Stumbled to the computer... read emails... made a few responses, while starting to wrap my mind around going out and getting a cup of coffee over at Wicked Grounds.
Where's my goddamn phone?!
*digs around everywhere I might have left it*
...fifty minutes later, the phone rings. I can barely hear it, but I can tell that it's coming from somewhere in Kirsten's room.
Fucketyfuck. I know I didn't leave my phone in Kirsten's room. What is she doing with my goddamn phone anyway?! Was she trying to find her own damn phone again? How come she keeps losing her phone anyway? It's like we need a third phone so that she can find her phone without either losing or running off with mine in the process... aaaagain.
Ten more minutes of searching, after digging through a bag of her dirty laundry... My pants... and my phone. I probably left them in the bathroom or near my computer or something.
I call her, we talk... I ask her nicely... next time, if you're going to move it, just put it in my laundry hamper.
So, now I can get going. Have to put on some pants though. It's a Friday night. Probably going out somewhere tonight. Wish all my black pants didn't need to be washed... No wonder so many people in S.F. wear black all the time!
Ok... light-colored pants it is, with an old Ramones t-shirt. Gabba gabba.
Now, where are my boots? I know I left them around here somewhere.
... thirty minutes later, I find them, neatly resting on top of a bag of videotapes to be donated, to the side of the door... almost entirely obscured by a jacket hanging down from the coatrack above.
I call Kirsten again.
Twenty minutes later, I finish posting about it.