You might think that the highlight of my Easter afternoon at Darren's parents was being called Darren's ex-girlfriend's name by his cousin. However, the real highlight was the realization that said cousin's boyfriend whom she brought along was actually Darren's sister's ex-boyfriend. Funny, yes. Funnier is that said cousin has absolutely no clue and Darren's sister's husband was also clueless. Lots of giggling behind peoples backs yesterday. On Easter. Straight to hell with me!

Poor girl finally gets a man and he's used goods - by her own cousin.

Yesterday I had my very first Chuck E. Cheese experience. You know, where a kid can be a kid. Darren and I had to push around a few snot-nosed little brats to get to try our hands at Skee Ball, but boy was I excited, especially once the kids stopped crying. I've been craving Skee Ball like a pregnant woman might crave watermelon drizzled with cottage cheese since, oh, about thirteen years ago, the one and only other time I've played it. Thank you, Darren. Thank you for bringing me to Skee Ball. And I promise next time I'll knock this kids around so hard they won't be ABLE to cry.

But now...now I must have MORE!

Apparently all it took for a tragedy to really hit me was having it occur 140 miles from home.

I have a tough time comprehending affairs going on in other parts of the country; needless to say my national news knowledge is complete crap. Columbine happened when I was in high school, and while I knew it was a horrible incident, it didn't leave me worried about going to school. It didn't make me imagine being directly affected by a school shooting.

Even though thousands of my fellow Americans died in the 9/11 attacks, I can't remember being torn apart to the point that I couldn't function (which is how I think I should have felt, looking back). I was upset, most certainly, but I couldn't fathom having my sister or boyfriend or grandma or best friend as one of the dead.

I know the war in Iraq is proving more devastating to American troops than anyone could have imagined. I have the utmost respect for men and women serving in our military and I know that they're putting their lives on the line, but sometimes I don't think that many of the lives being lost over there are of my peers - men and women my age, perhaps freshly married with babies on the way, looking forward to a long, happy lives. (Ignore that eye-popping run-on. I don't have the brain-power to fix it before 9 a.m.)

I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm feeling a bit crushed - winded, almost - thinking about the Red Lake shootings. I thought for sure that school shootings would hit Iowa before they made their way to northern Minnesota. The enrollment at Red Lake High School is 280 students, grades 10 through 12. That's three and a half times the enrollment at the high school I attended, but Red Lake is considered a small school (and a rural town) nonetheless. Red Lake is a reservation; Tower, located right next to a reservation, also schools a high population of Native Americans. My sister-in-law works at a reservation school in northern Minnesota, where she teaches a slew of troubled children.

Wow. Could have heppened to me, huh? I mean, if it's going on a couple of hours away, why not? Who's to say my brother's wife couldn't get shot? I wonder if she feels queasy disciplining in her classroom. I wonder if any teachers do.

The similarities may not seem so striking to an outsider, but I'm left thinking about Tower's problem students and the school's complete lack of security. I'm also left thinking how sad it is that security could be a concern at a building that I know every nook and cranny of, where I spent 13 years of my life and where I felt completely safe.

I bet I'm the only college-aged Irish girl who didn't get life threateningly drunk last night, aren't I? My how I've changed. Either I'm growing up (doubtful) or Darren's non-drinking ways are having an (arguably adverse) effect on my habits. I've traded in the beer for the pizza! And McDonalds! And wings! And cake! Lord help me. I'd way rather waste my liver (why not, right? I've got two!) than weigh 428 pounds.

Tomorrow I get to meet my sister's boyfriend's mother, who Angie says she thinks is named Linda. How the hell can you date someone for a year and a half and not know his mother's name? It's not like they haven't met. Of course it took about a year for Angie to meet this woman who may or may not be named Linda. Darren brought me home mere days after we met. Thank you, dear.

Speaking of parents, yesterday I was talking to my mom, who said she had thrown away pillows. Don't throw away pillows, crazy lady! Pillows are wonderful. One should never hate on pillows. But that's not the point. I asked her which pillows and she said the really flat, stinky ones (don't ask why they stink) and I told her I like the flat ones the most. And do you know what she said? "You better continue liking flat, soft things for the rest of your life." Who even says that shit?! So I told her I was too innocent to understand if she was intending to comment on matters inappropriate for an unwed (not that I'll be wedding any time soon) mind to even consider.

I can't help but wonder if I'm going to end up like her in thirty years.

AND I got a big, gross cold sore that's spreading from my lip and taking over most of my chin. And with the size of my chin, that's saying something. The pain and the vomit-inducing appearance are bad enough, but the real reason I want this bad boy to go away is so the lovely and wonderful Darren will stop talking about the herpes on my face.

