Hey guys. Hope your Monday was as swell as mine. I'm now two weeks old!
The pangs of homesickness are starting to subside. Who has time to think about home when one is hacking on secondhand smoke?
Seriously, these "enlightened" New Yorkers act all superior to everybody else, hate the president and Corporate America, yet as soon as they cross any threshold and take a step outdoors...
BAM! They've lit up again. Maybe someone should tell these morons that Big Tobacco counts as the Corporate America they loathe so well.
Seriously, at this rate, I'll never need to take up smoking. I already get a lethal dose of nicotine and carbon monoxide just walking down the street next to these monkeys!
But a rant about the vices of Supercityzians isn't why you came here is it?
This morning I had my first New York audition! It's for a Shakespeare company. Seeing as how I could do Shakespeare in my sleep, rolling off a log, with a fox, in a box, on a train, in the rain, I decided, "What the heck?! I'll knock 'em dead!"
The alarm on Blackwell the Blackberry gently knudged me off of my air mattress and into a smart audition outfit. I walked the ten minute walk to the equity office and marched proudly inside.
"Wow! It's a good thing I didn't come any earlier!" I thought. "There's nobody here and the doors don't open until 8am! I guess I'll just sit here and twiddle my thumbs."
A man in a rainbow-streaked shirt walked in.
"You know there'th a line out-thide."
"Yeah, I know," I replied casually. "Janet Jackson is signing at the record shop this morning."
"Nooo-uh," he said. "For auditions. You have tuh get in line. Outside."
"Oh! Whoops! Sorry. First time!"
My attempts at tried-and-true Texas charm were wasted. The poof rolled his eyes and slammed the door behind me.
I walked outside and found the line. And what a line! Chock full of people dressed a variety of clothes, from rags to their Sunday best. Most of them had books of Shakespeare and were animatedly talking to the air in front of them.
Say what you will, Janet Jackson can still draw a crowd.
Wrong line.
I looked around and found the other line. The one that also had people talking animatedly to thin air, but with dead eyes, pasty complexions and sunken-in cheeks from eating nothing but cat food to pay the rent.
Actors. Bingo.
They corralled us in at 8:00 sharp and divided us into two lines. One to the left, one to the right. Those in the left were immediately sent to the gas chambers. Those to the right were non-union and signed their Li'l Jackie Hancock on a long list.
I was in the line to the right. I survived.
I'm supposed to check back at 9:20 to see if they'll have time to see non-union folks. Since I live so close and not in some borough like Yonkers or Bonkers, I decided to swing by the ol' Internet Café for a "cup on joe" (that's what New Yorkers call coffee!) and to give yawl the most up-to-the minute breaking news!
Check back for an update later today! If I get in, you can bet I'll knock 'em dead with my Billy Bard!
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Friday, September 22, 2006
A Job...(adjective)...Done
21st Floor
Day 4/4
Free at last...free at last...
Almost.
I'll be free at 5:30.
While this place certainly could have been much worse, I AM glad to be finished with Waulmarque Entertainment...for now.
Still, can I just tell you what a curious feeling it is to emerge from this building and look around? "Holy crap," I think to myself. "I just finished a day of work in NEW YO--er--SUPERCITY X!"
It's a very strange feeling. Sort of pride, sort of disbelief, sort of "that wasn't so bad", sort of "I wish I has more money".
It's a complicated feeling.
The Great Dane struck again. Just when I started to think that we were safe...this morning...there was a fresh log.
Okay, I need someone to tell me...
Why on earth does any Supercity X-ian need a DOG? Those teacup chihuahuas I understand. But Irish Wolfhounds? I mean, considering that the most expensive apartments in this town cost seventy times seven times more than my old apartment in Everycity and are still no bigger than said apartment, do these "dog people" not realize that their massive, drooling poop machines don't help pay the rent?
Now, if the dog could do a little soft shoe, I'd understand.
Happy weekend!
Day 4/4
Free at last...free at last...
Almost.
I'll be free at 5:30.
While this place certainly could have been much worse, I AM glad to be finished with Waulmarque Entertainment...for now.
Still, can I just tell you what a curious feeling it is to emerge from this building and look around? "Holy crap," I think to myself. "I just finished a day of work in NEW YO--er--SUPERCITY X!"
