I love the waking up on the sofa after a passing out the night before. I especially love waking up and smelling smoke. I believe it went something like this: (yawn, stretch) "Oh, I can't believe it's 5:35 in the morning. I should get ready and go to work earl--HOLY CRAP! I smell smoke!" Then running around my admittedly not-that-large apartment three times to assure myself that my hovel was not on fire. I also ran downstairs to see if the neighbors were out because perhaps another part of the building was on fire. Then, the news came on with a "Breaking News" bulletin to tell me that this place was on fire. I went to my bedroom to see what I could see and decided that my bed looked lonely and wouldn't I be more comfortable watching the smoke from under the covers? Two hours later, I finally got in the shower. And I was late. REALLY late for work.
And the boss called my cell while I was trying to exit the 101 to the 110, which will only mean anything to Angelinos. Trust me, it was tricky trying to tell her which hotel* she's staying in for the conference today while shifting (I drive stick) and merging into six lanes of traffic and keeping an eye on the Tahoe in front of me with a hair-trigger brake pedal. My new ring tone (the opening instrumental from the Shout Out Louds "Tonight I Have To Leave It") is pretty awesome so I let the phone ring too long and the boss was a little annoyed.
*Funny story: I booked the boss at two different hotels because (a) I booked the first one back in November and didn't save the confirmation in my folders like I normally do, so I forgot ; and (b) I may be on the crack. So she's on the phone saying "I'm staying at the Wyndham." and I'm saying, "No, you're staying at the Hilton," while thinking "crack baby." Guess who's really the crack baby?