Well, I come to you tonight with two pieces of sad, sad news.
The first is that my man was not selected as the newest American Idol judge. Right now you're probably thinking, "Wow, I can't believe Laura didn't mention that Matt was even in the running for the position," and that would be because he wasn't.
I'm talking about my other man, Brad Paisley.
It appears that his country counterpart, Mr. Keith Urban, was chosen instead. Must have been that Australian accent that pushed him over the line.
The second piece of tragic news requires a bit of a back story. I wrote about it here, but the short version is that when Michelle and I moved into this apartment in December, we were so impressed with ourselves and the fact that we were able to obtain jobs that paid enough to cover rent that we cleverly decided to name our wireless network "Workin Girlz."
Yes, with a Z.
Shortly after our move-in, my brother broke the news to us that "working girl" is another name for hooker. Well, color us naive. We had no idea.
I mentioned in the last post that our internet was broken, and on Friday a Comcast technician came out to fix it. The only solution was a new modem and, tragically, a new network name.
Workin Girlz is no more, and now our internet is an unending string of letters and numbers. How boring and mature.
Luckily that was the end of the bad news for the weekend. We had a family wedding on Friday night, where I learned that construction paper glasses, a feather boa, and a chalkboard will make me happy as a lark.
And on Saturday night Matt and I went out with some friends and I didn't get home until TWO THIRTY A.M., which is quite possibly the latest I have been out since college. I'm more of an in-my-pajamas-by-midnight-at-the-latest kind of girl.
When I walked in the apartment Michelle was just coming home from a night out herself, so we sat in the living room for twenty minutes and chatted about our evenings and what had happened and OH LOOK AT US BEING ALL WILD AND CRAZY AND STAYING UP SO LATE.
I felt like I was 23 again.
And now I am struggling to come up with a clever conclusion for this post. I'm fighting the urge to write some sort of joke about how when I wake up tomorrow morning it will be time to be a Workin Girl again because I'm afraid that might be in poor taste. But that's pretty much all I can come up with.
Thank you and goodnight.