May 6, 2006

on the joy of maracas...

So, maybe I jinxed myself the other day when I was talking about having a very boring social life. A friend I had plans with the other day, called about 10 minutes before she was supposed to be meeting me at my place and told me that she was going to have dinner with her fiance's family. I had been waiting all day, and had been quite looking forward to talking to another human being outside of work (and the hubby) and had even scrubbed out the bathroom sink in hopes of impressing someone with my domestic skills. But, alas.

I was actually really hurt, to be honest. I mean, it seemed to me that she hadn't really intended on coming anyway, so couldn't she have called earlier and told me? I wouldn't have been sitting around watching TLC, waiting for her to come over for so long if I had known. Heck, I would have been fine going to Target and skimming through the $1 Spot bins instead. Still would have been a bit lonely, but could have found something else to do.

Apartment tid-bit of the day:

Am I living in the only apartment complex that has a Fiesta Night every weekend? I'm not even kidding. I have been enjoying the very, very elevated sounds of maracas, trumpets and words I can only imagine the meaning of (note to self: learn more Spanish than 'hola' and 'que es esta' and 'esta es queso' if destined to live in Southern California for rest of life) for the last three hours. And to be honest, it's not the fact that it's Spanish music (although it is a bit monotanous for my taste) - hell, they could be having Backstreet Boys night every weekend and I'd still be ready to rip the screen off my window after 2 hours and scream until my throat is bleeding as much as my ears.

Stop the madness, people. There are those of us who must drag ourselves out of bed before the crack of dawn on Sunday morning, so take it down a notch.

Or nine.

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