It's a very strange feeling. Sort of pride, sort of disbelief, sort of "that wasn't so bad", sort of "I wish I has more money".
It's a complicated feeling.
The Great Dane struck again. Just when I started to think that we were safe...this morning...there was a fresh log.
Okay, I need someone to tell me...
Why on earth does any Supercity X-ian need a DOG? Those teacup chihuahuas I understand. But Irish Wolfhounds? I mean, considering that the most expensive apartments in this town cost seventy times seven times more than my old apartment in Everycity and are still no bigger than said apartment, do these "dog people" not realize that their massive, drooling poop machines don't help pay the rent?
Now, if the dog could do a little soft shoe, I'd understand.
Happy weekend!
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Half the Man I Used to Be
21st Floor
Day 3/4
Honestly, being in a strange office is making me miss the normal, hum drum office in Everycity all the more.
Can you believe it? I actually MISS the 42nd Floor!
Well, I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later. I mean, Supercity is a totally different beast than Everycity. Totally different. I mean, Grime Square is my backyard. If I want to see a Gaudway show, I just have to show up and ask if they have discount tickets. I don't have to make reservations. Why? Because if they don't have tickets, I can just walk home and try back tomorrow!
It is a somewhat treacherous walk, however. According to the good folks in my block association, I'm "far west" even though I only live one block over from the rest of them. My block is also a taxi depot. At the end of the day, the street is crawling with taxi drivers who don't speak Engrish. Lish. Which is fine if being around foreign tongues is your bag. Me, I'm always afraid they're making fun of my nose or something.
Then there's the Great Dane. I've never seen the Great Dane but I know he's there. You can tell. You have to hop over logs of poop in order to get to my place. It's illegal to not curb your dog in New York, but somehow, the Great Dane has gotten away with it. Probably because no one wants to mess with a Great Dane. I've taken to calling the street in front of my apartment Poo Poo Parkway.
Stupid dog.
Donna Donnitore, the woman I'm supposed to be supporting this week, is out for the next two days. You know what that means...
(Forky pulls out his Nintendo DS)
Day 3/4
Honestly, being in a strange office is making me miss the normal, hum drum office in Everycity all the more.
Can you believe it? I actually MISS the 42nd Floor!
Well, I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later. I mean, Supercity is a totally different beast than Everycity. Totally different. I mean, Grime Square is my backyard. If I want to see a Gaudway show, I just have to show up and ask if they have discount tickets. I don't have to make reservations. Why? Because if they don't have tickets, I can just walk home and try back tomorrow!
It is a somewhat treacherous walk, however. According to the good folks in my block association, I'm "far west" even though I only live one block over from the rest of them. My block is also a taxi depot. At the end of the day, the street is crawling with taxi drivers who don't speak Engrish. Lish. Which is fine if being around foreign tongues is your bag. Me, I'm always afraid they're making fun of my nose or something.
Then there's the Great Dane. I've never seen the Great Dane but I know he's there. You can tell. You have to hop over logs of poop in order to get to my place. It's illegal to not curb your dog in New York, but somehow, the Great Dane has gotten away with it. Probably because no one wants to mess with a Great Dane. I've taken to calling the street in front of my apartment Poo Poo Parkway.
Stupid dog.
Donna Donnitore, the woman I'm supposed to be supporting this week, is out for the next two days. You know what that means...
(Forky pulls out his Nintendo DS)
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
On the 21st Floor
It's not as high as the 42nd floor, but in a lot of ways, it feels curiously more...impressive.
Maybe it's because, looking out the window, you're surrounded by a bunch of buildings a lot taller than yours. Well. Yours might be just as tall, but there's no way to tell because you're only on 21. You can also make out what's going on down below. Where before you were too high up to even care what those little specks were doing, here on 21 they're real people with real hopes and real dreams.
And real smoking problems! Gack! I know we all want to be shwanky like the Europeans, but for real, people!
Anyway, this week's temp job (and my first since landing in Supercity X) is at Wawlmarque Entertainment. You know, the people who make all the mini serieseses you watch on the TV.
I know, right?
It's pretty interesting. I'm covering for this woman in the scripts development department. She and her boss do all this research trying to find ideas for new serieseses.
However, when the big boss calls it's easy to lose your nerve and fail to answer the phone. After all, he's this ancient man with a thick German accent. For all I know, he strangled puppies with the Hitler youth.
