Let me just highlight some non-fashion related events for you:
Tuesday: George from The Oregonian called. In short, he offered me a summer internship. I nearly cried a little. Are you from Portland? Know anyone who is from Portland? I'm looking to make connections before I fly out there in mid- to late-June. It would be nice if there was someone I could mosey around town with, ya know? I've been stalking the city's Web site to learn as much as I can about Portland prior to my arrival. I've been looking at photos and mapping out things I need to do while I'm there, and I'm realizing that I might not ever return to Ohio. Plus, it's not as hot as Alabama. THANK GOD.
Thursday: Someone put poop in the microwave and nuked it. Yeah, you read that right. Poop, in the microwave. If you've ever wondered what that might smell like, consider the new asphalt smell, an unflushed toilet and farts. It was not pleasant. Don't ask who cleaned it up, I know I didn't, but I have no idea who did.
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Saturday: Found out Dirty Sally, my car, had been towed. It cost an astronomical amount of money to retrieve from the lot. The super nice people from Kenwood Towing have a sign in the "main office" that reads, "Bitch in training." Thank you for letting me know. It's not like I could tell when I called twice, you told me my car wasn't there, and so I called Cincinnati Police to find out it was. Then, you darling little towing friends of mine, you said you were not at fault when I asked why my rear-view mirror was no longer attached to my windshield. You're only conducting business, I understand. Jackasses.
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