we need a peephole. and a no soliciting sign.

Well, here I am with a thrilling report on the winter weather in southeastern Pennsylvania.  We haven't had much snow or bitter cold, but what we have had is a ton of rain and gray skies for weeks on end.

The past few days have been especially rainy, and I'm currently looking out at a pool of standing water in our backyard thanks to poor drainage.  It's not quite as bad (yet) as the Presidents' Day Flood of 2016, which necessitated a call to the police department.

Anyway, a few weeks ago it poured all weekend.  When there was finally a break in the deluge, Matt went out to the chicken coop in the back of our yard because it appeared from the kitchen window there might have been a slight flood.

While he was out back, the doorbell rang.  I answered because I thought it might be a neighbor in need of storm-related help.  Because don't your neighbors walk to your house and ring your doorbell during a rainstorm?

Mine never have, but there's a first time for everything.

It turns out that it was not a neighbor, but a Verizon sales rep who wanted to inform me that Verizon lines were recently installed in our neighborhood and would I like to sign up for Fios?  The conversation felt like a full circle moment, because last year when Verizon started their installation process, I called the police department because of a suspicious low-hanging wire.

We canceled our Comcast cable last year, and haven't really missed it, but we'd seen  few commercials for Verizon Fios and casually talked about trying it.  I told the sales rep that I wanted to talk to my husband before I signed up for anything.  He asked if he was home, and I said yes, but that he was very busy out in the backyard.

The man stood there, in the driving rain, and looked at me like I was crazy.  I was almost positive he was thinking, "Wow, that's a lame and truly unbelievable response."

So, because I'm an over-explainer and was feeling judged by his suspicious look, I said, "He really is out in the backyard.  He's back there because we have chickens.  And he had to check on the coop in all this rain and wind.  And anyway we don't even have cable right now so we aren't in a rush to sign up."

He cautiously stepped away.

I should have told him I had to get back to my butter churning.

Fast forward to yesterday, another day of downpours.  After work, Matt got dressed in his waterproof full body camo hunting gear and went out back to "check on the yard."  

And as soon as he walked outside, the doorbell rang.

I answered it because AGAIN, what if it was a neighbor experiencing storm-related distress, but this time it was two salesmen from, ironically, a solar panel company.  They told me I looked young to be the homeowner and I was so flattered that I listened to the first few minutes of their spiel about a federal mandate and no cost to the homeowner and blah blah blah, and then they started asking the hard hitting questions.

Questions like do we receive our bills electronically or on paper, and how many kilowatt hours of power do we use monthly?

Well, I haven't the foggiest.

I told them Matt pays the bill and would know all of our stats, and they asked if he had a moment to talk.  I said he was busy in the backyard but I'd pass along their information.  And then again, because I over-explain and who hangs out in the backyard in the rain, I said, "I know it's really rainy out, but he's outside because we have chickens and a poor drainage, so he's checking on things."

One of the guys asked if he could look in the yard to see if he could see him, and I told him to be my guest.  He peeked around the side of the house and then said, "Are you sure he's back there? I don't see anyone!"

Well, sir, what I didn't mention was that he is dressed completely in camouflage.

Which I guess is working.

Then the guys thought I was really nuts and lying about my husband being in the backyard during a rainstorm, so I told them I'd look for him.  I ran to the dining room so I could simultaneously look out the kitchen window while keeping an eye on the front door and making sure the men didn't come inside and make a break for my jewelry box in a tricky heist.

But I peeked out that window to see if I could see Matt, and there he was, in the pouring rain, in all his camouflaged glory, HOLDING A SHOVEL AND DIGGING A GIANT HOLE NEXT TO OUR SHED.

I couldn't tell the salesmen that I found him digging a hole, because I thought they might end up calling the police on us.

So I just told them we wouldn't be making a decision on solar panels today, also, IT HAS RAINED FOR A THOUSAND DAYS SO I'M NOT QUITE READY TO RELY SOLELY ON THE SUNSHINE TO POWER MY LIFE.

