Too Much Second-hand Smoke

Today I held the door for an elderly lady with a walker and we walked into the building together. She told me about her dead friend that lived in Seattle and fought until her death [her words, not mine] for handicapped automatic door openers at all public buildings. I told her that isn’t a ridiculous request, and I am surprised there are still buildings without them. Then this happened.

Elderly lady: “Is that Marijuana festival this weekend?”

Me: “Um. I think so?”

Elderly lady: “Oh it is usually under control. I live right around the corner though and I don’t appreciate the second hand smoke. I still get affected by it, you know.”

Me: “Well, that’s too bad. Close the windows?”

Elderly lady: “I bet Emily Dickinson grew some in her garden. She wasn’t as innocent as people think she is you know.”

Me: “She did have a green thumb…”

Um.

What.

-A

Is This Call Being Recorded?

The other day at work I was minding my own business perusing the internet when suddenly all hell broke lose and our internet stopped working. Rationally, we all started flipping out.  Out of nowhere my boss had an incurable stomach ache and my coworker was on the verge of going home in lieu of a nervous break down.

Like the only sane person at my place of work, I picked up the phone and called Comcast. The conversation went the following way:

“Hello thank you for calling Comcast, my name is Tarek how may I help you today?”

“Hi. The internet and phones at my business are acting up.”

“Well Ma’am I would be happy to look into that for you. May I have your name?”

“Yes, it’s Avalon.”

“Babylon?”

“Close, but, no. Avalon. A-v-a-l-o-n”.

“Wow! That’s a really great name! You’re so lucky!”

“Yea I guess. It could have been worse I suppose”.

“Hold on one minute while I put that on my names list”.

……………………………………….

Um.

What.

-A

Hi. I Like to Cry.

I’ve mentioned this on the blog before, but I seriously have a crying problem. If you met me you would never think, ‘oh wow, I think that girl cries like 8 times a day’. I am sarcastic and often walk around with a stone cold heart. My real life hardly ever makes me cry. In fights I don’t cry, I yell. At work I don’t cry, I get even. With my friends I don’t cry, because I have the best friends ever and they would never do that to me.

Television. Television makes me cry.

1. I guess it’s always good to start with the lamest one in hopes that by the time you have finished the list you will have forgotten how ridiculous I am. The first time I saw this COFFEE commercial I cried. I seriously need to get it together. I can watch it now without crying, but I was a sucker for the awful jingle and preposterous acting/plot line the first time.

 

2. We all know how much I love Casey Abrams on American Idol. Too much. I think he is INCREDIBLY talented and a little bit adorable all rolled up into one. A few weeks ago he received the least amount of votes and was going to end up going home, but the judges used their ONLY season save to save him from this unfair fate. Crying ensued. By me. And a little by Casey.

 

3. I also cry at adorableness. I stumbled upon this video on someone’s blog/facebook/whatever and watched it laughing with tears streaming down my face like the craziest person on the face of the planet.

 

4. I found this website and sometimes when I feel like I need to fit in one more cry for the day I visit it. Sometimes I get the feeling the little anecdotes are fake or made up, but I don’t really care. I don’t discriminate when it comes to my tears.

 

5. The other day I decided to watch the first episode of the new show Mobbed. I basically started crying immediate just because I could feel what was coming. In this show a guy loves his jealous girlfriend so much that he decides to plan [with the help of Howie Mendel] an elaborate proposal. The whole event starts with her being jealous of some skanky actress playing a lost connection of her boyfriend, and ends with tears, singing, and more tears. Most of the tears were from me. WHAT IS MY PROBLEM.

Happy crying!

-A

You Look SO Familiar…

In this day and age it is way too easy to be the world’s creepiest human being.

I may not be the creepiest, but I am definitely a contender.

Preface.

Freshman year of college [was it freshman year?] Taryn was totally into this guy who was a mystery to me. I never saw him and didn’t know who he was, basically I thought he was Taryn’s imaginary friend. Just kidding…[am I?]. Regardless, he ended up leaving the school after I did [convenient for her story] and then transferred to the school I go to [this was the point where I knew she wasn’t lying].

I facebooked him when he transferred and realized I didn’t know him, but was relieved he was a real person and my bffl wasn’t bat shit crazy.

