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Smuggling Cocaine
Message on my voicemail left at 2:51 p.m. yesterday afternoon from (No Number). �Hello. This is the Secret Service. You are under arrest for smuggling cocaine into the United States. We will be at your house around 5:00 p.m. today. Be there or we will find you.� I have no idea who left me that message. I curiously peered out my front door from 5:00 until about 6:00 p.m. yesterday (not because I thought the Secret Service was coming to arrest me for smuggling cocaine into the United States, but because I figured that a message that unbelievably random had to be from somebody I know and maybe I was going to get a surprise visit from an old friend or something.) before I finally gave up and decided it must have been a prank call. How strange. How funny would it have been if I�d have freaked out and fled the country though? (well, probably not that funny since the stupidity would cancel out the funniness). In other news � my air conditioner is broken. Last week the broken air conditioner was no problem because it was freezing cold most of the time and I still had to walk to and from work in a sweater. This week it turned into summer. It is hot. It is humid. It is nasty outside and yet, sadly, it�s even nastier inside my house. The thermostat in my living room read 88 degrees at 9:00 p.m. last night. Oliver and I camped out in the basement reading (well, I read, he mostly lay there and glared at me). I will be home from NOON to 5:00 today (sitting in the sticky, suffocating hotness) so that the nice man can come and fix the AC. If, for some reason, the nice man is unable to fix the AC you can bet your sweet bippy that temper tantrums (and possibly other things) will be thrown.
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