Take a picture, it'll last longer.

On my way home from work today, I stopped by the grocery store for one particular item - sour cream. I had forgotten to purchase some during my last grocery shopping escapade because I'm a ditz and I really needed some. I parked my car, went in, bought the sour cream, and got back in my car. As I got in my car, a car pulled in the space directly in front of me. I continued to get ready to go home - I put my seat belt on, turned the car on, etc. This guy in the space in front of me just keeps staring at me. I wasn't staring at him, so I couldn't figure out why he was staring at me. I put my car in reverse and looked every which way to make sure I don't wreck my gorgeous new car.

As he gets out and locks his car, this guy is still staring.

I doubt he heard me, but he might have been able to read lips when I said out loud, "Dude, take a picture, it'll last a lot longer."

But it got me thinking. People do this. They stare at you. Why? I have no idea. But it'll freak you out. Makes you wonder if you have a booger the size of Rhode Island hanging out of your nose. Or if you somehow have "idiot" written on your forehead. Lipstick smeared across your face. Toilet paper stuck to your shoe. Anything. It doesn't matter. All that does matter is some random stranger is staring at you while you're in your car.

It could be in a parking lot, like this morning. It could be at a stoplight. It could be anywhere.

Stop it. It's unnerving. And creepy.

"Why can't every day be just this good?"

Today was a good day. For starters, I left work on time this morning. I went to my volunteer gig at the dog place. Then I met my parents for lunch. That's it. That's all it took to make it a good day.

Of course, as I type, I'm icing my bum knee as it's not handling the week very well. However, walking is over-rated. At least that's what I keep telling myself. I also try to tell myself money is over-rated, and then the damn bills show up. Again. Like bad pennies, I'm telling ya.

My parents had decided to come pay me a visit. It's the tail end of their two week vacation (most definitely earned), and I don't think we'd seen each other since I went home to surprise them when Granny was in the hospital at the beginning of September. I met them at a local restaurant for lunch and visited there for nearly an hour. Then decided to go to Kohl's, and I apparently got two Christmas presents early - I won't see them again until Christmas. More than likely I will forget about them, so I won't actually be faking surprise. Then went for a Jamba Juice and sat outside to enjoy the beautiful weather - and of course visited a lot more. Had a few good laughs, and some serious conversation about moving options. Once I've thought about that some more, I'll probably blog it out. But for now I need to mull things over myself.

Of course, I was thrilled to get Mom and Dad Hugs, as I really needed them. And I know they did, too. If a stranger saw us hugging, they would have thought we hadn't seen each other in years. That's the kind of hugging I'm talking about. But the cherry on top was the care package they surprised me with. (And don't think you're getting a "magical" glimpse into my bedroom, either. It's simply the cleanest room in the house at the moment, so by default, this was the picture room. lol)



It's kind of silly, it includes 3 rolls of paper towels, 3 boxes of Kleenex, a bottle of Spray 'n Wash, a bottle of 409, a box of mini-bagged microwave popcorn, a 36-count case of Pepsi (which isn't pictured because I got lazy and didn't want to haul it into the bedroom and lift it onto the bed. lol), and a new set of pajamas (which according to Mom was a Christmas present, but Dad said go ahead and give it). Such trivial little things and my face lit up like a freaking Christmas tree.




So, now I think I'm going to sit back, watch a little X-Files on Netflix, pop some popcorn, and enjoy my night off work. I shall also continue to ice my bum knee so hopefully I can walk without trouble tomorrow at my horse thing, and then stand all night at work (which is partly why my knee is being troublesome - too many nights standing with a foot with no arch on the same leg as the bum knee - horrible combo).

FYI - I've been texting my mom since they left town. Seriously, the visiting never stops. LOL

Oh, and bonus points if you know the song the title is from or even the artist. ;o)

Psycho Roomie, Part VI

Apparently it's been, like, a week since I blogged my about old psycho roommate from college. A few of you have commented on previous posts that you can't wait for more - I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I didn't realize it would actually take so many posts to write about, but clearly, she was a psychotic dipshit and gave me some good writing material. Oh, and this is testing my memory of Roman Numerals. Seriously.

Moving on.