Skip ahead THREE YEARS to me sitting here in my office minding my own business. A young gentleman walked in, I looked up and who is? Mr. Phantom Man! I start panicking because I feel SO CREEPY for knowing who he is, I start frantically writing scribbles in my calendar book. He starts talking to me, and I start ignoring him and gchatting Taryn telling her that I thought Mr. Guy-I-Thought-You-Made-Up was standing in front of me. Yea, I’m great at customer service. Finally I help him and he decides to get his computer fixed.

As I am literally typing his name into the computer, I ask him what his name is for show. SERIOUSLY, how creepy am I. I am now blushing and laughing at myself while this poor kid is telling me he has water damage to the power supply in his Mac.

Eventually I decide to be even more creepy and just cut my losses.

Me: “You look super familiar” [LIES ALL LIES]

Him: “Oh Yeah?”

Me: “Yeah did you go to UT?” [i am so creepy. so creepy. so creepy]

Him “Oh Yeah for a year, then I transferred here!” [Duh, I know. I know everything about you. Kidding.]

Me: “HAHA A OMG SO WEIRD ME TOO” [I need help]

I take his computer, he leaves.

Apparently blondes are his type because he was not excited enough that cute computer girl was pretending to recognize him.

Last minute I decided not to throw Taryn under the bus by saying “Oh I recognize your name because my bffl made me stalk you on facebook” and in turn made myself look like the creepiest, weirdest, computer nerd on the face of the planet.

That’s what friends are for.

-A

Avoidance 101

Hi.

I love avoiding people. You might assume that this fact is because I am a snob or a huge bitch when in fact it is really just because I am HORRIBLY AWKWARD. I run into people I know and I immediately have nothing to say. I resort to laughing awkwardly or making fun of them [maybe I am a huge bitch?] and I’m pretty sure they are silently regretting talking to me and making a mental note to never run into me ever again. When this awkwardness happened, I am not quite sure. I used to be very social and extremely fun to be around [probably not], and then suddenly I am like a hermit crab with diarrhea of the mouth. Gross.

Let me break it down for you.

Here are actual quotes from awful interactions:

“So. What’s up? Besides growing a beard.”

“I’m glad your new girlfriend is nice, the last one was awful. And Asian?”

“Living at home? You mean living the dream?”

“Oh what’s up with me? Oh nothing, I just hang out with my cat.”

And now for a pictorial montage of my avoidance.

1.

2.

 

3.

4.

 

1. The Cover-My-Face tactic. I do this often, and as you can see it is only semi-effective. If I don’t want to be having a conversation or I feel awkward, I just cover my face. The male pictured caressed my face the first time I met him. In this photo I was just protecting my poor face from a repeat offense.

2. The I-Whip-My-Hair-Back-And-Forth. This trick, similar to sunglasses, allows the user to hide behind a wall. My long very dark hair provides a shield, a veil if you will, between myself and whoever might be lurking on the other side.

3. The disguise. This genius avoidance tactic is flawless. If you are wearing a costume, no one will know who you are. BAM.

4. The Hide-In-A-Model-Train-Mountain. In this photo I am hiding in a model train mountain.

Yes. I am crazy.

So as I have mentioned maybe a thousand times, I still live in my hometown. I am in love with my hometown, but I kinda feel like maybe I need some new people in it. Like all new people.

I see people I went to high school every where [similar to poor Haley Joel Osment and his dead people]. I most often see them at the gym, just to add insult to injury. I hate going to the gym as is, and I am always instantly drenched in sweat as soon as I walk through the Judgement Free doors. My sweaty self does not want to see any semblance of an acquaintance while it is so shiny, so I had to come up with some new techniques.

1.Technology

Bring as many devices into the gym as possible to act as distractions during machine to machine transitions.

2. Watch Something Intense

If you are watching a basketball game or the news, people will assume you are invested. Skip the Hills reruns.

3. Forget to Wear a Watch

If you are caught noticing someone, squint past them into the distance, there will for sure be a clock on the wall somewhere.

4. Never Ever Take Out Your Earbuds

Self explanatory.

And there you have it.

I swear I’m not crazy. I’m not avoiding people, I am just avoiding unloading a whole truck of awkward sauce onto innocent bystanders.

-A

Sippin’ on Gin and Juice….