When Matt came inside I filled him in on the solar panel visitors and questioned why in the world he was digging a hole?  He said water was starting to collect under his shed so he constructed a makeshift trench.

Of course.

All I have to say is the next time it rains, I am not answering the door. 

Unless it's someone selling backyard drainage systems.

at least we had donuts

As a follow up to my last post, I will share that I went back to the mall this weekend and bought a few more things for my work wardrobe, including a black skirt.

Actually, two black skirts.

Okay, actually three black skirts.

Apparently I'm trying to create some sort of uniform for myself.

This morning I put on the fanciest of the skirts because I had a new employee starting and I wanted to look like a boss.

Usually I get flowers for new employee's desks, but since this particular employee was a man and I wasn't sure how he'd feel about a vase of daisies, I decided to pick up some donuts instead.

I stopped by Dunkin' Donuts and was about ten minutes into my commute when I glanced down and saw a gigantic rip right in the front of my new skirt.  And then I sat at a red light and contemplated whether or not I could keep a file folder strategically positioned over my right thigh all day without looking like a nut.  In the end I decided that I couldn't, so I went home to change into a pair of pants.  And I considered grabbing an extra outfit to just keep in my trunk in case I ever need spare clothes in the future.

My pants and I made it to the office in record time.  I had to set up the new employee's user account and he needed to add numbers to the end.  He said, "I'll just use my birthday.  July eighth, nineteen NINETY TWO.

Someone born in 1992 is old enough to be a grown up and have a real job.

And I was born in 1988 and am considering keeping a spare outfit in my trunk.

Age is just a number.

Speaking of jobs, Matt works for a huge law firm and his boss told him that he'd have to go to University of Pennsylvania's law school a few days this week to answer any questions new law students might have about technology.  Matt anticipated the question pool to be pretty shallow and was geared up for a week on easy street.  He even considered bringing a few issues of American Hunter in case he had some down time.

And then he walked into the meeting on Monday and one of the firm's top partners said, "Now everyone, make sure to utilize your trial master, Matt."

MATT THE TRIAL MASTER.

It turns out his boss didn't give him the full story, and he was assigned to be working at the firm's trial academy for incoming associates from around the nation.  The first day's mock trial had quite an impact on him and he's now contemplating law school.

He also sent me this text on his way home.

He held true to his promise because when he got home tonight he had a bag with half a dozen donuts in hand.

It was good to start the evening on a high note because after dinner we had to complete my open enrollment insurance information.

Insurance is not my wheelhouse.  For example, when I got my first real job I brought the insurance information home for my dad to look at and said, "I didn't look at it too closely but they have a cafeteria plan! Can you believe it?"  Because I thought a cafeteria plan meant lunch every day.  And that I'd hit the jackpot.

And then my dad broke the news that this is the real world and a cafeteria plan is a type of health insurance plan.  MAJOR BUMMER.

The insurance torch has now been passed to Matt.  I think in our marriage vows we should have said, "I promise to love you in good times and in open enrollment."

In the last few months I had a full eye exam and ordered six months worth of contact lenses.  When I made the appointments Matt asked if I used my vision insurance and I said no, because I didn't get vision insurance last year.

We logged into my benefits accounts tonight and Matt said "Let's check exactly what insurance you had last year so we can compare."

Guess who got vision insurance last year.

Whoops.

HAVE A DONUT MATT, AND REMEMBER HOW HAPPY YOU WERE TWO MINUTES AGO.

Luckily I still have my current insurance through the end of the month, so guess who will be getting a brand new pair of glasses next week?

I'm hoping that my vision will be better than ever.  Maybe it will so clear that I will notice a rip in my skirt before I leave the house.

nowhere to go but up

Well, last week was only a three day week for me, but it was quite a doozy in the work department.  Evidently my mind couldn't even relax at night because I had TWO crazy dreams that I will now share since who doesn't love to hear about other people's dreams?

Oh that's right.

Probably nobody.

