I feel like skipping school tomorrow

I'm back from my whirlwind, all-too-short trip to California, spent mostly with Mary Kate and Julie. I happened to be the designated chauffeur for the entire trip, and I have several rather humorous stories involving heart clutchings and Armenian "Our Fathers" recited in rapid succession as I blasted through the California freeways. Our route resembled not so much a normal straight-as-an-arrow, as-the-crow-flies trail as a merry-go-round (my, it's an I-love-hyphens!-day-today) as I blatantly disregarded large, intimidating road signs and red lights in my mission to SHOW JULIE EVERYTHING, DAMNIT, EVEN IF I FLATTEN 3 PEDESTRIANS ALONG THE WAY!

This is when I decided that I am not a good driver, but a lucky one. I might be unlucky in everything else, but last week in driving, no. Just in parking. Bad luck in parking. How come I wasn't the unlucky commuter pulled over onto the side of the road by the highway patrol when I had done something worse than him moments before?

So I was welcomed to my room, the darkened abyss, today. Most of the electricity wasn't working in different parts of the room, but thankfully, everything is fully functional.

How did Mary Kate and Julie pass the time while we were isolated in our black hole?















It was the veritable Seasonal Affective Disorder taking root in their constitutions. In they walk from sunny California to be greeted by a darkened, gloomy, now mouse-infested room, and they hit the bottle right away.

However, thanks to my frantic chopin work order, it's ok now. Crisis averted. At least, I like to think the prompt response sometime around 12 AM was because of my theatrical work order. I made it sound like I had to urgently perform open-heart surgery on fourth-degree burn patients in the room, and BAM, the electricity was back on. The work order people are strange, coming in at 2 AM to fix clogged drain pipes and such, but that might be because that time I made it seem like my favorite pet hamster was the thing actually glutting the drain, and not really all our luscious, thick, long hair (HA...HA...HA...!).