"Who Wants Metamucil?!"

I would rather have my Uncle Sam oatmeal, but I left it in Baltimore.
Damn. Well, if that's my only option for achieving regularity then sign me up; even if it is pink lemonade flavored. Ick.

Some Morning Poetry for Y'All

I woke up at 1:28
and after dreaming of streetcars in New Orleans
that were filled with jacuzzi water
and watching cartoons on a comfy couch
I realize I should have woken up earlier
and gotten my coffee
when I had the chance.

Food, or rather, beverage for thought.

The only reason I can think of for not moving to New Orleans is that chicory coffee gives me the trots.

Facebook Confusion

Way to go, Mama.

You can call me Miss Communication.

Bong was in a tizzy. The MICA shuttle was MIA and her phone is broken. She needed to get to Phyllis. So when she was standing on our stoop waiting for the shuttle I decided to offer her my help. I decided to call Phyllis.

The phone was answered within two rings, except it wasn't Phyllis. It was her husband, Stu. I didn't know that.
Stu: Hello?
Me: This is the office of Bong Mee Lee.
Stu: This is the office of WHO?!
Me: (thinking) This is not Phyllis. Oh shit.
(speaking) Oh! Sorry! Wrong number!

Meanwhile, Bong was on the stoop looking up at me in my window.

"That wasn't Phyllis," I chortled.
"Who was it?"
"I don't know."

I recalled that Phyllis had given out her number to our group of SACI kids and it was tucked away behind several emails. I dug, neé clicked around until I found it. It matched the number I had in my phone, so I thought to myself, "I wonder if it was Phyllis...?"

So I called again.

Stu: Hello?
Me: Is this Phyllis?
Stu: This is Stuart.

After an awkward conversation teeming with my own nervous laughter and mussed syntax, he gave me her cell phone number and hung up. I threw my head out the window, and proceeded to tell Bong the whole story.

And the shuttle never came.