But nevertheless, the main characters in dream number one were my brother and sister-in-law, who really and truly are expecting a baby in August.  They're not finding out the gender, but they have names picked out which I won't share because I'm not sure if they want them blasted on the World Wide Web.  But trust me, they're adorable.

In my dream, the baby was born and my entire extended family was at my aunt's house, so the new parents brought the baby over to meet everyone after they left the hospital.

And when they arrived the baby was covered up in pink AND blue blankets because OH THE SUSPENSE IS NEVER ENDING.  When they finally unwrapped the baby, she had a tiny pink bow in her hair and I said to my sister in law, "It's a girl!! Did you end up naming her ______?"

And she said, "No.  We actually named her.....Wendy."

WENDY?

"It wasn't even on our list," she said, "but I heard it the other day and just absolutely fell in love with it."

Luckily a text the next morning confirmed that Wendy is not a contender, so crisis averted.

The next night, I dreamed that I was attending college in Hawaii, and I walked through the student union building one day and saw a large crowd gathered.  Everyone was lined up to catch a flight back to the mainland because a storm was coming, so I bought a plane ticket and hightailed it home to Pennsylvania.

Upon arrival in Philadelphia, I made my way to baggage claim to pick up my suitcase.  But instead of a suitcase waiting for me at baggage claim, there were 47 trays of fresh baked bread with my name on them.

HAD I LANDED IN PENNSYLVANIA OR HEAVEN?

I couldn't fit all of the bread in my rental car, and unfortunately just when I was about to find out how many loaves I could jam in the trunk, I woke up.

After two bad dreams and two bad days, I decided that I needed some new work clothes since I felt like I was looking like a ragamuffin and also still wearing the same pants I got for my first job after college.  The job where I had to deliver morning announcements over the office wide speaker system, and kick them off by playing a little tune on a Fisher Price guitar into the speaker of the phone. #EnglishMajor

The pants were Starlight brand from JCPenney's junior department and while they had served me well for five years, they were beginning to feel, and look, like sweatpants.

So, on Thursday I went to the mall right after work.  I was a woman on a mission.  Three hours later I waved the white flag and accepted that my mission wasn't as productive as I'd hoped it would be.  However, it wasn't a total loss because I did get a nice pair of "Hey I'm 26 now, and I have an office and the authority to sign off on expense reports" pants.

And I put those bad boys on Friday morning with a new blouse that I tucked in because look at me! I'm professional! You can count on me to make a decision of minimal to moderate importance!

And when I went to the restroom at lunch, I discovered this on my pants.

Right there on the waistband.

For all the office to see.

NOT SO PROFESSIONAL.

I should've stuck with the Starlights.

i certainly couldn't give it up altogether

When I was a little girl, my dad would empty his suit pockets when he got home from work and leave any change he had in his pockets on my dresser.  After dinner I would count the change, and if I counted correctly I got to keep it.

If I counted incorrectly, I had to donate the money to the poor.

More often than not the money was donated to the poor, because differentiating between a nickel and a quarter and their respective values is evidently a task that I've struggled with since I was six years old.

One of my very favorite things in the world is Dunkin' Donuts iced coffee.  There is a spring promotion going on at the DD stores around here and iced coffee is just 99 cents plus tax.   That brings the total to $1.05 and you better believe that I have been taking full advantage of that sale.

Matt and I collect our change to use for special treats, and since iced coffee definitely counts as a special treat, each morning I grab $1.05 from our coin jar and get my coffee.

One day last week, I rummaged through the change jar for my coffee money and grabbed two quarters and a nickel.

For those of you playing along at home, that is only fifty five cents.

I drove up the street to DD and marched inside with my three coins because I was feeling so confident and superior because HELLO, I COME BEARING EXACT CHANGE.  And my superior attitude and  I placed an order for "iced caramel coffee with skim milk, sugar, and extra ice please."

"That will be one oh five," said the woman behind the counter.

I handed over my three coins and waited while she looked at them and flipped them over and over in her hand a few times.  And then she slowly looked up at me and said, "One dollar and five cents.  This?  Only fifty five cents."

