I don’t know why, but it’s got something to do with the Y.T. in the next apartment over. There’s a county cop in a marked Cherokee, and two different officers in marked Crown Vics. The older kid was just let out of one of the Crown Vics and led into the building by the old(er) woman who lives there. I think one of the officers is Gary’s buddy, R., so maybe I’ll get the inside scoop the next time he shows up.

Memo to whoever was searching for “Fallston Personal Escorts” (and found me?) … dude, it’s Hazzard County. Go to some poor farm and pay the farmer $20 for five minutes in the hay with his daughter. What’cha expecting?

A guy at the Indy today was wearing a flip-phone on a hip-holster. It had flapped open. Walking to the soda machine to get a sprite, I leaned over to him and whispered (because I didn’t want to embarass him), “Dude, your cell phone is open.”

It’s so totally the “Your Fly is Open” for the 21st Century.

(And, yes, I worked today, even though I shouldn’t have, because, y’know, sick. Anyway, I called out from the Franchise tonight).

Hard to get someone help when they don’t leave a link or an e-mail address, but …

… this comment appeared on this post last niht:

This is the first time i have responded to a blog. I feel so desperate about my weight. I have tried countless diets and am now awaiting approval for gastric surgery and i fear that i will be denied. I have been fighting a losing battle for 4 years now and am about to give up and say screw the world. I feel trapped in my own body. every attempt i have made has been short lived the most i have been able to loose is 50 pounds and then i get frusterated and give up. this last time i have gained it all back times 2. any one please help!!

Does anyone know about a support group or … ?

Saturday night I was working at the Indy and feeling pretty bad. I’d been hoping for a slow night, instead it was steady — I kept coming back to the store to find deliveries atop the oven. My last run was a triple — one to Ashland Road, one to the Embassy Suites, and then one waaaay the hell up York Road past Sparks. I was quite certain it was going to take me an hour to get the store cleaned — as the closing driver, I’m responsible for sweeping and mopping the floor, as well as finishing any dishes.

Thankfully, Robin wanted to get out of the store as much as I did, so when I arrived, I found the floor swept, and the dishes done. After giving Robin my money (and profusely thanking him in my scratchy “barely there” voice), it took about five minutes to mop the floor. I wasn’t, uh, “giving it my best”, but I was intent on getting home and having a hot glass of TheraFlu. Priorities, people.

Finished mopping, I rolled the bucket into the back (steering with the mop), and dumped the contents into the mop-sink.

Apparently, sometimes since the last time I closed — a year ago — someone decided the mop-sink didn’t need to be positioned over the drain, then forgot to pass along the memo. In any case, dirty mop water spilled all over the back floor, much to my frustration.

Damn mop sink.