I did forget to mention in my last Psycho Suzi blog about the Great Mouse Disaster of 2002, that she had asked me not to mention it to either her parents or mine. Whatever. I so totally did. Not long after the Great Mouse Disaster, I got to a point with Suzi that I almost pulled a Betty. Meaning, I nearly beat her ass to a pulp. I've written in the past about how Suzi was adamant that I keep my oscillating fan off when I'm not in my room, turning off my computer when not in use, yadda yadda yadda. I think this happened when the September PG&E bill showed up. On this particular day, I remember having been on the phone with a friend. Possibly the previous roommate (i.e. the good one). I was slowly gathering my things as I was planning on heading to campus. I wanted to hit up the Ag computer lab to work on something before heading off to a club meeting. As I'm doing this, Suzi shows up at my bedroom doorway. My door was open, but she never once crossed the threshold. But she had her "pissy" face on and was obviously in a blaming mood. From what I recall, this is how the basic conversation went down:

Me: What's up, Suzi?

Suzi: (please imagine a very pissy face) Um, yeah, the PG&E bill came today. And, um, yeah, it's high.

Me: How high is "high"?

Suzi: Um, it's $106.00.

Me: Wow, that is high. Well . . . okay, maybe we shouldn't run the air conditioner that much? That costs a lot of money to run.

Suzi: (obviously offended I would insinuate such a thing) We don't run it that much. But your fan runs all the time. (we don't run it that much?? The damn thing is on nearly 24 hours a day!)

(We've been through this issue God knows how many times. Yet I fall into the same old trap.)

Me: Fans run mere pennies a day. Air conditioning units cost a lot more.

Suzi: (child-like in her defensiveness) Nah-uh. Those fans take up a lot more energy than the air conditioner! I've lived in this apartment 2 years, and I've never had a bill this high. I think I've had as high as maybe $85.

(I'm starting to get seriously pissed off that she's blaming this whole thing on ME. What's more insulting is that she's WRONG.)

Me: (getting loud and pissed) Okay, then please explain to me how I lived in an energy inefficient apartment and never had a bill over $80, Suzi? I'll tell you how. By using fans. We had three going non-stop over summer to cut down our air conditioning costs. (my first apartment had only wall units, those are definitely not very efficient.)

Suzi: A/C units don't use that much energy. (She's getting very aggressive about this and is getting in my face, yet still hasn't crossed the threshold into my room. She points at my fan and --) But that fan of yours is the problem!

(I had reached my breaking point the first time she said that. I was so mad I was starting to shake. I wanted to hit her, take her down.)

Me: (now I'm getting in her face) FINE SUZI! I HAVE TO GO!

I was quite literally thisclose to her face. As soon as I screamed in her face, I spun around turned off my fan, grabbed my bag and shoved past her. I walked so fast out of the apartment I may have left skid marks and a could of dust. I actually talked to myself (and shed a few angry tears) while walking to campus that evening, not caring if I looked completely insane to others. I was so pissed, I was shaking. If I hadn't run out of there and kept fighting with her, I would have hit her. How could she have the balls to blame an entire bill on me?

I tried calling my parents, but they weren't home. I left a message for them to call me back. I couldn't use the Ag computer lab like I'd wanted to as there was a class in there. I'd apparently left even earlier than I thought, due to the fight. But I found a friend, Miss J, sitting in the classroom where our club meeting would eventually be. So I plopped down and vented to her for at least an hour. Miss J turned out to be a huge asset to me during my time with Suzi. She let me vent constantly. I don't know how she still talks to me. My parents attempted to call back during my club meeting . . . it's always embarrassing when your phone rings in a classroom. Even if you're not technically in class.

I called my parents back as I walked back home. I told them everything. Luckily, I had calmed down a bit, but when I told my parents how mad I had been - shaking, crying, etc. - they knew. They knew how bad it had just gotten. I told them about the Great Mouse Disaster. How she blamed me and my one 12" oscillating fan for such a huge energy bill. I'm pretty sure there was a few other small things, as well, but I can't recall. My dad wrote stuff down and said he'd talk to Suzi's parents the next day.

Trust me when I say, at 22, I hated having my parents fight the fight for me. But I realized early on, that that is exactly what Suzi did. Her parents were so involved in her life it wasn't even funny. She talked to them multiple times a day. I'm not saying talking to your parents on a regular basis is a bad thing. If I'm not talking to my mom, I'm texting her. Or we're facebooking. My parents may always be in my life, but they don't run my life. My parents didn't mind stepping in, as they new three against one was a very unfair fight. So I made it three on three. Seemed only fair.