Just now I was perusing the interwebs when I can came across a featured blog on the WordPress homepage. Entitled “What Was Your First Cocktail”, the article quickly had me reminiscing to a time where I drank cocktails and not just my now commonplace flat diet sprite [<worst thing ever]. Because the author is classy, he lets you know immediately that his first cocktail was a martini. Well, excuse me Sir-Class-A-Lot. I would also like to point out that during the time of his first Shaken not Stirred, the author was also married. YOUTH THESE DAYS.

I might as well let you know right off the bat that I have NEVER ordered a martini in my life. Mostly I am afraid to because the bar tender will immediately rigidly point at me like in Invasion of the Body Snatchers [the 70s version] to make sure everyone knows that I am not really and adult or prestigious enough to order such a drink. I am an impostor.

According to the Miriam-Webster dictionary the definition of cocktail is as follows: an iced drink of wine or distilled liquor mixed with flavoring ingredients.

I was under the impression that to actually classify as a cocktail it needed some sort of specific ingredient like vodka or gin or something. Who am I to argue with the dictionary.

Based on this definition my first cocktail happened before I could order it at a bar like a classy person. Now, in all honesty I don’t really remember what my first cocktail was. Despite what you may be thinking, this is not because I instantly got sooo wasted that I promptly forgot. It’s more like I try and erase bad tastes from my memory so I never have to conjure them up when people mention them in the future. Unless you are this swanky martini guy, your first drink probably wasn’t the tastiest thing your buds have ever experienced. Given these weird circumstances there are a few possible “cocktails” that may have easily taken my “first-time” spot.

Contenders:

1. Rum and Coke

2. White Russian

3. Vodka Soda

Mostly all disgusting, I know. Rum and Coke? What am I fifteen? But seriously. The first time you want to drink something you really do think about commercials you have seen on television for direction in what to purchase; ie Bacardi. Let me just tell you, Bacardi is disgusting in all forms but especially in the RAZZ form. Avoid at all costs. White Russians? Yes. Keeping in Klassy. Like a 75 year old. Last but not least, the tried and true, Vodka Soda. I still drink this, that’s how you know it’s good. I’m hoping my first cocktail was a V.Soda so I can hold on to my dignity and pretend that even as a first time drinker I was savvy. Unfortunately I think that the more likely first drink was a rum and coke, heavy on the RAZZ.

What was your first cocktail?!

-A

P.S. Writing this in the morning is making me want to throw up.

 

Oh, uhm that’s my sister…

Kasey and I enjoy sports. There was one summer we watched Sportscenter ALL DAY….oh the days when I could sit and watch tv, and not worry about being productive. Ahh. Anyways, back to reality.

We love sports. More importantly, we love TAMPA sports. Rays, Bolts, Bucs. Love them all (well, as of recent I feel as if the Bucs don’t deserve fans. Alas, I can’t ever go against my home teams). Thankfully we have friends who share our passion with Tampa teams and we make outings to go watch games. Lucky for us we still look like we are in college, so we get student discounts. Frugal high five, whoop whoop!

Our maine (state shout out) teams are the Rays and Lightning. They have our love and loyalty. We know (sometimes pretend) all of their names and positions, and talk about them as if we were their friends. “Omg, did you see Evan‘s (Longoria- Rays) new hair cut? David (Price- Rays) is looking pretty fly tonight (idk I find that picture hilarious). Do you think Ryan (Malone- Lightning) is dating anyone? OMG RYAN (MALONE) HAS A WIFE AND 2 KIDS…NOW I CAN’T BE A HOCKEY WIFE”. Sometimes I worry we act too attached. Then I decide, I don’t care because in the back of my mind I am like, “we’re never going to see them anyway”.

Oh. Was I wrong.

It was about 9:30 pm last Friday night that (Kasey, Erica, myself and Marissa-pictured to the left-.Aka the girls) were out at a local bar that we frequent all too frequently. Kasey walks up to us and is like, “I think Lightning players are here”. Now if you know me, you know I can be two things:

1. Shy (for the most part)

2. Star crazy

Guess which one won in this battle.

Yep. Star crazy.

When I see a celeb/athlete/reality star (let’s face it, they’re not celebs) I forget ALL ABOUT being shy. ESPECIALLY if I have had anything to drink. And (sorry to say it, mom) I had a drink or two.

