I was in no mood this morning. For some reason, my ghetto ass work connection can't open Yahoo, Hotmail or SFist today. Thank god I can access DListed, or I'd kill myself.
Anyway, my apologies if I seem like an e-mail slacker.
Then my mom calls to "check in", as I'm busy re-starting and shutting off my computer on repeat, my only means of technical repair know-how.
Champagne Bakery gets my order wrong, from curried chicken salad, which I was so goddamn excited about, to some radish filled Cesar monstrosity covered in cheese I must pick off.
Finally, the INSANE neighborhood woman starts banging on my office window, clamors through the front door and starts talking gibberish. Sara is new to our office and I didn't have time to tell her about the neighborhood loon, who, if you need a celebrity equivalent, is 100% Maude.
Hands down, no question.
Amidst the gibberish, Nutty busts out with "I'm turnin' 72 tommorrah."
Sara cheerily responds, "Happy Birthday!"
Wacko turns to me.
"Ya not gonna say Happy Birthday?"
She proceeds to stay for 20 minutes, resting the entirety of her body on my shoulder, telling Sara she "loves" her, singing nonsense songs and looking at the pictures covering my wall.
"Is that ya husband?"
"Nope. That's my brother."
"Ya big brotha or ya baby brotha?"
"My baby brother." I replied. "His name is Alex."
"Well, then is THAT ya husband?"
"No. That's my roommate Mikey."
"Ya live with a man and ya not married?"
She leaned in even closer.
And HAND TO GOD, she goes, "Is that Gavin?"
(Needless to say, Gavin is up at work.)
"Yeah." I laughed. "That's Gavin."
"Oh!" She leaned back. "He's a cutie."
Hmm. Maybe she's not such a fruitcake after all...