The next day dawned. I went to class, my stomach in knots. The stress of what was to come was killing me. I knew my dad was going to talk to Suzi's dad today. And I knew that Suzi's dad would then talk to Suzi. And Suzi would eventually come talk to me. She was like a Great White and I was the poor helpless Seal. God help me. After Zoology, Miss J and I were starving, and she knew I didn't want to go home yet. We decided to go out for lunch, and decided on Chevy's downtown. We enjoyed a nice lunch, and my stomach didn't start churning again until we went our separate ways and I had to walk the walk back home. My feet felt like lead, my heart pounded. My mind raced as to how this fight would go. I think I stood at the bottom of our stairs for a good 15 minutes before I finally started up. One painful step at a time.I opened the front door to see Suzi sitting on the couch, on the phone. I locked the door behind me (sealing my fate), and headed straight for my room to set my stuff down. I came back to the front of the apartment by the living room because that's where my bathroom was. I wouldn't have there if I hadn't had to . . . well, pee. I sit down and I hear Suzi say, "Hold on, I have to go outside. . . . She's in the house, Mom." I started laughing. She couldn't even be on the phone with me in the house. Sad. I went back to my room and pulled my books and started studying.

Anywhere from 15 to 30 minutes later, I get a knock at my bedroom door. I opened it and she says, (with pissy face on), "Um, yeah, we need to talk." I met her in the living room and there we hashed it out. She was pissed at me for telling the my parents about the Great Mouse Disaster, who then told Suzi's parents. I argued simply this: my name is on the lease, same as hers; the apartment manager doesn't care who is at fault if there's damage done to the apartment. I am just as liable for the damage, according to him, as she is. Not to mention my fear that the neighbors could smell the 100 mice that were now living with us. She then mentioned that damn PG&E bill again. I argued my point again: not only does my fan not cost that much to run, but she must also remember that Betty was moving out during part of that time and the door was open much of the day. (Not that I was blaming Betty, because when you move, the door stays open as a convenience.) Plus, Suzi has a habit of turning the thermostat down to (a record!) 55 degrees. I argued that no way in Hell should the thermostat ever be set lower than 68. Not only that, but she'll turn it on without telling me, and I've opened windows. (And God forbid should she actually check to see if windows are open prior to turning on the air conditioner.)

Her last item threw me for a loop, however. She got mad at me that I "missed our appointment to clean the apartment." (uh, I'm sorry, what "appointment"?) She claimed that (earlier in the week) had set a specific time to clean the apartment. I really didn't recall the "specific time" part. I countered with: "I know we agreed to clean house this afternoon, but I don't remember setting a time for it. Miss J and I decided to go have lunch after Zoo. Besides you don't have to wait for me to clean, you can start without me." She shrugged but kept her pissy face on. Then she decided to tell me about her brilliant idea. Are you ready?

She made a "sign off" sheet on Excel, so we could initial what we did for house cleaning, so the other person didn't come behind them and accidentally do it again. She had listed everything possible to clean, including wiping down the washer and dryer. No shit. And there was a sign off column for each week of the month. I wanted to rip it out of her hands and shred it. I wanted to give her a thousand paper cuts with it. Being that I didn't want a fight, I agreed that it was a good idea.

I'll give you three guesses who did all the cleaning for a year.

Pet Peeves, Part III

11. Lunch Thieves: They got me last night, first time ever. And boy did it piss me off. I've heard it happens to others, but I was always of the mind that "it would never happen to me". I took the makings of a sandwich with a couple small lunch-size baggies of chips. I wasn't sure which one I'd want with my sandwich, so I took options - a little bag of Fritos and a little bag of Doritos. By the time I went to lunch last night, I was famished. I grab my bag from the fridge and reach up on top of the fridge for the two bags of chips. Usually they're safe. Unfortunately, this time, someone else decided they were free for the taking and freaking ate them. My hand grabbed air. I ate my sandwich with a side of sandwich thanks to a couple of assholes. Common courtesy folks: If you didn't bring, DON'T EAT IT.

12. Pushy Bosses/Co-workers: I know what time I'm supposed to clock out every day. I don't need to be reminded for the last hour what time I have to leave by. I don't need someone crowding me the last 30 minutes asking if and when they can take over for me. Pushing and crowding makes me nervous and rushed and then I make mistakes. Unfortunately I can't blame my mistakes on that, they still get blamed on me. So, when I'm ready, I shall come find you. Then I'll leave. On time.

