I know today is officially Chris' day to have custody, but...

RE: This blog post:

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! It's 3:30 in the morning and I'm currently rolling around my bed laughing-out-loud. But like deep belly laughs. Because:

1.) Mom and Dad really did tell you to keep the clay model the class made because it was "almost just as good". I was three-years-old when this happened, yet I can still see you standing in the kitchen, jabbing pieces of grass at its clay mouth until you eventually gave up and hung your little head in disappointment all, "...........Damnit."

2.) I really was the living Samantha doll in an American Girl Doll & Me fashion show at Tyson's Corner. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I P-P-P-P-P-P-P-Peaked young.

3.) Speaking of Chicago, the tables have turned, my friend. You just spent the entire weekend with Mark Stein, aka author of How The States Got Their Shapes, aka my favorite television show in the entire world, aka the thing I introduced to you. Would I trade my time with Abu if it meant I could hang out in Chi-town eating deep-dish pizza with Mark Stein, rappin' about border rivers, acts of Congress, pioneers, Mormons and the coulda-woulda-shoulda state of Deseret?..................................................................................................................................Maybe. It's a Sophie's Choice if there ever was one.

4.) Dude, it sounds like there's an all-out fucking frat party going on outside my window on 20th street and it's ungodly obnoxious. I realize it's Thursday night, Kids Will Be Kids, and I could simply close my window, but it's unseasonably warm out and you know I can't fall asleep without the gentle reassurance of a light breeze. You're my landlord, so please consider this my official complaint. And yes, I realize you have virtually no control over this situation and at this moment I'm watching illegally downloaded episodes of Toddlers and Tiaras and laughing about your childhood and in no way actively trying to fall asleep, but I expected some sort of dozing off to eventually happen. 

In the time it took me to write that last paragraph, the party seems to have dispersed. So thank you for solving that problem.

Oh! I have another complaint for you! (Sorry guys. This has pretty much just turned into an email to my sister and if you skip ahead to today's Chris post, I would totally understand.) OK, so I came home from running errands yesterday morning and Ruta buzzed me in, right? So I stop, say hi, ask how she is and ask if I have any packages, and she says in a completely judgmental tone: "Oh. Hi Meg. There are no packages for you today, but you certainly had a ton yesterday," and rolls her eyes like, "Oh that fucking baller Meg Rowland. She just sits in her apartment and Internet shops all day and stuffs more money into her mattress made of cash and diamond-encrusted lobsters. Must be nice." And it's like, dude, it's the fucking middle of December. Obviously those were Christmas presents and not for me. And I didn't know if I should say something like "Ha ha, 'tis the season!" to drive that point home, but then it's like, why should I have to justify my purchases to you, asshole? But at the same time, I know mom's present and my Hanukkah present from Chris are coming tomorrow and I'm completely anxious about it. My plan is obviously to go down later in the day when Henry's working because the only conversation he ever engages in is his soothing little Helllloooooooo!, but I'll still know in my heart of hearts that Ruta checked them in and it's going to affect me all weekend. 

So what I'm really asking is: What Would Mark Stein Do?