And I have no reasonable explanation for why I reacted the way that I did.  I can only imagine it came from a place of deep embarrassment.

But here is what I did.

I pretended that I did not understand English.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

It must have slipped my mind that just seconds earlier I'd ordered an iced caramel coffee with skim milk, sugar, and extra ice please which is a very particular order for SOMEONE WHO ALLEGEDLY DOES NOT SPEAK ENGLISH.

I made a few gestures with my hands and pointed to the parking lot like a crazy person.  And then I made the walk of shame to my car to scrounge up two more quarters because I'd been so confident in my coin counting that I'd left my wallet in the car.

And to top things off, as I made my shameful exit, the wind caught the door and it flew into the glass window of the store next door, so I looked like a crazy person who knows just enough English to make a very specific coffee order and has an anger problem.

I returned with two more quarters and a red face and sheepishly handed the coins to the lady behind the counter.

Once I had that iced coffee in my hands I literally ran out of the store.

Never to return again.

Because that iced coffee may only be $1.05.

But my pride is worth more than that.

And by "more than that" I mean driving a quarter mile further to the next DD.

well, i won't be cooking lentils again

My sister was home for spring break this week, so I took a few days off work and we did all the important things like going to the mall and out to lunch and Sonic and Michael's Arts and Crafts.

Twice.

It was back to reality today and I will admit, it was not my favorite Thursday.  Not only did I have to return to work after five glorious days of freedom, but I also cooked lentil curry soup for dinner.

As it turns out, I don't like lentils.

Or curry.

And most especially, I don't like the two of them combined in a soup.

All I have to say is thank goodness for that bag of chicken nuggets hiding in the back of the freezer.

It was my first foray into Indian food after quite a hiatus.  The last time I ate Indian food was sophomore year of college, when I went to an Indian restaurant with some friends and our waitress dropped an entire plate of tikka masala on me and my brand new cream colored sweater.

It was a bad night.

After my lentil curry disaster, I headed out for a walk around our apartment complex because HELLO, FORTY NINE DEGREES AND A 7:05 SUNSET.

This morning, Matt mentioned having a Thrifty Thursday meeting after dinner tonight.

Yes, that is a thing.  Matt coined the term "Thrifty Thursdays" a few months back and he likes to rendezvous each Thursday evening to discuss savings and stocks and insurance and budgets and make sure that we're both on the same page.

And I like to discuss the chances of me being able to to go into early retirement.  And by early, I mean sometime in the next 6-12 months.

Spoiler alert: it's not looking good.

Matt didn't mention our Thrifty Thursday meeting after work so I was secretly hoping he'd forgotten since I don't know how many times I can use the story that there was a sale I couldn't possibly pass up at Target/Macy's/Ikea/the nail salon before we have a needs vs. wants conversation.

However, when I returned from my walk, Matt said, "THANK GOODNESS YOU'RE BACK.  I ALMOST FORGOT ABOUT OUR THRIFTY THURSDAY MEETING."

He called the meeting to order (actually he didn't, but how funny would that be?) and 1.5 hours later I took it upon myself as co-president to adjourn the meeting.

I was experiencing information overload.

But speaking of thrifty, I bought a shelf at the thrift store last weekend for $2.00.  I got some paint at one of our many trips to Michael's this week, and for a novice painter I think the transformation was pretty impressive.

 (Emily helped.)

As far thriftiness goes, I think I have the arts and crafts department down.

Cuisine?  Not so much.

There are some areas of the budget where you should splurge.

And dinner is one of them.

at least if i get lost in may, it will be warm outside

On Wednesday I had to go to a meeting in Center City, Philadelphia.

I considered taking the train, and even looked at the train schedule and consulted Matt about the location of the train station, the meeting, and the complexity of the navigation in between the two.

In the end, I decided to drive because I figured that at least if/when I got lost I’d be sitting in my warm car instead of wandering around in the cold, windy air.

I am all about comfort.

However, I was still a bit of a nervous wreck because if there is one thing I hate, it’s driving in the city. 