13. Excessively Loud Apartment Living: College years are one thing, but most places I've lived since college are a place for adults to live and possibly raise a family. Now, some things are accidental - you're on the top floor and you drop the mayo jar. Oops. My bad. I don't even mind hearing my neighbors music a little during the weekend - we all need to blast it once in awhile. But blaring it all day and well into the night? Come on, folks. Other people have to sleep. Or their kids have to sleep. If you live on the top floor, please walk quietly. There's nothing quite like being afraid for your life thinking the roof will collapse on top of you. And for the love of all things Holy, please don't practice your bedroom screams at 2AM. (Ya'll know what I'm talking about.)

14. Intersection Beggars: You've all seen them. The people that stand around an intersection with a sign that usually reads something like "Hungry: Anything will help. Thanks." They stare at you while you're sitting there in your car. You can feel their gaze burning a hole into your skull. What could be worse? Them hollering at you to roll your window down. Yeah. That's getting a little rude, don't ya think?

15. Forcible Donation Solicitation: Donations are simple. If you want to give, you give. You have the right to pick and choose to which organization(s) you'd like to donate to. Many companies like to "give back" to some of the larger charities. I commend them. I think that's great. The idea, that is. Unfortunately, the company as a whole, doesn't seem to want to give a lump sum every year, they leave it to the individual business parts of the company to raise the money. I've blogged a couple times regarding the United Way campaign at work (see crazy and forced), and how it's pretty much expected that you will donate every week for 8 weeks during each shift and each department's fundraisers. When people ask why you're not coming, you simply state, "I don't wish to participate." Then the interrogation starts. They hound you until you come clean as to why you won't part with $3. In my case, that $3 needs to stay with me. Then they throw the pity line and want to pay for me. That's very kind of you, but that's okay. Or they say things to the point of making you feel like a schmuck. A pissed off schmuck. And that's not a good feeling. Trust me.

DRAMA. DRAMA. DRAMA.

I seriously don't understand why some people have to create so much drama around them. I don't understand the draw. The only drama I seem to have in my life is their drama. My life has little drama. Good, bad, or indifferent. Right now the only drama in my life (that is mine) is the lack of funds and having to deal with 8 freakin' weeks of the United Way campaign at work. Which, by the way, those two should never really go together. Like grocery shopping when your hungry - always a bad idea.

Last night at work, I got scolded for the schedule I made for the week. Apparently, I put slow people on the hematology machines and there was no work. Our resident drama/crazy queen decided to have a fit and claim that no one started her bench (and I was still tired from her shit the night before). Our boss called in sick. Someone stole the only working can-opener from the break room and I only found out when I had to open my can of chili. And the cherry on top was our chemistry analyzer had a "flood" and we had to play musical reagents.

I was forced to semi-socialize with Ms. Drama on Sunday night. She was trying to help me as she didn't have anything to do. I felt so damn lucky I couldn't see straight. I stuck both headphones in from the second I clocked in (which is against work policy; we're allowed one ear piece in, but no management on Sundays so the mice will play). I had been hoping this would deter her from speaking a word to me. Nope. As I'm rocking out to my totally awesome tunes, she keeps coming up to me to tell me things. I simply stated, "okay", as they were not things that required full and complete sentences. I got attitude from her. You know the whole drama-wanna-be-diva crap. I really wouldn't be shocked if she talks to our boss later, being as how in her topsy-turvy world, I am the one with the at-ti-tude. What really gets her goat is this: though our work is done, I actually still have things to do to keep busy. I have all sorts of little things that I don't necessarily have time to do during the week. I have very little actual "down" time. She had probably close to three or four hours where she was wandering around like a lost puppy. And she kept hanging around me. (insert scream of terror here)

Come Monday night, Ms. Drama is having issues because the person who is supposed to be with her on her bench called and said they'd be late. Claims no one started the bench. It's a pack of baloney and she knows it. I so don't understand how people can say that kind of shit to others when they know it's not true and it can be proved. How do people blindly believe that crap that comes out of their own mouths? Creating drama and just plainly pissing of otherwise content co-workers? All they do is make the work environment tense and irritable.

