Send Booze. Oh, and more ice.

It's going to be hot here again. Like over 100 degrees hot again. Nooooooooot goooooooooood. It was over 75 degrees when I left the house this morning - that would be before the sun came up. Fucking July.
So that's why I need the ice... here's a few reasons to need the booze:

1) I stopped at The Happiest Place on Earth (Not Disney, haven't you been paying attention?? Quik Trip!!!) and got my morning Diet Dr. Pepper. Oh, and Pop Tarts were on sale. Oh, and also chocolate milk.
So there's this guy there... and I think he was drunk. Drunk or crazy or both. Here's the thing: in this day and age, most men have figured out that with very few exceptions women see strange men who come up and suddenly start talking to them sort of, well, threatening is not exactly the right word. It's not exactly the wrong word either. Especially at odd hours. I think it's sort of annoyance with a strong undercurrent of alertness. The kind of alertness that is inherent to any group of people who has some history of being attacked with no provocation for one reason or another. Women, different races, gay men and women... you know.
So this guy, late 50's maybe. Rounds the corner, blocks my way (though not aggressively, just in a way that I would have to be really obvious and rude about getting past him), looks at my chest and says "university of... in divernity... uni..." It takes me a minute to realize he's trying to read my shirt. (Rewind 20 minutes to me, stumbling around in the dark, hands plunged up to the elbows in the pile of clean laundry on the couch. I find a t-shirt, throw it on over my jeans and stumble toward the door). I look down and say, "Unity in Diversity."
"University Diversity?"
"It's just a shirt, man" and I edge past.
He says, "It's a great shirt. Mine says 'Hooters!'" Then he sees the back, "House of Blues!"
Yes, you drunk, fucking moron, it's a House of Blues shirt. Can I get my carbs and go please? The Quik Trip guy is smiling at me, I want to tell him to shutthefuckup but he's the Quik Trip guy. I see him every weekend morning at this time. He makes it possible to get Diet Dr. Pepper and whatever else looks edible before 6 am!!
Crazytown is yelling "I see you in there!" to the rows of drinks in the cooler. Nope... he's yelling at someone hiding in the cooler. Bet it's a female employee. I pay for my carbs and as I'm leaving I see Crazytown coming toward the door from the other side. I'm thinking, "GETINTHE CAR! GETINGETINGETIN!!"
I get in, put my keys in the ignition and start to back out of my space, pretending I don't see him coming toward me. This, in my opinion, is where he really crossed the line. It's one thing to make conversation (crazy as it is) in a well-lit convenience store. It's a whole other thing entirely to approach a woman in a parking lot in the dark. He's AT my window so I crack it and say "What?!?"
He's now holding a black pen. What looked like "Laurie" is now written on his chest. "Sign my shirt!" I blink. "I want you to sign my shirt." He's so fucking cheerful about it. I don't ask why on earth he wants me to sign his Hooters shirt. Some things you just don't want to know.
"I am late for work," I say, continuing to back out of the space. He's standing so close to my car that I think my mirror clipped him a little.
Good.
Something like that happened to my friend Melissa when we were undergrads. She was in the library and some guy she had never seen before came up to her and cheerfully told her he was "Stalking her." He knew what classes she had on Wednesday afternoons, and he knew she liked Diet Coke. (Turned out that he was in both classes and Mel drank Diet Coke like they were going to stop making it and she had to store it in her body for the future of the free world). He was just trying to meet her... but that was a lot inappropriate. "Hi" can seem threatening in the wrong context.

2) Bean has been complaining that her stomach hurts for the last few days. It's a nonspecific hurt and it comes and goes. My mom came to pick her up last night and she was all sigh-ful and asked if she could take our peppermint tea to grandma's. I said of course she could, and explained to my mom that she'd been feeling weird. "And," my husband adds when Bean goes inside to get the tea, "She's been a moody little thing." My mother and I locked eyes and my husband and dad are standing around oblivious. You know, like men. "Fuuuuuuuuuck." I breathed, really slowly and reached for my husband's cigarette. "What?" asks my husband. "What? Asks my father. "Oh shit," say my mother and I at the same time.
I AM NOT OLD ENOUGH TO HAVE A MENSTRUATING CHILD. and, I AM NOT AT ALL READY TO LIVE IN THE HOUSE WITH A TEENAGER. And trust me when I say it does NOT matter that she's only almost ten. When the boobie and hair fairies come, then the period monster isn't far behind and that is the absolute end of Bean the Good Natured. At least, it's the end of Bean the Perpetually Good Natured.
I need to lie down. For like, seven or eight more years.

3) I looked at some houses yesterday with my realtor aunt. What we can afford is pretty much the exact house we have (too small, rooms way too small). She gave me some information on houses in other neighborhoods. Jeff and I drove around last night and there is one house that we thought was going to be too close to a bad neighborhood but it's really not bad and it's BIG. It's old, though, and we're not do-it-yourself people.
I guess we could learn...

4) Practicum starts tomorrow. At this point it's the getting up early that's making me whine. I just need to figure out what to wear.