That’s right, bitch, you’re totally looking at the face of innocence


So, I apparently got all into blogging about the crappiness of work this week, and totally forgot to blog about the funny stuff, so felt compelled to get on my computer at, um, a quarter to 1 in the a. to the m. Yeah, my alarm’s going to sound really great at 6:30. Which actually leads into the funny…

I am a night owl, despite working a job that requires me to be dressed and at work at 8 am. Granted, I’m not as bad as when I was in college, when friends felt okay in calling me at 3 or 4 in the morning, knowing that there was a good chance I would be up. But I still stay up later than I should, and can get off schedule easily, especially given, say, a three day weekend. Dating someone who has a completely opposite schedule to mine and who is also a night owl (and who regularly sends me emails at 4 and 5 in the morning) also contributes to this.

So, Sunday night, Indie Boy comes over after work (around midnight), and we spend some quality time together through all of Monday, because what better way to remember Dr. King than by watching movies and making out (and possibly passing gas at completely inappropriate moments…In my defense, I totally meant to give the IB a “heads up,” if you will, but it escaped rather quickly, so I didn’t get the chance. But it made him laugh, so no harm done, right? Right? Man, I really need to ignore him when he says I should put really embarassing things on my blog. I am totally going to have to sing “Electric Avenue” on his voicemail just to make myself feel better.).

ANYWAY. Point being, Tuesday? I was tired. Very, very tired. And Tuesday? My dad came up to go see the Hamburg Symphony at the Lied. We had a nice time, he made occasional queries about the IB, but didn’t get too nosy, which is a good thing. After the symphony, we came home, and I pretty much elected to go to bed right away, which, considering that it was only 10 pm, was amazing. Dad inquired as to why I was tired, and I mentioned that I had gone to bed around 1:30 Monday night, only to be rudely awakened by a cat vomiting on the bed around 2:30, requiring me to get up, strip the bed, remake the bed with new linens, and try to go back to sleep. (And can I just ask, what is with the cat puking cycle? There will be no vomit for a few weeks then BAM! Every day there’s a pile. Every stinking day for the past two weeks. And the fact that Monday’s occurred on my bed while I was sleeping? Really irritated me.) Dad’s reaction was, well what were you doing until 1:30? I had previously mentioned that Indie Boy and I had watched a movie (which is true, although it ended around 10), so I just was like, “Yeah, we watched Kung Fu Hustle, then hung out and talked…” which dad finished by saying, “Oh, so he didn’t go home until 1:30.” Yeah, that’s totally it! He totally didn’t go home until 1:30. He certainly didn’t spend the night, because clearly that would be inappropriate! Yeah, I figured that if my dad wishes to believe that my boyfriend doesn’t sleep over, I’m so not going to burst that bubble.

Aren’t parents adorable?


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