Numbers

No, I'm not at the bottom of the Savannah River. I can assure you I'm alive. Since I've been gone so long, I will try to sum up stuff using numbers and a list. I'm anal like that. This is more-or-less chronological. And way faster, trust me.

8-- the number of days it's been since I've posted.

2--the number of whole days I've worked this week.

1--the number of days I called in sick....you can draw your own conclusions on that one.

3-- the number of trips I will have taken in a two week period.

6--the number of hours of sleep I've had every night for...um, too long to count.

4.7 billion--the number of things I need to do yet cannot find time to do them. Coincidentally, this is also how much money I need to pay my bills because I am B-R-O-K-E. As in, oh shit, that's really all that's left? kind of broke. The not-funny kind.

1--the number of times I've forgotten to feed Sammy this week. Dinner at 11pm? He'll be alright!

30-- the number of minutes I needed to recover from leaving Sammy at the kennel for 5 days. I cried like a baby, y'all. It was pathetic. I couldn't finish sentences. I needed kleenex. And I missed him more than Repo! Shh! Don't tell him that.

0--the number of CDs I could listen to on the drive to Savannah. This is because there was no CD player in the company car. Yes, it was just as horrible as you can imagine. I almost died.

4-- the number of MASSIVELY HUGE boats I saw right out of my window at the Savannah hotel (Pictures forthcoming). They were so freakin' huge. It was really cool, trust me.

1-- the number of yummy meals I had in Savannah (Something is wrong. Seriously wrong.) Breakfast was the worst--dry muffins and a tiny bit of fruit. (Um, what?) This number doesn't include the yummy ice cream cone I had while walking around Savannah, window shopping.

1--the number of ghost stories I heard while eating at the haunted pirate restaurant. Let me just say that the waitress got a big tip from me for sharing it.

39--number of dollars my meal cost, complete with tip. Ouch. Luckily, I get most of that back as comp money. The pecan pie I had to pay on my own. And I'm ok with that.

1--The number of new job offers Repo got while I was gone. He will start in a hotel on May 15th. YAY!!! No more asshole bosses!!! Better hours and pay!!! YAY!!! No need to wear a bullet-proof vest to work!!! YAY!!

2--number of pirate-themed shirts I wanted to buy for Repo, but didn't. The shirts said: "The Beatings Will Continue Until Morale Improves" and "Give Up the Booty". I love pirates. Arrrr! They shiver me timbers.

6--The number of reasons I want to go back to Savannah ASAP (Find better food, go on historic tour, go on ghost tour, take advantage of Repo's new hotel employee discount, sleep in AMAZING Hyatt hotel bed again, find a souvenier that doesn't suck.)

about 5-- the number of pictures I took. Dangit! I always do that!

1.3 zillion--the number of beautiful live oak trees there. Why aren't these trees everywhere??? They are gorgeous.

3--the number of librarians at the conference who were under the age of 40. This number includes yours truly. Only 2/3 of this population were people you would want to grab a beer with. Yes, I'm part of that group. Shut up. I'm cool.

2--the number of talks that were actually kinda interesting at the conference. Ok, not really. I mean, COME ON, it's a librarian conference! It was Yawn City.

Too many to count--The number of Fashion Police alerts. We went waaaaay beyond socks-with-sandals here, folks. And those tshirts with the gray kittens on them? That's kid stuff. Librarians, as a whole, wear industrial-strength dowdywear. Just...wierd outfits. So wrong. So incredibly wrong. I mean, who wears fluorescent orange mesh ballet flats? Shit, who would BUY fluorescent orange mesh ballet flats? I mean, would you go to whatever freak store sells them and say, "Now there's a great pair of shoes! I can wear them to my professional conference!" Jeez Louise.

1--the number of cross-dressing/trannie librarians at the conference. You can't make this stuff up, folks! It was a HE wearing a wig and a power suit. No makeup, hair removal, long nails, hormone replacement therapy or feminine jewelry. Very strange. I just kept wondering: So...is he trying to look like a girl? or not?

5--the number of stars I would give to the hotel. They rocked my socks. Best EVER service. I'm actually emailing them to thank them. [insert shock and awe here]

1--number of tricked-out redneck trucks with massively huge tires seen on drive home. (Again, pictures are coming). It was so obviously owned by white trash....I can't even get into it.

1-- the number of weddings I've been to lately.

4--the number of totally annoying and ridiculously procrastinating students that have bothered me while I'm trying to type this. *VB clenches teeth in sheer rage* Grrrr....semester....almost....over.

8--the number of people I knew at the wedding. 5 of them were girlfriends of mine. We were invited as moral support for Blonde. She finagled invites for us, even though it wasn't her wedding. It was her brother's wedding. We barely know him. But it was really nice of his bridezilla to invite us.