I don't want him to strangle me.
Tomorrow should be the hardest day. The woman I'm covering for did a Consuela-riffic job of preparing me (that is, she was totally unclear and didn't really tell me WHAT I was doing). But her boss (not the Nazi--this one is a power hungry woman from the Bronx) will be gone through the end of the week. No supervisors.
I'd better bring the charger for Blackwell the Blackberry. When the cat's away...
Maybe it's because, looking out the window, you're surrounded by a bunch of buildings a lot taller than yours. Well. Yours might be just as tall, but there's no way to tell because you're only on 21. You can also make out what's going on down below. Where before you were too high up to even care what those little specks were doing, here on 21 they're real people with real hopes and real dreams.
And real smoking problems! Gack! I know we all want to be shwanky like the Europeans, but for real, people!
Anyway, this week's temp job (and my first since landing in Supercity X) is at Wawlmarque Entertainment. You know, the people who make all the mini serieseses you watch on the TV.
I know, right?
It's pretty interesting. I'm covering for this woman in the scripts development department. She and her boss do all this research trying to find ideas for new serieseses.
However, when the big boss calls it's easy to lose your nerve and fail to answer the phone. After all, he's this ancient man with a thick German accent. For all I know, he strangled puppies with the Hitler youth.
I don't want him to strangle me.
Tomorrow should be the hardest day. The woman I'm covering for did a Consuela-riffic job of preparing me (that is, she was totally unclear and didn't really tell me WHAT I was doing). But her boss (not the Nazi--this one is a power hungry woman from the Bronx) will be gone through the end of the week. No supervisors.
I'd better bring the charger for Blackwell the Blackberry. When the cat's away...
Monday, September 18, 2006
One Week Anniversary
I'm one week old today.
In honor of the fact that I now know the subway, I haven't been mugged, and actually gave someone ELSE directions how to get someplace, I think it's time for another famous 42 Floor poll.
Those of you who have been with us for some time know that in our blogosphere, we always use pseudonymns for everyone and almost every thing. This is so we can easily defend ourselves when our bosses accuse us of blogging about people and events going on at work. And it's just plain fun.
How can he argue when you tell him that this mystery blogger lives in colorfully named places like Wackyton or Everycity? YOU certainly don't live in either of those places.
I may have been able to get my apartment almost completely furnished in the span of a week. I may have a gym membership. I may have seen them filming the evening news for FloxNews and gotten giddy as I saw those faces that my family and ADub & Dr.No know so very well. I may have been to Numbtendo World more times than I can count.
But there's one thing I haven't got.
Rhythm.
No, wait. That's not it.
A pseudonym for this fair City. Yes. That's what I MEANT to say.
It's time to vote for your favorite! Write-ins will be accepted. Oh, and...
Happy anniversary to me.
The Choices:
Mugville
Le Cite Grande
Supercity
Supercity X (my personal fav)
Notjustanycity
Everycity Redux
This Fair City
Now vote! I expect this place to be hoppin' when I get back from my first temp job tomorrow!
In honor of the fact that I now know the subway, I haven't been mugged, and actually gave someone ELSE directions how to get someplace, I think it's time for another famous 42 Floor poll.
Those of you who have been with us for some time know that in our blogosphere, we always use pseudonymns for everyone and almost every thing. This is so we can easily defend ourselves when our bosses accuse us of blogging about people and events going on at work. And it's just plain fun.
How can he argue when you tell him that this mystery blogger lives in colorfully named places like Wackyton or Everycity? YOU certainly don't live in either of those places.
I may have been able to get my apartment almost completely furnished in the span of a week. I may have a gym membership. I may have seen them filming the evening news for FloxNews and gotten giddy as I saw those faces that my family and ADub & Dr.No know so very well. I may have been to Numbtendo World more times than I can count.
But there's one thing I haven't got.
Rhythm.
No, wait. That's not it.
A pseudonym for this fair City. Yes. That's what I MEANT to say.
It's time to vote for your favorite! Write-ins will be accepted. Oh, and...
Happy anniversary to me.
The Choices:
Mugville
Le Cite Grande
Supercity
Supercity X (my personal fav)
Notjustanycity
Everycity Redux
This Fair City
Now vote! I expect this place to be hoppin' when I get back from my first temp job tomorrow!
