No, in fact, you may not have the salmon. I am Reservations Queen and have decreed it so.

Since I've seen you last, I've taken my beloved automobile to the shop, spent $110 of my own personal money on supplies for the Big Event, fielded 897 emails regarding the program for the Big Event, attended a meeting at church in which we ran through the program for the Easter Vigil- AGAIN, nixed dozens of available properties for sale based on price, location and square footage, drove around for two hours viewing properties for sale in order to nix them on sight, eaten fast food for every meal, stayed late after work every day and woken up before my alarm every day. Sleep, wherefore art thou?

Phillip had class the other night so I thought I would drive around town after work and check out the listings our real estate agent sent us. Also because one of us is a little better with directions than the other and sometimes it is more convenient for that particular person to drive herself around than to sit in the passenger seat barking directions and turning unattractive shades of frustrated purple. We aren't all blessed with iron in our noses.

I had to pull into a gas station and while I'm standing there (it's ARCO, they don't have the little thingy that locks the handle in place because they sell cheapo watered-down gas), some guy in an Army uniform and beret is looking at my car funny. And I'm all "Why is this man staring at my beloved automobile?" and also "Uniform! Uniform! Love uniforms!" Finally he comes over to me and says, "Ma'am (Ma'am?) I believe you're leaking radiator fluid" and then he flees in fear upon seeing the Enormous and Angry Cloud of Discontent that immediately appears above my head. You may recall, my car has leaked radiator fluid before...

But did this stop me from seeing the last (crappy, far away, possible meth lab) house on my list? Of course not. I was on a MISSION. I made it home, parked, and sat at my table looking out at the little radioactive green puddle gathering beneath my beloved automobile. Sighing, I drove it down to the shop, left it in the loving hands of my mechanic, Raoul, and spent the evening in U Village waiting for Sean to pick me up and buy me coffee and drive me downtown to pick up Phillip where we would present him with my Splendid News, the Splendid News being that he would get to ride home in Sean's fabulously-carpeted Buick.

The no sleeping parts aren't that interesting. Neither is the interminable miserable house hunt. Oh but then we had to re-do Easter Vigil, complete with responsorial psalms and chants. Sister called this Miss da Gogia and NO it's not really spelled like that, but I have NO IDEA what she was talking about. Miss da Gogia was all about sitting in a circle and listening to some guy go over all the readings and ceremonies from Easter Vigil and trying not to smirk when the cantor screeched the Alleluia and we all had to follow suit. It was about REMEMBERING the Easter Vigil and all I could think was "We have to do the Easter Vigil again?" And I hate saying that, because I really enjoyed the Vigil and actually knowing the people who were baptized gave me heaps of warm fuzzies. But the Easter Vigil? THREE HOURS LONG. Afterwards, when everyone was sharing their Special Memory, Phillip and I just stared at each other willing the other one to bust out laughing first. Because we are incredibly mature. Again, this is what makes us excellent sponsors, don't you think?

Work is also not interesting, except for the part where I gave everyone a deadline and everyone proceeded to ignore my deadline and are now peppering me with emails at a rate of one bazillion per minute because OH NO THEY ABSOLUTELY MUST HAVE THE SALMON!!! Can I switch this guest with this guest? Can someone sit here and someone sit there? Oh, we didn't know that that person was going to be at our table- we fired that person- can we please have another table? Have you made the name tags yet? What these people don't understand is that I don't care. I. Don't. Care. Ignore my deadlines, deal with your crappy table.

So ends the Friday rant. Think of us tonight as we brave the snowy pass on our way to Spokane.

Homework: 1. Find me cheap tickets to Colorado Springs. Must see nephew! 2. Find me a beach house big enough for 8 on the Oregon Coast. 3. Find my townhouse! This is the important one, people. HUNT!