So there we see Steven Stamkos (Lightning, also the leading goal scorer in NHL right now. Nbd) along with Ryan Malone and two other guys (once I saw Ryan Malone, all other guys ceased to exist). I don’t say anything because who wants to be bombarded right when you walk in? Not me. So I go to the bathroom, just to walk out and see them standing RIGHT THERE. Here’s when the ballsy Taryn steps up and is like, “Oh hey guys, I see you’ve migrated to the inside of the bar?” (who says this). To which Ryan Malone answers something cute back. Well, I can only assume it was cute because I CAN’T REMEMBER WHAT HE SAID. He was just so massive and attractive, I couldn’t focus. Then I bounce back to my friends outside. I tell them about my “encounter” and we then decide by the end of the night we are talking to them again.

To me “by the end of the night” meant 15 minutes later..when Erica and I (Marissa and Kasey were too embarrassed) walked back into the bar and I go, “Just so ya know, I love the Lighting..I knew y’all were players earlier, but I felt dumb”–Why Taryn. Why.

Steven Stamkos is now the one I am conversing with and says, “Oh yeah? Are you going to the game tomorrow night?”

And I am like, “Ah no! I have been in Jacksonville all week and didn’t realize there was a game!…But seriously. I’ve been a fan since ’94”.

Stamkos laughs and is like, “Ahh gotcha. But great you like us!”

Then I am like, “Yep…Welp, good luck tomorrow!”

Then we cheers our beers and I walk away feeling quite proud of myself, until the whole conversation sinks in…

1. I couldn’t have given it an hour in between my conversations? Talk about crazy.

2. None of those guys were a part of the Lightning in 1994. Why would they care I am a fan?

3. If I’ve been a fan since 1994, then shouldn’t I know when they are playing? REGARDLESS of being elsewhere the whole week?

4. Why didn’t Ryan Malone buy me a drink?- Ha. But seriously.

If this story didn’t get anymore funny, the next night we saw Stamkos out again and while my back was turned he goes to Kasey, “Did you know that she has been a fan since ’94?”. To which Kasey replies, “Oh uhm that’s my sister…”

Super.

Glad my loyalty made an impression.

-T

And I guess it’s pronouced, Ma-Why-Uh?

Yesterday I did not have internet connection. It was terriboo (said in British accent. It’s fun. Try it).  I had my whole day planned..I was going to work for a bit, get my Glee on, work a little more, then watch more Glee. It was going to be spectacular! Then at around 11:01, my day came crumbling down. True I got to go to Panera, where I received a free cup of soup (I know, always a silver lining), but still. Even if I was a good worker and didn’t use internet as a work distraction, I needed my work email! I am a VIP in the accounting world. Really. Ha, not. Regardless. I am baaaaack! My Mozilla is fired up and making moves. Loves it.

So I know I already had a Valentine’s Day post, but I felt the need to make ANOTHER. And this post I’d like to dedicate it to a beloved friend of both Avalon and I. That person would be our resident gay, who goes by the name of Clayton. Errrr I mean, David. Oh, confused are we? Let me take y’all back to a mere 368 days ago (February 14, 2010 for those of us who haven’t had our caffeine kick in yet).

It was a brisk (I don’t actually remember the temp) morning in Florida, when Kasey and I heard someone at the door. We OBVIOUSLY didn’t answer, because we both had our pajamas still on and didn’t feel like talking to people. So we muted the tv (we’re crazy) and waited til they were gone to run to the window and see who it was. And, LO AND BEHOLD, it was 1-800-Flowers.

Uhm. We both were single and had zero prospects. Well, I shouldn’t say that. I am sure we had a few prospects, but they wouldn’t have had the balls (sorry mom) to send us flowers. So we got the flowers and they were addressed to yours truly. My first thought was, oh it’s from my mom! To which Kasey was like, uhm hi I would’ve gotten some too. I was wracking my head trying think…Avalon? Mike (ex, ew)? The list stopped there, because there honestly was no reason for anyone else to send me flowers.

So then Kasey and I put our heads together to try and figure it out. We came up with…OPEN THE BOX/CARD. That’s right. We hadn’t even done that yet. We really are smart, I promise.

We then open the box to find a BEAUTIFUL bouquet of red roses. They were lovely. And I was really fascinated with 1-800-Flowers, since my flowers weren’t even a little bit dead looking. ANYWAYS. Open up the card and it says, and I quote, ” Dear Mom, Happy Valentines Day. Love, David”.

Uhm. Okay?

Not only am I NOT a mom, but I wouldn’t name my child David.