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Back in Action!
Hey gang!
Sorry to leave you hanging like that. I've only just been able to figure out how to get this dag-blasted (yet much appreciated) Blackberry to make posts. But I'm back now...
And better than ever!
I haven't been in the City a week and already I feel like I've been here five days! There are lots of things to tell you about but the Spanish-speaking carpenters appear to be tearing down the outside hallway so I'll wait till things settle down a scosh.
In the meantime, I guess I'll head on over to the gym. That's right. Gym.
I still have abs to consider.
Sorry to leave you hanging like that. I've only just been able to figure out how to get this dag-blasted (yet much appreciated) Blackberry to make posts. But I'm back now...
And better than ever!
I haven't been in the City a week and already I feel like I've been here five days! There are lots of things to tell you about but the Spanish-speaking carpenters appear to be tearing down the outside hallway so I'll wait till things settle down a scosh.
In the meantime, I guess I'll head on over to the gym. That's right. Gym.
I still have abs to consider.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
New York Eve
I sit here, as my mother watches the Clinton-edited version of The Path to 9-11, typing this last blog entry before New York Day. It's kind of like Christmas Day, only you don't get presents. I mean, unless by presents you mean an apartment in New York City a mere ten minutes walk from Times Square.
Once again I'm thinking, "Wow. Maybe all this September 11th stuff wasn't such a good idea." I mean, I went to my Mom and Dad's Sunday school class today and they said a special prayer for me, not JUST because I'm moving to Le Cité Grande, but also because I'm traveling on this particular day.
It's especially comforting to look over at the TV and see a bunch of Arab actors firing guns into the air, shrieking the Xena battle cry, "ay-ay-ay-ay!" (that was sarcasm, by the way). Why do they want to kill me? I don't have a lot of money. I don't make important decisions. I just want to sing and dance on a stage so people will love me. What's so wrong about that?
Why can't they show something like...oh...I dunno...Tomb Raider? I like Tomb Raider.
"In memory of those who fell on September 11th...
...the world premiere of...
Angelina Jolia as Lara Croft: Tomb Raider!"
That'd be so cool.
Once again, I think I crossed a great big line there. But you know. That's what the 42nd Floor is all about.
But, as Dr. No observed, flying into New York on the fifth anniversary of the September 11th attacks is kind of like giving the big middle finger to Osama. And that makes me feel very...patriotic.
Unfortunately, these past few days at home have wrecked havoc on my abs. Havoc. It will take weeks--no--months to repair the damage that has been done by all the food my parents have been shoving down my all too-eager gullet.
More ab updates to follow.
It's kinda funny to think that tomorrow night I'll be in New York City. *thoughtful hmm*
More tomorrow!
Once again I'm thinking, "Wow. Maybe all this September 11th stuff wasn't such a good idea." I mean, I went to my Mom and Dad's Sunday school class today and they said a special prayer for me, not JUST because I'm moving to Le Cité Grande, but also because I'm traveling on this particular day.
It's especially comforting to look over at the TV and see a bunch of Arab actors firing guns into the air, shrieking the Xena battle cry, "ay-ay-ay-ay!" (that was sarcasm, by the way). Why do they want to kill me? I don't have a lot of money. I don't make important decisions. I just want to sing and dance on a stage so people will love me. What's so wrong about that?
Why can't they show something like...oh...I dunno...Tomb Raider? I like Tomb Raider.
"In memory of those who fell on September 11th...
...the world premiere of...
Angelina Jolia as Lara Croft: Tomb Raider!"
That'd be so cool.
Once again, I think I crossed a great big line there. But you know. That's what the 42nd Floor is all about.
But, as Dr. No observed, flying into New York on the fifth anniversary of the September 11th attacks is kind of like giving the big middle finger to Osama. And that makes me feel very...patriotic.
Unfortunately, these past few days at home have wrecked havoc on my abs. Havoc. It will take weeks--no--months to repair the damage that has been done by all the food my parents have been shoving down my all too-eager gullet.
More ab updates to follow.
It's kinda funny to think that tomorrow night I'll be in New York City. *thoughtful hmm*
More tomorrow!
Friday, September 08, 2006
A Confession
I have a confession to make.
My mother asked me, upon my triumphant return from the Great New York Apartment Hunt (GNYAH), when I was planning on going back up.
