The question isn't "what are we going to do," the question is "what aren't we going to do?"

It's Monday again. How did that happen? I could have used another day to the weekend, I'm just saying.

I spent yesterday a fairly useless blob on the sofa and this was a result of how I spent my Saturday. You know, I don't know what possessed any of us to start drinking at 2 o'clock in the afternoon on mostly empty stomachs. I don't know about anyone else, but I had toast Saturday morning and then nothing until dinner. And Heidi had M&M's and a banana. Hey, we never claimed to be geniuses. Well, I have, but I was (mostly) kidding.

The plan was to go to Oktoberfest after a couple of hours, but when my parents called and told me it was raining there, we decided to meet them for dinner instead of downtown. This was when I had the following conversation with my mother, a . . . Conversation With My Mother*, if you will.

Mom: Don't come to Oktoberfest.
Me: Why not?
Mom: It's raining.
Me: Oh no! But it's not raining here.
Mom: Well, it's pouring here and we're stuck under one of the tents til it stops.
Me: Oh. So we shouldn't come down there then?
Mom: Um. No, I wouldn't really recommend it.
Me: Is it like sprinkling raining or raining raining.
Mom: Jennie. It is pouring.
Me: Oh. What if we wait a little while?
Mom: Well, that's really your call.
Me: Is it still raining there?
Mom: YES.
Me: Ok. Do you know how long it will last?
Mom: Jennie, do I look like a meteorologist?
Me: No, not really.
Mom: Ok, then.
Me: Is it still raining there?
Mom: JENNIFER LYNN.
Me: What?
Mom: Yes, it's still raining. I do not know how long it'll last.
Me: Well, is anyone in the tent with you a meteorologist?
Mom: Talk to your father.
Me: Hi, Dad!
Dad: Hello, daughter.
Me: Is it still raining there?
Heidi: Seriously, Jennie, hang up the phone.

Yeah. I didn't get much better as the night went on, and I seemed to be suffering from some sort of emotional disorder that caused me to run the gamut of emotions all night. I'm happy! I'm sad. I'm delusional! I'm ANGRY! I'm happy! I can't stop giggling! Wait, I'm angry again! Oh, look, a cat toy, now I'm happy! I don't know. I can't explain it. Apparently I left Mary a voicemail that was just, "Mary. I'm not even gonna say it but you know I'm upset. Siiiiiiiiigh. I'm sad. [long pause] Siiiiiiiiigh, OK, bye!"

Again. I don't know. If I could explain it, maybe I'd stop doing it. Probably not, though. See earlier post.

*Someone asked on Saturday whether Conversations With My Roommate are real or if I make them up. They are VERY real. They're not always verbatim, but they are as close as I can come to verbatim short of carrying a tape recorder around with me which, yes, would be funny, but I don't think I want that kind of evidence lying around. Also, I can't make Conversations With My Roommate up because, well, my roommate reads this so I'd totally get caught.