So since the whole “open-the-box-and-see-who-they’re-from-idea” was a waste (not to mention, I am now worried that I didn’t get flowers and they were delivered to the wrong house ) I am back at square one. Quick side note: the wrong delivery thing could have actually happened, because my next door neighbor has a son named David… I was seriously so confused. I thought about waltzing over to my neighbors house (awkward, thank goodness I didn’t). The only thing stopping me was that on the box it had MY NAME, and MY ADDRESS, and MY CELL PHONE. So I am like, IT OBVIOUSLY IS FOR ME.

So I then call my mom. She has no idea what is going on. So my next thought is Avalon, who is at work. I call, tell her my dilemma. And she is like, it was Clayton!

Pfew! Everything is now making sense! A part of me was somehow relived there wasn’t some secret admirer I had out in the world. Creepy.

After the “mystery” is solved, I call up my mom to tell her I figured it out and she is all like, That is so nice! Ya know you should call 1-800-Flowers and tell them they messed up. Clayton paid money for it to be right. Try and get free flowers!

My mom is actually the best type of consumer out there…she tells you when you mess up, and doesn’t bad mouth the company. AND WILL ALWAYS try and get something for free in return ha. Love it. She called and got me a free Line Jumper pass for Disney. Hells yes.

Anyways, I do as I am told and call 1-800-Flowers. A nice young man answers the phone (which I was surprised considering it’s Valentines Day. I assumed I’d be on hold forever). I tell him what happened and prefaced it with, BUT I KNOW WHO SENT IT SO DON’T FEEL BAD. I mainly wanted to call to let David and his mom (who?) know there was a mix up. The man was really nice and we were about to get off the phone when he is like, oh would you like to know what YOUR card said? So I was like, oh. SURE!

This is the part of the story that kills me. Everytime. (And I do apologize, I don’t remember it word for word. I didn’t have time to take it all in, out of sheer embarrassment)

The man starts out, “My dearest Taryn…. You are so beautiful (that might’ve been made up, bahaha). Whenever I look into your eyes, it is like looking into the ocean. I hate that one day your heart will break when you see me walking hand and hand with another man. I will always love you” and at this point I am laughing and crying and embarrassed. Idk why I was embarrassed. It’s the same feeling I would get when people would read what I wrote in their yearbooks in front of me, out loud. It also at this point when the man stops and goes, “…I will always love, and I guess it’s pronounced, Ma-Why-Uh?”. And I am on the other line going, yep Mawiah. Thank you! (aka get me off the phone). And he is like, “Welp. That was weird. Have a good day!” click.

I die.

Welp, that was weird!

Also just a little behind the scenes action: The first time I met Clayton I was visiting Avalon and we watched a Barbara Walters (Baba Wawa) special with Mariah Carey (Mawiah Cawey). The whole entire segment was hysterical. We still quote it. “Mawiah, you awre a suhvivah”, “Mawiah, is it twue youwr sista was a pwostitute?”. We die. Seriously.

Anyways, needless to say it was the BEST Valentine’s Day Ever! Clayton will forever be my David. And I will forever be his mom. (creepy? no). Probably one of the best parts of this WHOLE situation, is that fact that David’s mom got that card. And is reading and thinking, is my son gay? Who is Mawiah? My eyes aren’t blue!

Loves you Clayton!

-Mom (aka T)

I Choose You.

Today began like any other day.

I woke up early, did some yoga [see: stretching my brittle limbs in front of the television], showered, and popped on over to work.

As I open the door to my place of employment I see a scraggly looking person talking to my coworker about his laptop. There was lots of blonde hair being held down violently by a beanie. That’s right. A beanie. 1997 called, they want their hat back.

1997 turns around, and to my surprise and delight [see: horror], there stood a fling from high school. Good morning to me.

Apparently he broke his laptop when he fell down the stairs. Holding his computer.

Apparently I choose winners.

-A

Blonde Moments: They Happen to the Best of Us

Hello all! I am hoping this posting every other week spiel won’t last long. Even I am annoyed at my absence on here.

Anywho, it is Tuesday. Which means we are one day closer to the weekend! Woo! This week for me has been a weird one, to say the least. Now I am a natural blonde. I don’t know when the whole stigma came about that blondes are ditzy, but I have definitely lived up to that one in my time. But for some reason this week has been a doozie.

