I’ll go Ahead and Tell You I’m Still Alive

If you’re still reading my blog after the post that definitely made you want to be my friend, then you deserve some kind of prize, cupcake. Next time I whip up an amazing batch of broccoli and ketchup, you’re my dinner date. I promise. Anyway, I have some stories to share with you.

If you’re still reading this blog post after that sentence, your prize is, well, stories…about me. Almost as good as fiberlicious vegetables.

Allow me to offer you a play-by-play of the scene of The Thursday Night Gracie Came Home:

6:00 p.m.: Me, on the couch, eating tuna and considering my options for nightly entertainment: Grey’s Anatomy, Season 1 or the man across the way who likes to brood on the stairwell without a shirt?

6:15 p.m.: Put in Grey’s Anatomy, season 1, disc 2, and begin to precede the characters in their own lines. Out loud. Remark to self (out loud), “My, self, you are such a devoted Grey’s Anatomy fan that you know all of these characters’ lines. I’m sure another night of watching will move you to gold status.” Notice man across the way has gone inside anyway.

6:18 p.m.: Hear some fumbling at the front door.

6:18 p.m.: Think, “My roommates are home!”

6:18 p.m.: Think, “My roommates are out of town and aren’t coming home until tomorrow, I know this for a fact!”

6:18 p.m.: Think, “It’s the handy man coming to fix the broken dishwasher!”

6:18 p.m.: Glance over and notice the signed work order on the counter.

6:18 p.m.: Think, “Well, that’s funny. The handy man came and neglected to fix the dishwasher. It’s still broken. I should put in another work order. Oh wait, it appears I’m about to be murdered. Sheesh.”

6:18 p.m.: Hear some rummaging in the hallway.

6:18 p.m.: Think, “What were those Kenpo moves? Sword, hammer. Okay, I’ve still got this. Especially once my adrenaline kicks in, I’m sure.”

6:19 p.m.: Decide I’d rather be in the kitchen near the ever-so-dangerous spatulas and, well, knives, than sitting on my couch with my empty bowl of tuna.

6:19 p.m.: Make for the kitchen (also known as The Moment I Must Confront the Intruder on my Way to Acquire Dangerous Kitchen Utensils and/or Sweet Potatoes for Throwing.)

6:19 p.m.: Notice one blonde, stealth roommate doing her best to surprise me/send me into cardiac arrest.

6:20 p.m.-7:13 p.m.: Recover from the side effects brought on by believing, for a full 45 seconds, that I was being intruded upon. Also, during this time lapse, I changed my pants. For obvious reasons.

The great thing about this story, as with many well-executed stories like it, is the ending: I didn’t get murdered, which was superb, and I got my friends back. Quite the Thursday night, even if it did lack in Grey’s Anatomy reruns from then on.What happened in the following days was even better: craft nights, movie marathons, a spontaneous road trip that landed itself on my list of the top ten most splendid days of my life. And reader, if you’re still reading, I’ll be back. With pictures.

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