0--the number of times I had laid eyes on the bride prior to the wedding.

1-- number of nice things I'd heard about the bride prior to laying eyes on her.

3--the number of poster-sized prints of her wedding photos, displayed prominantly throughout the country club, which caused Brunette and I to either cringe or say "What...is she....doing...in this picture?"

200--approx. number of CDs burned by the couple as wedding favors for the guests. Aside from a few cheesy songs, it was actually a good CD. Lots of Motown. Probably the best wedding favor ever. Only a true Bridezilla could accomplish such a feat.

12--the number of bridesmaids. No joke.

2--the number of photos displayed at the reception which included the groom. This is out of about 35 pictures.

5:00--the time the wedding started. For real. It was on.the.dot. (Whose wedding starts on time??? She's bridezilla, I'm telling you.)

$20,000--estimated cost of ultra-posh wedding. Complete with band, buffet, 5-layered cake and open bar. For at least 6 hours. Because at midnight, I went home while they raged on.

2--the number of cigarettes I had at the wedding. (I blame my stupid biological clock. I was depressed! The bride was 24! I mean, seriously!!! I had no choice!)

1--number of people I was hoping wouldn't be at the wedding but were there anyway. It was W, a guy that apparently has a big crush on me. (Girlfriends teased me incessantly about this. I guess he just talks a mile a minute when around me, but is dead silent around everyone else. Whatever.) Nice guy, but I've always thought he was kinda boring. Not the funniest guy I've ever met. He used to live in my hometown, so we kind of bonded over that. We were sharing college stories when he informed me that he was a drug dealer while in college. I had to pick my jaw up off the floor. Seriously, if you saw him, you'd think he was Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes. Two smokes--tobacco, not marijuana-- later, we had traded all our train-wreck online dating stories and I had given him the entire history of Me n Repo. Shit. I hate it when I do that. Must. Think. Private.

4--the number of people it took to sneak Blonde out of the wedding, Mission-Impossible style, so that her family wouldn't see how drunk she was.

3--the number of times she puked before passing out.

10--the number of incriminating photos Brunette and I took of her drunk ass.

30--the number of minutes it took to get Blonde out of her bridesmaid dress and into her clean pajamas. (Apparently, she will wear pjs once and consider them "dirty". She also gets really picky about this when she's drunk, leading her to sound rather demanding and bossy. Seriously, am I weird that I wear my pjs until they are so dirty that they can stand on their own? That is just too much laundry! And who has that many pjs?)

1--the number of 12-inch long rips she managed to tear in the lining of the dress before getting out of it.

2--the number of times I almost peed while all this was going on.

0--the number of showers I took before hitting the road to go home the next morning at 10:00 am. Bridezilla, true to form, made everyone wake up at 8:00am so we could see them leave for the honeymoon. If we didn't show at 8, we got no breakfast. I was a zombie. Who does this to their guests, anyway? It was like torture. I was grumpy to the extreme. And I smelled like party. Eww.

$20--the amount of money I owe Brunette from the trip. Crap. Have no money. This doesn't excuse me from paying her back. Crap.

$92--the amount of money I paid to the dentist today for my semi-annual check up.

1--the number of cavities I have. F--k!

$150--the cost to fill said cavity. "But it will be tooth-colored!" he said happily. Yeah, that helps, Dr. Dentist. Asswipe. I hate him. Ok, not really. He's pretty cool. I just hate my crappy insurance and genetics that caused me to inherit my mother's bizarrely deep tooth grooves that are just ripe for cavities.

1-- the number of friends coming to visit me tomorrow!

5--the number of years it's been since I've seen her!!!

13--the number of years I've known her!!!!

1--the number of boyfriends she is bringing with her so I can meet his about-to-propose ass!

1--the number of family reunions she has in Charleston this weekend. (I'm hanging out w/her here in Columbia tomorrow, then meeting her down in Isle of Palms for a Saturday-Day-Trip. Then I'll drive back Saturday night so she can attend her family reunion in Charleston. And yes, Sammy's going with me. It will be his first trip to the beach. Note to self: take pictures.)

Um, ok, I think that about wraps it up. Side bit of info: Repo has been super duper sweet to me lately. He either A) has my house bugged and knows how much I've been bitching about him lately, B) has paid off K to be an informant, C) can indeed read my mind telepathically or D) actually just likes being really sweet to me because now he's realized that showing emotion doesn't mean your penis will fall off!

*sigh* VB is happy. But busy. And broke. Sooooooo broke.

I'll email more next week. Sorry y'all. Gotta run. Have great weekends and I promise I'll catch up on reading blogs next week. I have to blog about my crazy neighbor, my 2nd job dilemma, Sammy's quirks and tell the tale of my most embarrassing moment ever. And post photos. Shit! I have too much to do...hang in there. It's going to be crazy.