And getting in trouble with my schedule, well . . . okay, so I tried switching it up a little. There was no variety. People doing the same benches on the same days of the week. My boss says some people are slower on certain benches. In a few cases I know this to be true. One person takes their sweet-ass time on two benches because they're not being measured by how much they do. A couple people are slow on one or two benches because they're not comfortable with them. But in the case of last night, when someone tells me that Thing 1 and Thing 2 are really slow on X machines, and to not put slow people in the cell (our automated machine area . . . sounds great, eh?) . . . and I don't see it. In my humble opinion that no one will ever hear, simply because I'm a peon and I don't matter in the grand scheme of things, there are other things to consider. Don't schedule a person for cross-training on a Monday. Ever. If you're short, why do you still sit in your office doing God knows what for two hours instead of jumping out on the floor and helping out? I went to the CBC drop off table and saw lots of work on the table - no shortage there. So what was the problem? The person whose station I was using filled in on a machine since I was in her way. There were three people running three machines like they should be, so why are you whining? Turn-around-time was still met. Training still got done. Quit your bitching at me - it makes me bitchy in return. And contrary to popular rumor, I don't like being bitchy.

So after all that freakin' drama is when I find that the one and only properly working can-opener in the break room is missing. I was starving. I was in a bitchy mood from the drama. I wanted my chili and garlic bread (which I realized as I was prepping my lunch that I had forgot the garlic on my kitchen counter . . . sigh). Instead I had to use the piece of shit can-opener where you put it on the can, squeeze, move it manually, squeeze, etc. You couldn't turn the handle because the cutting wheel was tweaked and it wouldn't turn right, nor would it cut. Me? Not. Happy.

After finally getting to eat my chili and going in the cell to work with a couple people who can make me laugh, I finally felt half-way normal. As in, not as bitchy. Still irritated. And now that I'm home I can relax and put it all behind me.

Of course as I type this, I have a neighbor who I can't see because of trees that is possibly moving and has no idea how to drag a dolly up or down the damn stairs quietly. I am effing thrilled that I get to report that every 10 minutes this asshole is BANGING the dolly up and down the stairs. This? This is just one among many reasons why I love working GRAVEYARD.

I feel another pet peeves blog coming along.

And here goes that fucking dolly. Again. Someone may die before today's over. Death by dolly. Can't be pretty.

Volunteer Appreciation

Today, I went to a picnic at Homeward Bound that was put on by the two founders for their volunteers. It's two hours out of the entire year that the volunteers come together to thank each other for their help. It's two hours that the founders get to thank so many volunteers at once. Some of the volunteers are close friends, having been with Homeward Bound for several years. You hear them talking "shop" while eating. You see a dozen or more dogs that were once homeless and scared, now playing fetch or wading in the doggie pools, or even catching some shade under a table (and hopefully a piece of yummy Tri-Tip).

Until you go to a picnic, it's hard to understand just how many people give their time to such an organization. Being the only Golden Retriever rescue in the state of California, Homeward Bound gets dogs from literally all over. There are people who "taxi" dogs from one end of the state to the other, in a sort of relay. Every dog is seen by a veterinarian who donates her time and makes it possible for Homeward Bound to take in, quite literally, any Golden in any condition or of any age. There are the dog walkers. There's the dog groomer who donates her time. There are those that assist in facility maintenance. There are those that clean the kennels and feed the dogs (like me). There are those that help place dogs in homes, help possible adopters find the right dog for their families.

I go there one day a week. I see, maybe three or four other volunteers on that day. I'm a small fish in a very big pond, and until this picnic comes along once a year, it's hard to imagine how many others are out there. It's also hard to imagine how many dogs you've helped save, even when giving a few hours, one day a week.

Last year, Homeward Bound took in nearly 900 dogs. Partly due to the housing crisis. Partly due to horrific back yard breeders. Either way, that's a lot of dogs that were once homeless.


The dogs that people brought today were once part of that. Instead of being fearful and hungry, they are now thriving, happy Goldens who know no fear. It's an honor to help Homeward Bound find these adorable creatures new lives and new homes. And I am only one of hundreds of strangers who give their time. For one cause:

The dogs.

Psycho Roomie, Part V

This picture was taken a few months before the move-in. We were getting a tour of UC Davis Vet School - here sitting in on a radiology course. I actually understood the class. Suzi, not so much. Score 1 for the vet tech courses. lol

**And before I start on this installment of my psycho roomie story, I must thank Simple Dude for writing the words "power point" when I asked him how to write on pictures. LOL Thanks Simple Dude! (Although using it brought up all the memories of all the presentations I had to do using Power Point in my last year of school).**

In my last blog about Psycho Suzi, I mentioned her conducting her piss-poor idea of a research project in our apartment. Let me just say, I learned very quickly to love Febreeze.

