Friday Rambling

I've been busy, busy, busy this week and I feel like I haven't blogged in a long time. But, no, it's only been since Tuesday. Let's see, what's going on in the land of Laurie Ann?

Well, today is my mom's birthday. She's xx years old today--I'm too lazy to do the math. I didn't get a chance to call her because I felt like I was being monitored by some people in the office who recently got a bug up their collective asses about what I do all day. Since today's tasks largely involved Internet research, the casual observer would probably think I was goofing off. I was also an emailing fool and checked my phone often because one of the folks I was dealing with was texting me. Some people should mind their collective business and not worry about what I do all day. It's not as if I'm overpaid or anything.

I fell off the no-sugar wagon with a thud. I ate all that lovely fruit by Wednesday and I was stressed--and the boss has a big dish of Jelly Belly beans on her desk. I'm not beating myself up, though. I'll just start all over again and take it day by day.

Frau sighting!! I got home yesterday to find Frau on my front porch. She watched me park, saw me get out of the car, heard me say "Hi Frau (not really, I used her name)" and yet, she stood there knocking on my door and looking annoyed that I wasn't answering. When I finally walked up the steps she said, "oh, I thought you were home." My rent is going up. She seemed very pleased with herself that she was only raising it 3%. She seemed to want me to thank her profusely. "Thank you, Frau. Thank you so much for not raising my rent the whole 5%. You're the best."

And just because I can feel your eyes glazing over and hear the stifled yawns, here are some visual aids for you. Do you see that gross stain on the head rest? How dirty is that person's hair? If you're using enough hair product to crust up your head rest, put a cover over it. I don't speak or read Spanish (see the Rodeo Grill incident) so I'm not sure what this says, but I'm thinking they either sell tamales or the fixings for tamales, as this is some kind of grocery store (corner of Vermont and James Wood). However, the picture? Doesn't look like any tamale I've ever eaten. It looks like Mr. Hanky, the Christmas Poo. I laugh every morning.
Jamie should totally have this paint job to distinguish her from the plethora of Jettas on the road. It reminded me of a car Billy Logue, a former co-worker, used to drive that was painted like a bomber plane. Oh, and there was a car in my neighborhood when I first moved to LA that was covered in fur. Tami and I were in awe because that would never fly back in Pennsyltucky.