someone was running a vacuum in my head this morning.

Or at least that’s what I thought in the shower.

Last night was Amy’s birthday celebration at the Carolina Ale House. Those folks seriously need to rectify the parking sitch. I had to cross SIX lanes of traffic to walk to the Ale House because there were no parking spots to be had. And I think it’s weird that they’re building a Goodwill store 1)in a new, expensive shopping center and 2)next to a Carolina Ale House. Damn construction. I had to park by Moe's and hoof it!!! I did one, two, three, four, FIVE u-turns before I finally gave up on finding a spot. But whatever. Anyhoo...

So, the birthday stuff was fun. Amy had a good time, and I think she enjoyed the little paper wand thing I got her at Pier 1—you know, the plastic stick with the paper coiled around it that you flick and the paper flies out? Very fun, I promise!

I had a wonderful evening, discussing topics like feminists growing out their underarm hair, whether or not technology will improve to meet demand, and organic produce being so expensive (and not being organic in the chemistry sense), and how dumb it is to truck tomatoes hundreds of miles when there’s someone selling them just down the road. Yuengling was $3 a glass and refreshingly cold. And my company was excellent.

But anyway, back to the vacuum. So, I’m in the shower, washing my hair, and I think “My God, how much did I drink? I don’t feel bad, but I swear it sounds like someone is running a vacuum inside of my head.” I’m picturing a blue hair with a floral dress with buttons and orthopedic shoes pushing around one of those old vacuums with a pattern on the fabric bag. Hazel is trying to come into the shower (she’s recently gotten adventurous, she used to just lounge on the toilet lid) and I’m looking around, wondering if the bathroom exhaust fan is malfunctioning, and the vacuuming stops. I’m bewildered and confused, but thankful.

I go downstairs to make coffee and the vacuuming begins again--and how! It’s louder now, and I don’t like it. My head didn't do anything wrong, why is it being punished by this unfortunately-clad, vacuum-pushing grandma?

I go in the back room to check on the plants on the patio, and I see it--the source of the vacuuming! It's the damn people mowing our apt complex yard for the first time in three weeks!

I find it mildly alarming that I could hear that upstairs. In the shower. With the exhaust fan on. While shampooing my hair.

Have a good weekend, dearies.