Brief work update

This morning I watched our receptionist sit on the phone for 10 minutes with some woman who kept saying "Harvard is the gold standard". Ironically, neither one of us thinks she's going to apply. In fact, she said as much, but somehow talking about it and going through her resume with a complete stranger is very much so satisfying for some people. Mostly people in Florida because they're going to die soon anyway so they might as well announce it to the world. At any rate, the entire exchange reminded me of some of my more rememorable moments here in the JD Admissions Office. Namely, a few weeks ago when some woman called me and talked to me for 30 minutes about her child and life in general. I'm not sure I'm exactly qualified to give advice to a 32 year old woman with a baby, but by golly I did my best. I'm also reminded of yesterday when some middle schooler called to discuss a "project" that she had to do. As per the request of a friend, I shall recreate the conversation below.

"Hello, JD Admissions."
"Hi...."
*pause*
"Hi."
"I'm doing a, uh, a project, or something, on college and I need to interview someone."
"K."
"So... can I ask you some questions?" *chewing noises*
"Well, this is a graduate office. I'd be happy to help you out, but if the project is for a college, I could transfer you to the undergraduate admissions office."
*more chewing noises* "No that's alright. I chose Harvard Law School."
"Well go ahead then."
"What are the mi...ni..mum, like, stan....standards for getting into, um, law school?"
"Well I can only speak for Harvard, but we require an undergraduate degree from an accredited college. That's pretty much the only thing we require."
"Okay." *chewing* "Does knowing Latin help with law school?"
"I'm sorry?"
*chewing*
"You're asking if knowing Latin helps with law school. Now."
"Yeah."
"Um. Only insofar in that it helps with the basic understanding of romance languages. Or if, you know, speak Latin in your everyday life."
"Oh. Can I have your name? I have to have a name to *chewing and maybe swallowing* attach to my project."
"It's Meg."
"What?"
"Megan."
"Okay. Thank....you."
"Righty-o."

So now she's going to learn Latin and I have, yet, again, improved the life of some naive child. Go me. AND I saw the crazy man who jumped on my marzipan bunny yesterday in the Square again. I made a stangled noise of fear and scampered away. Bunny killer. www.savetoby.com

Crazy people love me!!

Work was uneventfully crap today, so the real prize o' Tuesday came post work as I meandered toward Harvard Square to spend a rainy hour before meeting with some of my peeps for dinner. What do I meet as I saunter through Cambridge Commons but two college boys dressed in suits! I'm not sure whether it's a regional thing of where I'm from (i.e. sunny places) or if my parents taught it to me, but Liz once told me that I have an uncommon way of paying attention to people on the street. She's from New York so, though she's an awesomely nice person, she tends to blow by people in an effort to not interact with the crazies. I, on the other hand, lend my cell phone to strangers, let homeless kiss me on the cheek (just that once though), and have conversations with haggard men on the T with a guitar saying stuff like, "If someone's not my friend, I fuck them up!!" That was good times. So when two nicely dressed young men come up to me and catch my eye, I then remove my headphones to see what they're trying to sell me. This time, Mormonism.

I have a thing about proselytizing. It kinda pisses me off. My personal beliefs on religion are somewhat complicated and I usually don't care to explain them to people whom I'm not friends with. That notwithstanding, I just can't be mean to Mormons. I'm always afraid they'll cry or something. Thus, it was my own conscience that coerced me into listening to the story of Joseph Smith. I even tried to stave off their excitement, due to the fact that I had not automatically ignored them, by saying both that I have Mormon friends (read: mistake - all Mormons know each other and now they're going to talk to the Mormons I do know and say that their bestest friend in the whole world was spoken to today - that could be awkward if I, you know, ever see them again) and that I am Southern Baptist. Southern Baptists, as a rule, scare the pants off of most other religions. I should know, my mother is Southern Baptist and went to church every single day in her youth. This did not faze my new friends in the least. At any rate, after a full explanation of Utah and it's many exciting Mormon features, I was offered a *free* Bible of the Church of Latter-day Saints, which I politely declined with a "I'll stick with what I've got, thanks" and received a Mormon business card - Joseph Smith rocks the technology. I exaunted with cheerful "Mormonism is so friendly!"