"Oh, I thought something like the 15th."
"Why do you want to wait that long?" she asked. "Every day you're here is money you aren't earning in New York!"
"Okay Mom," I said. "How about September 11th?"
A pause.
"Well," said Mom, "You'd probably get really good rates with the airlines."
So September 11th it was. Plans were made. The non-refundable plane ticket was purchased. I started jovially telling people that I was flying into New York on September 11th. Flying into New York on September 11th. Flying into New York on September 11th.
Okay. I confess. I thought it would be cute when and if I become famous to tell the talk show host that I flew into New York on the fifth anniversary of the attacks and my life has been one nutty adventure ever since. Isn't that kinda funny? You know. Like how people make Pearl Harbor jokes?
But now that I'm at my parents' house and I'm seeing all these "Never Remember, Never Forget" specials on the evening news, my "Ha ha ha! I'm flying into New York on September 11th! Ha ha ha!" has rapidly become "Uhh...ha...ha ha...I'm flyiiiiing...into *gulp* New York on *shiver* September 11th! Ha...um...ha ha...."
I've made a huge mistake.
My mother asked me, upon my triumphant return from the Great New York Apartment Hunt (GNYAH), when I was planning on going back up.
"Oh, I thought something like the 15th."
"Why do you want to wait that long?" she asked. "Every day you're here is money you aren't earning in New York!"
"Okay Mom," I said. "How about September 11th?"
A pause.
"Well," said Mom, "You'd probably get really good rates with the airlines."
So September 11th it was. Plans were made. The non-refundable plane ticket was purchased. I started jovially telling people that I was flying into New York on September 11th. Flying into New York on September 11th. Flying into New York on September 11th.
Okay. I confess. I thought it would be cute when and if I become famous to tell the talk show host that I flew into New York on the fifth anniversary of the attacks and my life has been one nutty adventure ever since. Isn't that kinda funny? You know. Like how people make Pearl Harbor jokes?
But now that I'm at my parents' house and I'm seeing all these "Never Remember, Never Forget" specials on the evening news, my "Ha ha ha! I'm flying into New York on September 11th! Ha ha ha!" has rapidly become "Uhh...ha...ha ha...I'm flyiiiiing...into *gulp* New York on *shiver* September 11th! Ha...um...ha ha...."
I've made a huge mistake.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Packing Update
When people ask me what was the hardest thing about moving to Le Cité Grande, I'm sure they're thinking I'll say something about the apartment hunting, the wandering about, the feelings of fear and hopelessness, the stress of saying goodbye to my friends and closing a chapter of my life and all that sort of thing.
But the dag-blamed hardest thing about this move?
The freakin' PACKING! Now that all my stuff is located in one room in Countryville, I have to go through ALL OF IT and decide what will fit in my three suitcases. Do you know how freakin' hard that is? I've spent most of the day standing in my room thinking, "Wow. This is hard."
I guess the thought that my mother will come up and say, "Oh honey...you don't need to take all this stuff. Here, let ME pack FOR you" doesn't help either.
As Little Edie would say, "I think I must have the saddest life."
But the dag-blamed hardest thing about this move?
The freakin' PACKING! Now that all my stuff is located in one room in Countryville, I have to go through ALL OF IT and decide what will fit in my three suitcases. Do you know how freakin' hard that is? I've spent most of the day standing in my room thinking, "Wow. This is hard."
I guess the thought that my mother will come up and say, "Oh honey...you don't need to take all this stuff. Here, let ME pack FOR you" doesn't help either.
As Little Edie would say, "I think I must have the saddest life."
Back in Countryville
Move Update:
The countdown begins. Four days left.
I'm back home with Mom and Dad in our fine house in Countryville. It's time for the final sorting. I have two large suitcases and one carry-on size suitcase. Now that all of my worldly possessions...and I do mean ALL...are in my bedroom here, it's time to go through the final sorting and decide what goes, what stays, what gets chucked, what gets hawked, what gets boxed and what gets burned in the furnace. Now I know how God must feel with the whole sheep and goats thing.
"You please me little teddy. You are soft and warm and being back happy memories. Enter in and join me at the banquet table."
or
"Depart from me, O ye cursed socks! Ye old, old socks! And you too, ye books! Ye books who I have read only once but for some reason insisted on keeping for years and years. Out! Out! Out damned sock!"
