip petal found under my pillow. very dead and brown.
6. a tissue
7. various articles of clothing

I suppose my bed can no longer be considered a true bed. It is, in fact, a storage space masquerading as a bed between the hours of midnight and 8am.