I prefer driving in the suburbs. 

With light to moderate traffic.

And no adverse weather conditions.

The meeting was at 1:00, and just 18 miles from my office.  Naturally, I left at 11:15, automatically factoring in an extra hour or so for the lovely combo of traffic and mistakes.   

Much to my delight, I made it to the city and parked in a Philadelphia Parking Authority garage with no trouble at all.  The meeting went even better than expected, and I walked out of that office building feeling like I was on top of the world.  

Unfortunately, things took a turn about ten minutes later when I realized the parking garage was undergoing major construction and the lanes were all mixed up.  I pulled out of my spot and promptly misinterpreted the lane to which the “EXIT” sign was pointing, and wound up driving the wrong way in a one way parking garage.

People were honking at me.  And flashing their lights.  And I just wanted to scream “I KNOW.  I REALIZE THAT I AM DRIVING THE WRONG DIRECTION.”

Eventually, and I do meant EVENTUALLY, I turned myself around.  It took a little while and a lot of maneuvering because the parking spaces were slanted so that they were aimed at people driving the correct way. 

I was never more thankful for my tiny Ford Focus and my sweet steering wheel agility.

Last night I got an email about the next meeting.

It’s scheduled for May, so I guess I better buy my train ticket.

(P.S. The meeting was in the same building as this one was a few years ago.  I am happy to report that I did not have any trouble with the elevators this time around.) 

ice ice maybe

Well, I had plans to meet my friend Rose for lunch today, but woke up to an unexpected ice storm and all of the news stations were warning viewers to STAY HOME! DO NOT DRIVE ON THE TREACHEROUS ROADS!  After a few phone calls Rose and I decided that as delicious as the P.F. Chang's lettuce wraps are, they weren't worth the risky driving.  So we postponed our lunch date until next weekend and Matt I hunkered down all day.  It was the kind of day when I showered and got right back into pajamas, and the only reason to get up from the couch was to walk to the kitchen for a snack.

(Update: We were going a little crazy by mid-afternoon, so we drove to Sam's Club since it had warmed up outside.  We bought sandwich bags, two bottles of V-8 Splash, coffee creamer, and a broom.  I don't know how we were surviving without those items.

((Don't worry, I did change out of my pajamas for the outing.))

Speaking of ice, Matt and I went ice skating with my brother and his wife a few weeks ago.  That is remarkable because one of my biggest fears in life is maneuvering on ice.  Either on my feet or in my car.  I hate it all.  I am a girl who prefers dry surfaces and plenty of reliable traction.

Michelle loves to tell the story about how I left for class one morning during our junior year of college and she left our apartment a good twenty minutes later.  And who did she pass on College Avenue but ME.  I guess you could say that I was TAKING.  MY.  TIME.

Matt and I arrived at the skating rink first, and as we laced up I wondered aloud about who the first person was to say, "Hey, I've got a jackpot idea.  Why don't I attach a very thin blade to the bottom of my shoe and then slide around on this ice?"

Matt listened and then said, "I'm not sure, but right now I'm really wishing I didn't get rid of my skate hook."

I'm sorry, your what?

Evidently, Matt was quite the ice skater back in his youth and even had his own skates and a hook to lace them up nice and tight.  He would lace those skates up on Friday nights in 2001 and rule the rink.

This was all BREAKING NEWS to me, and suddenly I felt even more self-conscious about my atrocious skating skills because even though I told Matt to set his expectations for my skating abilities pretty low, I wasn't sure he was prepared for quite how horrendous I was going to be.

As the clock struck 7:40, the gates opened up for free skate and I managed to get myself from the floor onto the ice all while staying upright.

My sister in law was a figure skater back in the day, so she glided out of that gate and around the ice so effortlessly that it was like Michelle Kwan herself had graced us with her presence.  My brother was surprisingly coordinated on the ice for being a six foot seven guy who, on the ordinary day, is marginally to exceptionally clumsy.  And Matt was shaky for the first few seconds but then his skills from 2001 came right back to him because off he skated.