Let’s take it back, shall we, to when the blondness all began (besides at birth, awkward)…Saturday.

I love Saturdays. They are my favorite day. I get to sleep in and know that this is my first of TWO sleep in days. It’s glorious. So this particular Saturday was no different. I slept in, gchatted Avalon (who was working, ew), watched One Tree Hill and ate a delicious breakfast. Then my parents came for the usual “clean the pool day”. The pool looked great, everyone was in a happy mood and the kitchen got all spick and span as well. All was FINE. Then I had to babysit for my boss.

Now, my boss and his wife are hilarious. They are mid-30’s and still loving life. And their kids are ADORABLE. There’s 2 girls, one 7 and the other the precious age of 2. They love nail polish, eating cookie dough and the Disney Channel. In essence, the perfect babysitting job.

So I make my way over there mid-afternoon with my nail polish in tow. I get there and find out the youngest is already napping and the oldest is watching Wizards of Waverly Place and has been waiting for me to BAKE COOKIES. Living the dream, folks.

Regardless, we spend a nice relaxing 3 or so hours…Then the little one wakes up. Which can sometimes be a gamble, ya never know. She is learning to use the bathroom and just got big girl panties (they’re Ariel, or how Kasey and I used to say it, Ahwiel). That all went smoother than anticipated (I have zero idea about potty training children). Then we painted our nails and made hot chocolate. Still a pleasant day.

Now before my boss and his wife left, they asked me if I could pop something into the oven for them for a party they had to get to right when they got home. Well okay, I am the whopping age of 22. I know how to bake. So I was like, oh sure no problem! And the wife was like, yeah above our stove there is a SQUARE pan, just use that. (Yes the shape is relevant to the story.)

Now its around 530 and I get the text saying, we are leaving if you don’t mind putting the chicken dip in. So I get up (the girls at this point are playing with their new toys) and find a HEART shaped aluminum foil pan to bake. And I was like, oh cute but you’re not SQUARE. So I keep digging and find what appears to be a plastic SQUARE container. I know plastic is a no-no, but then I read its little tag and it says, Bake and Go. So I am like, oh weird this must be a new clear baking pan. (Are we seeing where this is headed?)

By the time the oven had preheated, I scooped all the dip in the “new clear baking pan” and had JUST put it in when the eldest starts crying. I ask her what’s wrong, and it turns into this big to-do about how she wasn’t able to attend the Girl Scout Parade. The youngest tries to calm her down and ask her whats wrong, which only made her cry harder and run to her room. It’s also THIS EXACT TIME when I hear my boss come in. There’s crying, laughing, doors slamming, Selena Gomez was screaming randomly on WoWP…IT WAS A ZOO.

Now all this time I was using that clear baking pan I kept thinking, YOU CANT BAKE PLASTIC. But then the other voice in my head said, BUT IT SAID IT WAS BAKE AND GO. Thankfully after mere minutes of putting it in, I think to check on it.

Uhm. WHAT.

The edges had melted over the dip, so I immediately take it out (mind you this is still while my boss and wife are walking in, hearing all the crying and screaming) and am just standing there holding this pitiful melting/cracking/leaking dip in my hands. My boss starts laughing and I am like I AM SO SORRY I JUST PUT IT IN, IT’S NOT RUINED I SWEAR. So we end up using the heart shaped aluminum tin (oh hey, that’s THE FIRST ONE I PICKED UP), I put it back in the oven while my boss and his wife are telling their kids to pull it together. I was mortified. Not only did it seem like I let their kids run wild, but I almost ruined their dip by BAKING IN PLASTIC. In my defense I thought the container was misleading. I know the tagline, “Ready to go after baking in an oven appropriate pan”, isn’t exactly what Hefty was going for, I am sure.

UGH. It all turned out fine. And in the end, the older girl was actually crying because she didn’t want me to leave (awwww). But still. For it to have been such a pleasant and relaxing time, it all went south in the last 8 minutes. Why.

To carry on with my blonde moments, I had one this morning. I am working insane hours at work and need caffeine like CRAZY. So this morning I decide Chai Tea with some vanilla almond milk (I love) was the route. I was on my way to work when I realized I FORGOT THE TEA. So I drank warm milk. Which if we don’t know, HAS THE OPPOSITE EFFECTS OF CAFFEINE.

I expect more of these by the end of the week.

-T