Yesterday was less awful than the preceding two days. Still not fun at work, but a little less out-of-control stressful.

Yesterday, Meg sent me the following. She's been all alone at my house during the days this week while I'm at work. Here's a glimpse of her day; it's pretty funny:

I was in the middle of applying online to Washington and I heard a glass break. Now remember, I'm already a little jumpy anyway. People have been knocking on the door and ringing the doorbell yesterday and today. I slowly ventured out of your room. No cats in sight. No broken glass in sight. Not in the kitchen or anywhere.

Hmmm... must be a burglar, I thought. Images from movies popped into my head of a prowler dressed all in black sneaking around the house trying not make any noise so I wouldn't know they were in the house. Maybe they'd been riffling through the silverware drawer or trying to get the safe open behind the Van Gogh painting when Greta darted out of nowhere and caught the thief by surprise. Teetering on his or her tiptoes he/she wildly swings their arms, trying not to fall over, knocking a vase from a shelf nearby, sending it crashing to the floor. By the time I got the nerve to investigate, they were already hiding behind a door or under a bed.

I tiptoed around the house finding no glass. I knew I'd heard it break but there was nothing on any of the hard floors. Then I glanced in the sink. There was a broken glass in the sink. Then I figured it out. I'd washed the dishes this morning and put one of the glasses on the outside of the drainer. It had fallen off into the sink and broken. Whew!

Now that you know I'm safe, it sure makes the fact that I broke your housemate's glass a little less important, doesn't it? :)

Funny.

That's like the fifth glass that's gotten broken this week, though (not all by Meg). We'll be drinking out of old bean cans before long.

Me and Meg went to San Francisco last night. We had dinner at Julie's Supper Club. A limited menu, but very good. Meg had duck and I had chicken. Cluck, quack. Good garlic mashed potatoes, too. The restaurant had a pretty trendy clientele-- all kinds of hip, beautiful young people. Fun time.

We were in the city to see Rockwell Church, a musical duo extraordinaire. Scott's seen them live, and Lynne's seen them lots of times, but they couldn't go (Lynne's flight didn't arrive until late last night, and Scott had to pick her up), so Scott encouraged me and Meg to go. Last night's show is the band's only gig west of the Mississippi for six months. I've listened to their CDs and I really like them. Good music and great songwriting. Scott says Rockwell Church is one of those rare groups that sounds as good (or better) live than they do on studio recordings.

I still have to take Scott's word on that, I'm afraid. Me and Meg didn't get to see them play. We left the restaurant, and after some map-deciphering found the bar. We drove in circles for a while and finally found parking (though it was the most trouble I've ever had parking in the city, and I always have some trouble). Meg was wearing a skirt, and had no pockets, and didn't want to carry her bag, so she asked me to carry her ID. She then proceeded to search for the little change purse where she keeps her license, ATM card, and other such things.

She couldn't find it.

She couldn't find it anywhere.

So there we are, one block from the club, stressed out from the traffic and from trying to find parking, and her change purse is gone. We called the restaurant to see if she'd lost it there, and they couldn't find it. We went to the bar to see if she could get in. No good. No ID, no entry. Meg looks young enough that she occasionally gets carded at R-rated movies, so we couldn't have smiled and bluffed our way through.

So we drove home. (And no, I didn't get mad, or kick her, or scowl, or pout. Stuff like this happens sometimes. No big deal. It's not like she made me miss a Juliana Hatfield show or something. That would have been unforgivable. I will tease her a lot about this, though).

We found her change purse at the house when we got home. Tra la. No harm done. Dinner was good, so the trip wasn't a loss, and we got to babble at each other on the way there and back. My back really hurt from all the driving by the time I got home, though. We got to Santa Cruz around 12:30, and went to Saturn because I wanted a milkshake to soothe my sore throat. There were like 10 people before us on the waiting list though, and the place was terribly crowded, and we were tired and cranky, so we just went home.

It could've been a bad, frustrating night, but for some reason my mood was good enough that I didn't look at it that way.

Even if I'd been pissed, I can't stay mad at Meg for very long. We have a way of disarming arguments by making jokes; we make each other laugh when we're on the verge of fighting. I like that about us. We avoid a lot of pointless bickering that way.

We do snap at each other and get grouchy from time to time, of course. But it could be a lot worse, and it never lasts long.

I love her. Imaginary burglars, misplaced change purses, and all.