It’s fifty-one degrees outside right now. I’m not sure whether you’re aware of the amazingness of this event, but it’s pretty damn amazing. I know we’re only just entering February – snowy, snowy February – but it almost feels like spring is just around the corner. Oh how we’re teased.

So my intentions to refrain from moving in with my boyfriend kind of fell through, it appears. A month later, I’m still here and I’m still unemployed. I’ve learned a lot of stuff living with him though. Like it’s not smart to bowl six games in a row. And it’s even stupider to go back to the bowling alley and try to bowl three more the next day, despite the pulled muscle in your left ass cheek, your aching fingers and the blister that is dominating most of your bowling thumb. Darren’s also learning how to cope with my occasional (read: frequent) emotional outbursts. The other day, he actually said, “My God, you’re manic,” and that, of course, made me think of my manic days in Goldfine. Oh how I miss Goldfine.

I didn’t know just HOW MUCH I missed Goldfine until last weekend when Alexis and Chelsea came bowling with the gang and Alexis had pictures of Duluth! And it looks like they’re having a ragin’ good time without me! And I want to go back! It’s not like anyone wants to employ me. Why don’t I just go back?

Next weekend I plan on going back home for a while because I think my mom might die from snotty redhead withdrawal. Okay, maybe not, but she expected me to come home yesterday for some reason and she said she almost cried when she came home and realized I wasn’t there. She told me about she had the whole next week planned out for me, from babysitting to working to playing appalling numbers of Mexican Train. Why couldn’t I have fallen for a boy that lived closer to home?

And although you don’t care, you simply must know that yesterday at the humane society there were FOUR six- to eight-week-old black lab mix puppies and they spent the whole time I was there chewing on my fingers and kicking the crap out of each other. Gosh, it was precious.

Police sirens. Do you hear that? Where I come from, when I hear sirens in the distant, I’m hauling ass to the road to watch that 1976 ambulance top out at speeds of 65 miles an hour to pick up the shoveling-induced heart attack 15 miles down the road. The sirens never stop here. And there’s not even any snow to shovel! Snow can't survive in these tropical temperatures.