Our landlord Had Words at the Chlamydia Sisters, and they are officially On Notice. I’ve never been On Notice before, but it doesn’t sound very good at all. Naturally, they’ve sworn it’ll never happen again, the (only leased) tenant will handle her guests, no more parties, we’ll smoke outside – blah blah blah blah blah. It’s all been said before, so we’ll see how long this uneasy peace will last. It’s been quiet for one whole night now!

Oh, and they’ve been told to apologize to us.

Awesome. I can’t imagine anything more humiliating than being a grown adult, forced to apologize for someone else because you were an epic asshole. I laughed for an impossibly long time when I heard this latest development, and I am seriously thinking about filming the apology. This is delicious.

Will it actually happen? I do have my doubts, but those doubts are buoyed with the uplifting glory of picturing them being goaded into apologizing like a petulant bully.

Last night I went on a mini road trip with Shan, Miranda, Heather and Brigette to America Land. The ladies needed underwear, I needed to go to Trader Joe’s, and along the way we stopped for dinner at Mi Mexico. I was surprised we managed to fit everything in, since we didn’t leave town until 4:30 –  by the time we made it to the border in rush hour traffic, it was already 6:30 and there were many stops to make. Still, by the end of the night we all had reached our various goals of underwear and trail mix, and were all safely home just after midnight.

I bought three pairs of ruffle butt underpants and a ridiculous pearl necklace. Yeah, I make my own fun.

No, you can’t see them.

It feels like Sunday.