So Loud That You Can't Help But Listen

A line from an ancient XTC song I am listening to on my walkperson. I hope that it does not describe the sound of my typing, as my parents are asleep in the next room. I have always been a rather loud typist.

It's 4 am and we join our regularly scheduled insomnia attack already in progress. I slept for a long time last night, the first night in my old bed at my dad's (I lived with my mom growing up but spent many weekends at my dad's, where my step-mother decorated a beautiful little pink room for me) so I shouldn't have expected to sleep through the night tonight. Luckily, my dad has internet access! DSL! Wow! Blogging in the middle of the night without a) waking the cat b) driving to the office! Nice! I've been up since 2:30, after going to bed somewhere between 11 and 12. Hmmmm... two - three hours of sleep, not good. Let us hope that I can write myself into exhaustion.

The trip to the neighbors' was lots of fun, but I ate way too much and now I don't feel like looking at food again, ever. This seems bad considering that tomorrow is a holiday dedicated to gluttony. At least there will be salad. The food was delicious... a Southern hostess is always concerned that her guests not leave hungry. Glad I hadn't eaten much during the day. Let's see: a small cup of cream of mushroom soup, five shrimp with cocktail sauce, two triangle shaped pieces of cheese and two thin slices of cheese on crackers, seven crackers with crab dip, five small cheese straw pieces, and two chips with guacamole. Two margaritas, two glasses of red wine. An eating and drinking event like I haven't seen in I don't know how long. Oh, and let's not forget the itsy bitsy sips of Scotch from the really strong, undiluted by spring water, as authentic as possible bottle of Scotch that my dad got at Caddenhead's (am I spelling right?) on the Royal Mile in Edinburgh. Neurotoxins here we go. I am actually starting to like the stuff. Chalk it up to my ancestry. Decided to hit the place next time I make it to Edinburgh... my dad says if you act clueless they'll give you lots of free samples. My cluelessness will not be an act.

I feel rather terrible now, no doubt as a result of poisoning myself with too much food and drink. At least there is no danger that I offended the hostess by eating too lightly. The food really was excellent... Southerners can cook. I guess I sometimes have to eat and drink a lot to remind myself that I just can't eat and drink like that anymore and expect to feel okay. I hope I feel better by morning.

Whenever I go out to meet normal people, I expect one of two things to happen:

a) Someone will make a joke about my name being a month. Usually when they first are introduced, usually, "Where are May and June?"

b) Someone, upon finding out that I am a union organizer, will ask me if I know where Jimmy Hoffa is buried.

I got both last evening. Perhaps a record.

But enough about that...

Go look at this and tell me if that's not the cutest mouse ever:

http://www.marketwire.com/mw/release_html_b1?release_id=76595

(Yes, yes, I know that it's not a prize for the *cutest* mouse. That's the much better funded *Minnie* Mouse Prize.)

I don't want to say too much about that because I don't want to get into too much content that will be covered in later entries. I think I'll write an entry that was kicking around in my head last night on the plane. New entry...