Him: “Who was the lady who sewed the first American flag?”
Me: “Oh, you mean Betsey Johnson?”

That was a really pathetic moment.  And I can’t believe I’m coming clean on the internet.

I made it to Pennsylvania, and am currently in a true, authentic farmhouse in Amish country. I am so tired, I can barely type.

The drive was very long but fairly uneventful, save me holding my breath for an entire mile of highway, and Paul and me adding whistle solos to various songs on the radio, and Graham calling my choice of tunes “sad bastard music.” We kept ourselves awake listening to podcasts and eating my secret shame, Ritz Cracker Cheese Sandwiches.

I held up really well until about 4am, when all energy, logic, and self-esteem flew out the window. For example, when Paul asked me what kind of a car I would be, if I could be a car, I answered sadly, “Probably a minivan, because it’s slow on hills, and sensible, and large.” I followed this statement with the declaration that I will probably never get asked out on another date ever again. Both guys rolled their eyes and DIDN’T EVEN PITY ME.

I’m about to slip into sleep for a bit, but I will have to wake up in time to combat the mange that is my current physical state.

After being sent home at 1:30 yesterday afternoon, I put on my sweats and made a cheesecake. Then I fell asleep around 5:30, not waking up until 9pm. I felt like hell and looked like death, all sweaty and splotchy-faced. Then I took 3 doses of nighttime cold medicine and slept from 11pm until 10am.

When I woke up this morning, I made some coffee and walked around the house, looking at things. “Oh, look. There are my books. And there is the coffee table. I will start the dishwasher. It is sunny outside. The floor is dirty.” Then I went to Wal-Mart and bought some paper plates and plastic forks, and came home and made this sign:

Yes, I free-handed those fancy recycle arrows. I clearly have time on my hands.

We are having our long-awaited housewarming party tonight, and so I’ve been busy preparing for 100 people to descend. Mostly, that means walking around and looking at things and thinking thoughts.

It’s been sort of a pathetic day.

And so, I, Annie, hereby swear that, until I find a job again, I will:
- Wake up at a decent hour every day.
- Take showers, even though I might not need to.
- Diligently search for work.
- Keep on blogging. A girl needs SOME kind of purpose to her days.
- Do whatever it takes to pay my rent, even if it means taking a job at an extermination company. I probably won’t work for a sewage company, though. I have to draw the line somewhere.
- Hope and hope and hope, and not get mad at everyone who has income, and smile every day, even when I feel like kicking The Man in the balls.

Um. Happy weekend, jolly readers.

It is Monday morning, my weekly A-Z series is over, and I am left at a loss. What on EARTH am I supposed to do on Mondays now?

Well, I could always talk about money. Get excited.

I got my W-2 for 2008, and found out that I made a smaller amount of money than I thought possible to live on. I opened it up, and started laughing – but in a victorious way, because I LIVED!!! I totally survived on the most miniscule amount of money I’ve ever made – and I did it with style. I should publish my findings in a book: “How To Be Fabulous (While Utterly Destitute).” Actually, let me save you the reading, and save myself the writing, and just break it down into the basics:

1) To save on food: free sample dinners at the grocery store.
2) To save on toiletries: shower once every 3 days.
3) To save on car payments: drive a long-paid-off 19-year old car.
4) To save on entertainment: just go running instead.
5) To save on everything else: T.J. Maxx.

It’s tiring to be poor. But it’s kind of fun, right?

Right?

And now, I will spend the remainder of my day researching welfare.

Sick in bed, sick in bed,
Massive snot balls in my head.
What to do to pass the time?
Write a poem, try to rhyme.
Scratchy throat and itchy eyes,
Achy body my demise.
Haven’t seen a soul at all,
Save the Handy Graham (who’s tall):
Bringing TheraFlu at 5,
He made sure I was alive.
Now I’m zonked and bored to tears,
Out of Kleenex, out of cheers.
Coughing, coughing, cough cough cough,
Feel my windpipe closing off.
If I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take,
But if I make it through the night,
I pray that I’ll wake up alright.
For I get no vacation days,
If I don’t work, I don’t get paid.
So go, white blood cells! Andalé!
And chase this wretched bug away.

From my bed of lonely misery,
Annie the Sick

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Update! The amazing Andy Merrick is BRINGING ME SORBET!!!!!