Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Gypsy Girl Not Frightened of Anyone Except Her Mother

The world continues, as it always has. My mother has once again completely charmed my landlord.

This tradition is becoming to come in handy, for obvious reasons: once my landlord, whoever he might be, gets tired of renting to a slob, my mother shows up, cleans the house, cooks for him, and entertains him for hours. It keeps me in shelter with a roof over my head, always a good thing, although reducing my current house to "a roof over my head" is doing a great disservice to Landlord. (Your house is gorgeous, honey. You know it is.)

I realize it is now Wednesday and any post I might write referring to last weekend is hopelessly out of date, but this story was so good I had to share it. I hung out with a bunch of boys all weekend, not unusual in my case, especially on a weekend in which I went skiing, pool-shootin', and James Bond-ing. (HA! Bonding!) (Bad joke, but Bond was awesome.)

Anyway, here we are, five boys and myself, and we're killing time before the movie by drinking, one of our favorite activities. We're just ordering our first rounds from the server. All the other boys got Dos Equis, but I proudly ordered a "floofy" drink, with mixers and salt around the rim and all the fixins. The boys looked longingly at my drink when it arrived; many of them asked for sips. Finally I asked, "If you guys wanted fancy drinks, why didn't you order one?"

One of LT's friends, Amateur Photographer, sent me a look of derision. "Um, hello. I'm at a table with four other guys and a girl who is not afraid of me. I absolutely CANNOT order a fancy drink!"

Who knew that I would go down in AP's personal history as The Girl Who Is Not Afraid of Me? Not me, that's who. I feel like I should get a plaque or something.

In other news, I'm applying for a security clearance. (Yay!) And...those of you who have applied for these can already see where this is going...you have to, for this application, provide every address you've lived at for the past SEVEN YEARS.

I'll give that a little time to sink in.

For those who haven't realized, I've lived in three different places just since STARTING THIS BLOG.

My application may be the longest that damn office has ever seen. Send coffee.

(Note: LT did not like Casino Royale; in fact, it might not be hyperbole to say that he detested it. So you can bear that in mind, as you wish, but really, everyone else loves it, including all the critics, so if he wants to explain why he doesn't like it, he can start his own damn blog. THANK you so very much.)

2 comments:

l-t said...

Longest ever? I don't know....most people in my employ make a career out of moving. A LOT. Live out of my trunk for the next two months while my stuff bounces around the country, hopelessly lost in a lowest-bidder quagmire? Sure, why not? Do I REALLY expect my TV to survive? Well, thank goodness I don't pay taxes at the exchange...

Aarwenn said...

True, although does the Navy move their people three times in two years? And the application specifies that for military duty of under 90 days, you can use the FPO or something, whatever that is. :)

<-- Civilian.