By the time school started up, Betty was living elsewhere (and thus far, happily). I had a full load of classes, and a near full-time job with Petco. I became very thankful for my friends very early, as they were my free therapists for the academic year of '02-'03. They let me vent nearly every day about the goings on with Suzi. So, this is my (at least) my first shout out to my friends who helped me more than they will ever know.

I also mentioned in my last post about Suzi that at Chico State, the College of Agriculture requires of every student, a research project, in order to actually graduate. You take a class that teaches you different ways to conduct a project, and all sorts of variables you can use, and whatnot. Lots of technical jargon I really can't recall after all this time. During this class, you choose a project to conduct. Many students piggy-back off their professors. Some will come up with their own. Either way, you also have to give a presentation about your project - what you're looking for, what you're hoping to find. Once you've been through that special circle of Hell, your professor will let you know if your project is approved to actually begin. The second semester of this class is where you hone your presentation and research paper skills. I cannot tell you how many times I gave my presentation to my class before our final presentation. I could have done it while in a coma. At this point, I was a year from conducting my project, but you should know I'd been panicking about it since I found out about it my first week of school in 2000.

Suzi, wanting to attend vet school for small animals and "pocket pets", decided oh-so intelligently that she would conduct her project on the affect of cage size of (mother) mice, in regards to the cage sizes most research mice would be caged in. She bought a dozen or so plastic cages from Petco, water bottles, food, shavings, and even the mice. In the end, I swear we had close to 100 mice living in our apartment. And it smelled like it. Unfortunately, she bought the cheap-ass cages that have grated lids that snap on top. Petco does not sell the bottles that would properly fit in the hole for the water bottle that the lid had in it.

Anyone else see the problem there?

She had to jerry-rig it.

Now, during all this, I still didn't want to deal with her after what happened between her and Betty. I lost all respect for her in how she treated Betty and how she was suddenly trying to kill me with kindness. I was, for the most part, trying to ignore her. I kept busy with my studies, tried to study at friends houses or on campus - anything to keep away from the apartment. I voiced my concerns about having so many mice in the apartment, and badgered her as to why she couldn't find space anywhere to house the mice instead. She had the lamest arguments, but naturally she was in the right and I was wrong.

For those that have never owned a rodent for any reason - rodents smell. No matter how clean you keep them or their cages, rodents smell. With so many mice, I feared our neighbors might start catching a whiff and start complaining. My biggest fear was that they would get out and get in the walls, causing an infestation. And I, with my name being on the lease, was just as responsible for any damage to the apartment as Suzi was.

And wouldn't you know, my fear came true. The mice got out.

I got home from work one evening, to change out of my work clothes to go hang out with some co-workers at a bar downtown. Shoot some pool (of which I'm horrible at) and have a drink and some laughs. I'm in my room (at the opposite end of where the mice are caged) and I thought I saw a white flash on the floor. I figured it was my imagination. Until a second white spot flashed on the floor. I got on my hands and knees and saw MICE. In my room. I started cussing Suzi out enough to make a sailor blush. Unfortunately, she wasn't home. I nabbed the two mice and marched them right back to their room, only to scream in frustration and cuss a lot more. Suzi, being her brilliant self, had taped the water bottles to the tops of the cages, one of them had come crashing down. The biggest cage with the most mice. Of course. And the mice climbed up the bottle and right out of their cage. I shoved my two mice in their cage and stuck a book on top of the cage so they couldn't get out. I then called my superb roommate and left this message:

"Suzi, you need to get home right now. A whole cage of mice got out and are now wandering around the apartment. This is your mess and you need to get back ASAP to clean this shit up. I'm going out with friends."

I got home around 1AM to find Suzi and a friend looking for the last mouse. The stove sat in the middle of the kitchen. The fridge was catywompus. Her room looked like a tornado had been there. The entire house was turned upside down. Except my room. I had put towels under my door to prevent more mice from getting in. They finally found the last mouse hiding behind her dresser. All in all, about 10 mice, at least, got out. I didn't walk around barefoot ever again. I don't think I ever got an apology from her either. The next day, I found more duct tape on those cages that I care to mention.

The mice never got out again.

However, I sprayed Febreeze several times a day. Even on myself. I felt tainted by having to live with the smell instead of just working with it 5 days a week.

And this was only the first few weeks of school. Yeah. That's what I was thinking, too.