And then there was me, propelling myself around the rink by cautiously pulling myself along the boards.  After he finished his first lap, my brother skated up to me and said, "Laur! You're ice skating with your arms!"

As Matt approached, I push myself off the boards and right into him.  And I did not let go for the rest of the night.  I gained some confidence after a few laps (aka I was moving my feet a little here and there instead of just having Matt pull me along), and Matt said, "Now that we're going a little faster, make sure that if you fall, you clench your hands into fists so that your fingers don't get sliced off by the blade of a passing skater."

Well, TAKE ME BACK TO THE BOARDS.

Just as he shared that positive little gem, we came upon a man pulling himself on his stomach to the exit gate with a trail of blood behind him.

Matt shook his head and said, "...and that's why you need to clench your fist..."

The good news is that I managed to stay upright the entire evening and left with all ten fingers!

Today's ice/rain storm has created a pond behind our apartment.  When I looked out the window a little bit ago, I saw two ducks swimming around.  Once Matt learned about our new neighbors he headed out onto the balcony with his new duck call and had himself a little practice session.

It's supposed to get very cold tonight, so the "pond" will likely be a sheet of ice by tomorrow morning.  Perhaps I should go buy a pair of skates and get myself out there for a practice session too.

i won't be driving anywhere until april

Eleanor Roosevelt famously said you should do one thing every day that scares you.  Well, mission accomplished for today, Mrs. Roosevelt.  I drove during a WINTER WEATHER EVENT.

Over the weekend the weathermen started excitedly forecasting a Thanksgiving Eve snowstorm.  If there are two things weather people love, it's some drama and the opportunity to come up with a catchy name for a storm.  I think the combination of the term "Snowvember" and the fact that there were no hurricanes or major floods to keep them busy this summer made them desperate for this storm to turn into something major.

As a result, lots of people shrugged off the forecast as much ado about nothing. However, I was not one of those people.  I HATE driving in the snow.  I try to remain calm and in control but I cannot help it- I panic if I know I have to drive anywhere when the road conditions may be less than ideal.

And so, I did what any normal person does when the forecast calls for snow.  I CALLED MY BOSS AND TOLD HER I WOULD NEED THE DAY OFF.

In all fairness, I was already flirting with the idea of taking the day off because I had a doctor's appointment scheduled for 10:00, and I was tempted by the prospect of a five day weekend.  But it was the forecast that sealed the deal.

The changeover from rain to snow hadn't happened when I left for the doctor at 9:30 this morning, but I threw a granola bar in my purse before I left JUST IN CASE I got stranded on the roads.  At the last minute I decided to also bring a few mozzarella cheese sticks with me because you can never be too prepared, and I shoved two in the front pocket of my sweatshirt on my way out the door.

Please keep in mind that the forecast called for ONE TO THREE INCHES.

I HAVE NOT MOVED TO BUFFALO.

I had an appointment with the podiatrist because I have aged fifty years since I turned 26, and at the end of the appointment the doctor told grandma here that I could put my shoes back on while he finished fixing up my orthotic.

Please imagine my embarrassment as I bent down to put my sneakers on and those two cheese sticks SLID OUT OF MY POCKET AND ONTO THE FLOOR.

The doctor looked at my cheese and me quizzically, and for a split second I thought about explaining that I brought them along in case I got stranded in my car due to the weather conditions.  I decided that scenario was just as odd, if not moreso, than just being that girl who carries cheese in her pocket, so I just said, "Oh, cheese!" and picked them up as fast as I could.

(Just kidding about the "oh, cheese" part.  I didn't actually say that because I didn't think of it until this very minute but how hilarious would that have been?)

The first flakes were falling as I drove home, and I white knuckled it the entire way.  Once I merged onto the highway I positioned myself behind a fruit truck that was driving slowly and sensibly because it seemed like the right thing to do.  I stopped just short of turning on my flashers to broadcast my intense fear to my fellow motorists.

