Misc. (in no particular order)

Yesterday the "I'm the only one who ever sees a mouse" employee (see previous post) yelled to me from the breakroom:

"Hey, I just saw another mouse in here!"

I yelled back, "Is he missing a large patch of hair? If so, tell him it's stuck to the glue board next to the mini-fridge."

(It turns out that it's not the same mouse, unless the mouse took Tuesday to go to the hair club for mice. I should have known more would show up. Where there is one mouse, there are many many more.)

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Tomorrow I am going to Lollapalooza. I can say this because no one at works knows I have this blog. And I am saying that because a certain someone *cough*cough* is calling in sick to work in order to go. And that sick day is coming because I found out too late that I was going, so I couldn't take a vacation day. And I am going to Lollapalooza because my groovy little improv troupe managed to make it onto the third stage there--the non-music stage.

And I am going to call in sick to work to go do comedy at Lollapalooza because it's frickin' Lollapalooza, we get in free, we get to perform, we get to see all the bands, and then I can forever sit around like a bad-ass and say, "Oh yeah, I remember that time we played Lollapalooza." And I don't know that I'll be taking a bowling ball in the stomach, but I do know that the organizer for the third stage wants us to do "other stuff" besides just doing improv. And I don't necessarily know what he means by "other stuff," but I hope it means introducing other folks on stage that might be swallowing swords or hanging heavy objects from various bodily piercings.

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Last night Amy and I got Episode II of the Star Wars prequels. I warned her about it, but she still wanted to see it. I told we could only get it if I was allowed to make fun of it the whole time. It was free from the library, so it's not like I wasted any more money on the stinker.

We were only about five minutes into it when she says, "Okay, this needs to be made fun of now."

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My dad is okay. They took care of the spot on his face and it appears they got all the skin cancer there. Now he has to go get his face sewn up. We made jokes about whether they would use a staple gun or a sewing machine, or whether the doctors would graft skin from his butt onto his face, and then the family could be serious when we call him a buttface -- or he could say "kiss my butt" while pointing to his cheek. This is my family.