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Don't answer the phone ever again at that hour. Oh and the say time is wasted on the youth. Not so sure when they seem to spend so much more time than I do doing just about everything I hate like exercising and being so chipper. I used to be like them but gave it up for staying in my pj's until the late afternoon when I shower and actually run some errands or going out early and coming back to get back in my jammies and 3 in the afternoon. What a great life I have. Now back to the sleeve of thin mints.


i have an answering machine...


Irene Dawn Davenport

This pisses me the fuck off too, or it would if I hadn't already been Heather in an earlier life..I'm pretty sure you were too. It's just Heather's turn to be young and chipper. Let's just wait and see
if she can keep it up. I'm filing her under bad friend for calling so damn early though. Hey Ann, you're hilarious.

Colin Summers

The last school auction I went to I was battling a migraine and was on Vicodin. I spent $1,800 including $400 for $600 worth of hot chocolate and pastries at my favorite bakery. And cello lessons. And, man, just about everything. But I am not allowed to go to those anymore. It was a silent auction. At one point I was copying a bidding number from one item to another and a parent said, "Is that your number? Can't you remember it?" and I said, "It's not my number, but this seems like a harmless prank and it helps the school, who can complain?"

I have not, however, ever left the school auction with a puppy I didn't plan to buy. Claire?


I just got back from taking two bags of baked goods and eight gallons of water to my kids' school for their annual fundraiser, a 5K "Fun Run". I have no idea whose idea of fun this is (Heather's?) but I would rather spend $13.50 and two hours on the above supplies than four grand on an open bar auction, especially since drinking at home is cheaper and makes the baking so much more enjoyable. Granted, I wouldn't eat what I baked, but I wouldn't run five kilometers on a perfectly good Saturday morning, either.

Years ago my husband went off with a group of reprobates -- I mean, pals -- to a sporting banquet with said open bar. After spending thousands of dollars collectively on gosling oil paintings and other necessaries, their designated driver decided he'd suffered enough and drove them all to Hooter's. The next day, disgruntled wives swapped stories of being awakened at 2a.m. by the sound of their husbands being thrown in the door by giggling reprobates, followed by gooey declarations of love and bedside show-and-tells of limited edition bear prints and pamphlets for the dude ranch they'll be going to instead of Puerto Vallarta.

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