By "big", I mean about 20 inches by about five inches.
By "cracking and falling", I mean I've been picking at it very stealthily with outstretched fingers that traipse along the entire staircase wall and bumping my shoulder and rubbing my bag into it as I pass. I really needed to see if it was just surface damage to the plaster or real for serious damage to the concrete and I couldn't just stand there and wreck it worse because there are security cameras in there and even though I'm not really that afraid of our 67 year old lady security guard, I'm afraid of the people she might tell.
Maintenance finally got to it over the weekend and picked it apart in a for reals investigation and they haven't made it to the actual patching up part of the job yet so I can see that the foundation of the wall is doing just fine.
That's a load off my mind.
We didn't get a call back for the Olive Garden commercial, but it was a great experience. I've had two auditions in my whole life- one of them tanked and one of them went well. If I was a baseball player, I'd be batting .500 and riding high on my career so there is no room for complaints.
I sort of want to audition for something else now. Just so I can look into that camera and say my name and feel all those goosebumps and butterflies jumping around my body.
I read this article the other day that made cockroaches sound delicious and nutritious and shrimp sound like the most vile creatures in the universe. Something about eating whole grains in a kitchen verses poop on the (ocean) floor and a bunch of other stuff that supported the argument.
Me? I think cockroaches and shrimp are pretty much exactly alike and neither should be favored over the other.
The only difference for me is that I've eaten shrimp on purpose and shrimp never startle me when I take the trash out on a sticky summer night. I'm sure I've eaten (the equivalent of) at least one cockroach. See, I've also read this article about how the FDA allows so many bug parts in peanut butter and sacks of rice and flour and other dry goods.
I heard on television that the real danger of eating cookie dough is not the raw eggs (only one in every 30,000 eggs in the US is contaminated with salmonella. Or is it 300,000? Odds are good either way) but the uncooked flour. Lots of pesticides and bacteria and viruses and cockroach parts in uncooked flour.
A few co-workers found traces of mice in their desks last week.
By "traces", I mean poop pellets and chewed cardboard.
I didn't find any in mine, but I cleaned house really well just in case. I brought in a giant empty Scottish Butter Cookie tin in from home to hold my oatmeal and tea. Mice can't chew through metal according to the most recent scientific reports. The only problem is now it looks like I have 64.8 ounces of butter cookies on my desk and people keep asking for one but I have none to give.
When I was in college, I worked as a Pharmaceutical Tech. You didn't need a special license or degree to do that back then, and you made almost $10 an hour which was really good for back then.
$10 used to buy a lot more than it does now.
Like two red Solo cups on a Saturday night.
Two red Solo cups on a Saturday night used to guarantee you'd get laid sometime between midnight and the next morning.
Date night, indeed.
At my Pharmaceutical Tech job, the Real Pharmacists used to call me Lorna Doone. That's how it was recorded in the Pharmaceutical System and everything. You didn't need a real name, a special license or degree to fill prescriptions back then. Just the willingness to work under pressure while the Real Pharmacists smoked cigarettes out back and did the crossword puzzles in the break room.
I hope I didn't accidentally kill anyone.
On Christmas Eve, Dave, Jacob and I took a drive to our college town to buy a pizza. The pizza shop has the same name and location but looks a lot different. The town has the same name and location, but looks a lot different. The campus has the same name and (an expanded) location, but looks a lot different.
Old dorms have been torn down and rebuilt, but ours is still there. Dave and I were next door neighbors in the freshman dorms. Mothers and dads, don't let your babies live in co-ed dorms. New buildings have gone up where we used to be able to have catches and kicks and build snowmen and get a little bit of sun. The Quad is the same. Same trees, same buildings, same sidewalks. But it looks smaller now. And somehow more beautiful, despite the fact there is a Starbucks in the library. There was no one else there, we had the whole place to ourselves for the hour or so we spent walking around.
Something about watching your child run wild across your college campus makes your throat feel funny and your eyes get something in them.
Something about watching the man who, once upon a time, was just your college boyfriend run wild after your wildly running child across your college campus almost twenty years after it all first happened makes your throat feel funny and your eyes get something in them.
Damn suburbs and all the nature out there messing with my head holes.