Can you believe I almost went a whole post without talking about not having a job? I have an interview on Monday and I took a test for another job last week. That's to serve as proof that I AM doing something besides packing on additional padding to my ass.

I think I’ve finally found the fool-proof way to deal with job search stress. It involves a lot of crying and sleeping. Sounds productive, huh?

Take, for example, my day.

I woke up after sleeping for ten and a half hours, checked my email, and went back to bed for an hour. I rolled out of bed for the second time, fully ready to face the day, called about a job, emailed about another, found out that everything is conflicting with everything else and ohmygoodness, what if I get offered a job and I take shitty pay and then get offered a job for better pay when I’ve already started my new job? Is it unintelligent to accept a salary that would very likely put me below the poverty line despite trudging through three and a half years and thousands of dollars of college? How the hell would I get to said job, anyway? I don’t even know how to ride the bus! I should have had my flippin’ driver’s license five years ago! Lord, what to do?

Cry. Call Mom and cry. Talk to Mom for forty-five minutes, hang up, feel decent, begin new crying jag. Take shower. Think about applying for more jobs and realize how miserable the thought makes me. Read book to stop crying. Fall asleep. Sleep for three hours. It’s nearly 5:30 and I’ve been awake for less than a collective five hours today. I don’t think I could handle a job if I tried at this point.

So what do I do, kids? I’m horrible at making important decisions, so you might have to make this one for me. Do I try to get a job with less-than-great pay or hold out for something better? Keep in mind I could be holding out for the rest of my life.

Aha! It appears as though I've duped you into thinking marriage is on the horizon for me. In truth, it's not. I'm not against the idea, but...we'll just leave it at that. There was talk of a possible engagement until the penis pump comment. And Alexis? You need to stop writing so damn many research papers. It's eating away at your brain.

The night before last Darren and I stayed up until 3 a.m. making and decorating sugar cookies, which made me think of Rachel and her sugar cookie baking ways. And I can't help but wonder if the back right burner of every stove heats up like a couple of dry-humping sixtten-year-olds when the oven is on. I know the old apartment stoven (stove and oven combined - get it?) used to do just that, but I never knew of it before since only one burner works on my home stove and it happens to be the front left burner.

Back to the story. The counter space is limited in The Shoebox, so we were forced to move shit around to make room to roll out dough. And, of course, being the super duper ultra intelligent life form that I am, I put the economy sized plastic barrel of chocolate protein whey on the back right burner. After the fourth sheet of cookies went into the oven, I realized the PLASTIC was MELTING. Goodness me. I began to peel the gooey crud from the burner and the protein allllll fell out into the burner. And it smelled like burned broccoli. And I still haven't cleaned it up. OKAY, so the story sucked, but I was drunk on sleepiness at the time and I think that may have caused the giggles. It really did stink though, and I do wish I had taken a picture.

Sorry, guys. That's the best I can do.

But yesterday I got to see a baby that wasn't even a day old yet! I've never seen such a youngen before. Of course, I didn't hold her - not for another few months. They have such damn cute dresses for little girls at Target right now, so I was pretty thrilled when Darren's best friend had a girl! Yay!

A sure sign that the unhappiest time of the month is about to arrive: I just teared up watching Made.

And about that interview... If someone were to say to you, "Would you like to come in to talk and learn more about the company?", would YOU interpret that as, say, an interview? I was certain that's what this Kelly woman meant. So I get decked out in my business suit, prepare my portfolio, and head to the TCF tower TO TAKE A BUNCH OF SKILLS TESTS. I wasn't asked a single freaking question about my qualifications or my skills or a time I demonstrated my leadership ability and I really wasn't in the right frame of mind to be taking tests. Needless to say I won't be hearing anything positive back from them. Ho hum, so the search continues.

I've been awake for less than an hour and already I'm bored (very nearly to tears - MTV touches me so). In eight and a half hours, dear Darren will return to my open arms and we will bask in one another's blissful company. By that I mean we'll play Playstation and pull on the cat's limbs and guzzle Dr. Pepper - all activities that are much more fun in pairs.

Last week Darren asked what happens if he asks my dad if he can marry me and the old man says no? Wouldn't that just abuot be the funniest thing in the world? I only find it funny because it would never happen.

In an unrelated matter, would you say it's inappropriate to mention a penis pump in front of a significant other's parents, grandmother and sister? I mean, if it's completely kidding and meant as a joke? You know, the kind no one laughs at?