I'm not crabby anymore. I repeat: I'm not crabby anymore.


Oh, hush. I can be crabby whenever I want. I'm entitled. But in honor of getting over my crabbiness, I thought I'd blog about getting over my crabbiness.

And also post this picture of Jason Mraz because, well, I can. And it's been awhile. And why not? And deal with it. And yes, that's a "trucker" hat on the floor with him, and he'll probably wear it tilted one way or another, but deal with that, too. He's Jason. He, too, can do whatever he wants. (And if "do whatever he wants" might include "hang out with Krista," I mean, that's cool, too. You know. Whatever).

Moving on...

I went to dinner with a pal tonight and laughed for probably 57 straight minutes. And if you've ever laughed for 57 minutes, it's one of two things: a) quite the mood-lifter, or b) quite the mood-lifter until you realize you have a stomach full of Fazoli's - which has been known to, uh, make me want to die - and it doesn't appreciate the belly-shaking laughter. But it's fabulous nonetheless.

I went with B. (And no, I didn't die. Yet).

Between mouthfuls of breadsticks and ravioli, there were jokes about baby mamas, bikinis, Gerard Way, an unrequited love of all things Fazoli's, reckless driving, Jesus and hookers in Platteville. (Note: those two items were separate. Jesus was not actually hanging out in Platteville with hookers).

We even made a launch pad for our (endless) breadsticks. When Breadstick Man waddled over with a basket o' breadsticks and tongs, he asked us how many. I told him 120. He gave us four. Seriously. I'm still waiting for the other 116. All that work on a napkin launch pad, and for what?

In addition, I got a bonus check of $20 today for being fabulous. OK, not so much fabulous as lucky (seeing as though my name was drawn from a pot of several names), but still. An extra $20 equals fabulous. Therefore, I am fabulous. Thank you.

Sigh. All that and The BF even returned my call. Whoa.

However, ask for me at 4 a.m. tomorrow morning, as I'm clawing my eyes out and cursing the day I was born, and I may not reflect this happy sentiment. So enjoy it. Such is the life of a moody twenty-something working two jobs.

I shall return to hating my life in promptly nine hours.