I was curiously unemotional as I left my empty apartment yesterday morning. I tried to work up some tears by listening to sad songs on my iRene as I drove out of town, past all my familiar haunts, knowing that there's a chance I might never see them again. But even the sad songs didn't do anything for me.
It wasn't until I passed through Wackytown and hit the miles and miles of rolling hills and feilds that I realized I might never make this particular drive again. Then I thought about Queen III all alone in Everycity with that nutty little poodle of hers, ADub and Dr. No starting back at good ol' Alma Mater U, Bibb Leo File and his Little Woman having just moved near Everycity from Pfarawayville, Matt and Kimmie G and their theatre company, the Cachinnator and Boscoe and Beeki and the cocker spaniels and all those other crazy folks...and just when the cool weather was starting to creep into the Everycity forecast...
Who could ever bear to leave?
Oh yes. And Nelson. Nelson, everyone's favorite cat (seriously...he really is everyone's favorite cat. Ask around if you don't believe me), is staying with the Leo File family for a time. I don't know that he has city life running through his little kitty veins. We'll see.
I leave for Le Cité Grande on the morning of September 11th. That's this coming Monday. I feel like I'm going off to war or something. But hey...it's just a city like anyplace else. What could POSSIBLY go wrong?!
(feel free to answer those famous last words in the comments section)
The countdown begins. Four days left.
I'm back home with Mom and Dad in our fine house in Countryville. It's time for the final sorting. I have two large suitcases and one carry-on size suitcase. Now that all of my worldly possessions...and I do mean ALL...are in my bedroom here, it's time to go through the final sorting and decide what goes, what stays, what gets chucked, what gets hawked, what gets boxed and what gets burned in the furnace. Now I know how God must feel with the whole sheep and goats thing.
"You please me little teddy. You are soft and warm and being back happy memories. Enter in and join me at the banquet table."
or
"Depart from me, O ye cursed socks! Ye old, old socks! And you too, ye books! Ye books who I have read only once but for some reason insisted on keeping for years and years. Out! Out! Out damned sock!"
I was curiously unemotional as I left my empty apartment yesterday morning. I tried to work up some tears by listening to sad songs on my iRene as I drove out of town, past all my familiar haunts, knowing that there's a chance I might never see them again. But even the sad songs didn't do anything for me.
It wasn't until I passed through Wackytown and hit the miles and miles of rolling hills and feilds that I realized I might never make this particular drive again. Then I thought about Queen III all alone in Everycity with that nutty little poodle of hers, ADub and Dr. No starting back at good ol' Alma Mater U, Bibb Leo File and his Little Woman having just moved near Everycity from Pfarawayville, Matt and Kimmie G and their theatre company, the Cachinnator and Boscoe and Beeki and the cocker spaniels and all those other crazy folks...and just when the cool weather was starting to creep into the Everycity forecast...
Who could ever bear to leave?
Oh yes. And Nelson. Nelson, everyone's favorite cat (seriously...he really is everyone's favorite cat. Ask around if you don't believe me), is staying with the Leo File family for a time. I don't know that he has city life running through his little kitty veins. We'll see.
I leave for Le Cité Grande on the morning of September 11th. That's this coming Monday. I feel like I'm going off to war or something. But hey...it's just a city like anyplace else. What could POSSIBLY go wrong?!
(feel free to answer those famous last words in the comments section)
Monday, September 04, 2006
"Hey New York!"
I need your help.
When I get off the bus at Penn Station or emerge from the subway in Times Square...
What do I say? You know, you're supposed to say something. Like, "Hey New York! Here I am!" or "Hey you big buildings! Hey you big lights! You pay attention because here I am!"
What do I say?
When I get off the bus at Penn Station or emerge from the subway in Times Square...
What do I say? You know, you're supposed to say something. Like, "Hey New York! Here I am!" or "Hey you big buildings! Hey you big lights! You pay attention because here I am!"
What do I say?
Gettin' Ready
The apartment is almost completely empty. Tomorrow I'll make one last trip to the Goodwill drop-off station, make sure everything is loaded up in boxes... Then Wednesday morning, I'll roll off my air mattress, go on a jog, do some crunches, and turn in my keys.
Happy Labor Day!
Happy Labor Day!
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