Something has gone terribly wrong*

Case #1: This morning, at the fine institution of higher education in which I work, we had a little power outage. Actually, lightning struck a substation or some such nonsense so it was kind of a big outage. I don't really understand how electricity works. Blah blah blah. So, I have to pee because all I do at work is Wikipedia shit (well, not literally shit, but things like Martika (you know, from Kids Incorporated?) and the history of Sunny D) and drink Diet Coke. It is pretty, pretty, pretty dark in the "garden level" (read basement) where my office is located. Needless to say, the ladies room is pitch black. A coworker graciously offers her key chain that has one of those handy micro flashlights on it. I take it into the bathroom and light my way, till it's time for some flushing action. It all happened so fast, I can't really explain it, but the keys of the coworker ended up in the toilet. They were on a lanyard, so I caught that part before it was submerged, but the keys themselves definitely took a swim in Lake Toilet. I fished them out, banged into shit while Stevie Wondering it to the sink, and gave them a good wash. I didn't tell anyone. Does this make me a bad person?

Case #2: Monday night is Benson Family Dinner Night, since the little bro doesn't have to work. I've been having a spot of trouble with him as he has decided to live at home for his first year of college to save money (for what? I honestly don't see how the kid could spend more than he already does on various unnamed vices). I think this is a terrible idea for a multitude of reasons that I won't bore you with, but mainly I've been waiting 18 years to feel like an only child again. No sharing! So, Mother Bee-Spot outlines her concerns, chief of which is the fact that she feels that she and my father need more warning as to his comings and goings so they can best utilize the privacy. I throw up my pork chop a little (mostly because I don't like pork chops). She goes on to say that perhaps she and my father want to walk around nekkid, play loud music or even smoke pot. WHAT? My mother wouldn't know what pot smoke smelled like if it was billowing out from under my closed door stuffed with a towel. I ask her if she as promised my brother's room to Matthew McConaughey, to which she responded with something about bongos. Well done Mother Bee-Spot!

Case #3: Lacey and I went to Starfucks this evening in an effort to get some work done. She's going to be a doctor, so she has to, like, do important stuff or something. I don't know. I have to do the important work of finishing Harry Potter, which I just can't bring myself to do. I really don't want to talk about it. After we've alienated everyone in the place by laughing/snorting, ridiculing their outfits, declaring the new Paul McCartney album for old, deaf people in front of old, deaf people, examining our hair for split ends, singing Ain't No Mountain High Enough (I take the Tammi Terrell part, Lacey does her best Marvin Gaye), talking extensively about reflexive urination and ranking our best birthday experiences from 15 till present, Lacey shows me the masterpiece she's been fiddling with the whole time I've been reading one word of HPVII between snippets of convo. Behold:


Song of the day: A Change Is Gonna Come - Sam Cooke.
Funny business of the day: Business Time. Seriously kids, if you're not watching Flight of the Conchords, well, I just don't get it.

*most likely, this post.