You Got Until Five O'Clock
We really cannot deny that I am a bit of an electric young lady.
The classic story is the Tale of the Panic Attack Prince, wherein it might appear on the surface that the emotional shortcomings of the gentleman in question wrecked the evening, but, no, in actuality, it was my fault because I blew out a bunch of lights. Like the entire front half of the apartment upon entering the threshold, and then the entire front half of the building upon passing the generator. Not on purpose. I swear.
There was this other time where I walked under an electrical box in Sarasota, and it exploded. Luckily, my outstanding puppy saved me!
One time, Lil Sis was annoying me, and the phone rang at the same time I switched a burner on, and the stimulus proved to be a little too much, and I short-circuited the stove.
I actually have plenty of silly stories like this, but the point here is that last night I walked into my apartment, flipped the light switch and blew out the entire unit in my complex, so that maintenance had to come fix it, and now I'm trying to think . . . did anything spectacular happen last night? Anything where I might have been supercharged and full of conducive energy?
Let's see. I went to the Rack and cracked open some schoolbooks with a devilish young man. I went to 4GF, and languished in the hazy camaraderie of my Irish pals, but I just don't know why in the world I'd suddenly be so hot-n-poppin'.
Can anyone think of anything?
Maybe it's just high-time I blew up.
UPDATE: Nope, you got until August 11. Why do I have "Win Best of Bay" on my calendar today? I have no idea. Lil Sis has suggested its because I'm a narcissistic wastoid. And now, of course, I am doubly curious as to why I blew out the building.
The classic story is the Tale of the Panic Attack Prince, wherein it might appear on the surface that the emotional shortcomings of the gentleman in question wrecked the evening, but, no, in actuality, it was my fault because I blew out a bunch of lights. Like the entire front half of the apartment upon entering the threshold, and then the entire front half of the building upon passing the generator. Not on purpose. I swear.
There was this other time where I walked under an electrical box in Sarasota, and it exploded. Luckily, my outstanding puppy saved me!
One time, Lil Sis was annoying me, and the phone rang at the same time I switched a burner on, and the stimulus proved to be a little too much, and I short-circuited the stove.
I actually have plenty of silly stories like this, but the point here is that last night I walked into my apartment, flipped the light switch and blew out the entire unit in my complex, so that maintenance had to come fix it, and now I'm trying to think . . . did anything spectacular happen last night? Anything where I might have been supercharged and full of conducive energy?
Let's see. I went to the Rack and cracked open some schoolbooks with a devilish young man. I went to 4GF, and languished in the hazy camaraderie of my Irish pals, but I just don't know why in the world I'd suddenly be so hot-n-poppin'.
Can anyone think of anything?
Maybe it's just high-time I blew up.
UPDATE: Nope, you got until August 11. Why do I have "Win Best of Bay" on my calendar today? I have no idea. Lil Sis has suggested its because I'm a narcissistic wastoid. And now, of course, I am doubly curious as to why I blew out the building.
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