The drive was uneventful but when I pulled into our parking lot I was so relieved I wanted to cry.

And now, allow me to provide a visual aid of the road conditions at the time of my travel.

I know.

It's a wonder I made it home on those not-at-all-snow-covered roads.

I still don't regret taking the cheese.

Better safe (and mortified) than sorry.

Or hungry.

this is why i am a homebody

Last week I had to go on a work trip, and I stayed in the not-at-all-difficult-to-navigate hotel with the fourth and fifth floor on the same level, and the third floor located on the ground level.



I have stayed there at least ten times and I still get lost trying to find my way around.  

When I checked in Wednesday evening for my twelve hour stay, I was given a glass of complimentary apple cider, information about the continental breakfast, and a key for room 441.  I immediately began to regret my excessive packing as I lugged my rolling suitcase, laptop bag, two jackets, purse, lunchbox, and complimentary apple cider down the hall to the elevator, where I made the pleasant discovery that I was staying in the friendliest hotel in THE ENTIRE COUNTRY.



I could hardly believe my good luck.

My belongings and I traveled from the groundthird floor up to the fourthfifth floor, and down several long hallways until at last I arrived at room 441.

I slid my key into the door, and the red light blinked.

Slid it in again.  Red light.

I flipped it over and tried once more.  And once more I saw the red light.

So I gathered my composure and all of my belongings and trudged back to the desk.  A different employee was there and she said, in a VERY FRIENDLY manner, "Hello, miss!!!! Is there something I can help you with?!!!"

"There is," I said, "I just checked into room 441 a minute ago and my room key isn't working."

She typed furiously on her keyboard for a few seconds and then said, with the biggest smile in the entire country, "I'm so sorry, but no one has checked in yet for room 441."

"Well," I said, "I am all checked in.  And my paperwork here says room 441."

After she looked into the matter a bit further and consulted with her manager, she discovered that I was supposed to be in room 449.  As she fixed me up a new key, she looked at me and said, "Don't worry Ms. C.!  You aren't the crazy person!  I AM!" with the COUNTRY'S FRIENDLIEST smile on her face.

I didn't think I was crazy at all, but the statement was oddly reassuring.

I am happy to report that the key to 449 worked beautifully and aside from a moment of my own confusion in the elevator, the rest of my stay at THE FRIENDLIEST HOTEL IN THE COUNTRY was incident free.

Since the location of my meeting was halfway to Penn State, I decided to drive the rest of the way there after my Thursday meeting and visit Emily.

I also decided to book a hotel for the two of us since my days of sleeping in a college dorm are way behind me, and what college girl doesn't love a chance to get out of her dorm for a night?

Emily and I checked into the hotel on Thursday evening and the lady behind the desk gave us the key to room 233.

As we made our way to the room I told Em all about my experience from the night before and we laughed and laughed because ISN'T THAT CRAZY?  HOPE WE DON'T HAVE SUCH BAD LUCK THIS TIME AROUND.

And then I slid the key into the door in room 233 and it opened right up.

I turned on the light and waltzed in a few steps, only to discover THERE WAS ALREADY SOMEBODY IN THERE.

I saw a pizza and sodas on the desk, and I do believe I saw legs under the covers but I cannot be sure because I backed right out of that room faster than I've moved in years.

I whisper-yelled GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT! as I literally RAN.  EMILY. OVER.

We hightailed it back down to the desk as Emily kept saying how that seemed like the opening scene of a Law and Order SVU episode and sufficiently FREAKING ME OUT.

When we got to the front desk the lady asked what was wrong, and I said, "It appears that there is someone in the room already."

"Well, there shouldn't be," she said.

THERE IS, M'AM, I SAW THE BIG GULP AND THE PEPPERONI PIZZA ON THE DESK WITH MY OWN TWO EYES.

She reassigned us to another room, which was, quite fortunately, unoccupied.

And then we took this adorable picture because we were so happy to be reunited and headed out for dinner (Emily), and...alive (me).

We had a very pleasant stay, but I think my next visit will just be a day trip.