I wish this were my only story today, but it gets "better". By better I mean that I got to meet up with Lola and Stephanie at the Pit in Harvard Square. Stephanie gave us nummy chocolate covered marzipan for Easter and then, joy of joys, my crazy beacon went off again. Some dude came up and asked for 50 cents. I didn't have 50 cents. Even if I did, I wouldn't be giving it to his ghetto ass, I'd be saving that for sweet sweet T tokens. But since Lola and I were protectively placing our nice chocolate in our pockets at the time he said "What are you hiding?" Chocolate, jackass. "Oh! Is there a church giving it out or something?" After ensuring him that Jesus loved no one enough to give out free chocolate, I *gave him my chocolate* to get him the hell away from us. As we quickly left, I saw the chocolate marzipan bunny come flying through the air near us, followed quickly by the crazy man smashing it to pieces on the cold, wet ground. I am never walking near the Pit again. Ever. Lola swears she recognizes him. Lola, you know some f***ed up people.

*Thumb smushing motion*

And so my weekend. Oh, Boston, how you toy with my emotions. Friday afternoon I was aflutter cause it was Frizziday and my supervisor wasn't there so I could, you know, do stuff I wasn't supposed to. Like pause in my filing. At any rate, I am finishing my day by quickly jotting down my somewhat paltry time card for the week (temping is fun AND dislucrative!! - I know that's not a word, bitches). What do I hear as I write the number "21.5 hours" with a flourish? Why a rap tap tapping at the door! Thinking that someone left their coat or time card or....wait no one else has those except me. Bitches.

Anyway, I pop open the door and look somewhat startled because there is a mans standing outside the door in his suited finery. He queries, "Hello! I will be an applicant for the fall of 2006 and I was wondering what sort of information you could give me on the J.D. program?" *professional smile* Mind you, this would be less weird if it weren't 5:15 on a Friday afternoon, our window is closed, our door is locked and there's a general chill to the admissions wind.

"Well sir, we're closed right now, but there are some brochures that explain the program on the bookshelf to your left"
"Where?"
"Uhhhhhhh right there."
"Right, well, I just had some questions. Can you answer them for me?"
"Why don't I just snag one of those for you?"
"Yes, I see the brochure. Is the director here?"
"Uhhhhhhh. What? You know it's Friday right?" <-- desperation
"Yes, I was just hoping..."
"We're closed." <-- finality
"Is there anything else you can give me?"
"Let me just go see if we have a map or something," <-- depression
"Great!" *professional smile*
*look of death*

It took another 5 minutes, but he eventually left when I kept saying the word "NO!" to every thing he began to say. I was positive that an ambush was possible. He was very excited. I don't think I've hated someone that much in months. At any rate, the weekend was fairly unsurprising other than that. It was my triannual attempt to appreciate Woody Allen, so we went to go see "Melinda and Melinda" and I left feeling used yet again. I always get this sense that his stuff would belong so much better on stage. Ironically, the premise of the film was the comparison of life to comedy and tragedy and how two different script writers view it. So in reality their ideas would have implied a stage play instead of a cinematic feature so it makes a lot of sense ultimately Interestingly enough, no matter how many times I rationalize it and keep realizing how Woody Allen was quite clever about the whole thing, I still feel hella used.

Sunday was uneventfully Easter and I let Kitty root through some boxes as her present. And today I managed to sift through an entire bag of jelly bellies and eat all the lemon lime ones. There were some wayward green apple and a couple of unidentified, but I'm happy to say I made it safely through without getting any buttered popcorn. *shudder* So I ate like a pig today and had enough sugar to kill a small cow. Then I went to the gym, planned on running a few miles, ran one because I thought I was going to puke lemon lime jelly beans all over the dude next to me, and lifted weights. Then I declared myself a Fatty McsFatsalot to Richard and some sweaty man who I swear was wearing a sweatband and scampered home. Lean cuisine for dinner and nothing but cottage cheese for the rest of the week, I swear.

And it's almost Friday

So I appear to have nothing to do tomorrow except try to convince some wayward friends to go see the Ring 2 with me. Might as well since Emily's out of town cause she is not all about the fear. Em, it's only PG13!! So what if there's freaky death??? And what I think is a deer, but I can't really tell from the previews. Also, in case anyone missed the "comments" on my last post, Jason really does need to burn his mancard now and Lindsay Lohan's breastses scare me muchly. Ech. And I, for one, miss Pete.

Anyway, today I decided to try the KWONDO class at my gym, despite feeling much like crap for the majority of the day. I took my dry cleaning for the first time in 2 months and scampered off to Porter Square for some aerobic fun times. Okay, first of all, half of the girls in that class didn't even try as hard as they should have, and, secondly, I have a cold, which means I can't breathe properly. So I jumped around and acted like I was punching things (i.e. the air) and listened to the instructor hum along to the techno a couple of octaves above his given vocal range. All in all good times, even though I felt myself faltering after only 30 minutes. I picked it back up for the last 10, but I was mad at myself because I expected the class to last an hour and I was hella tired after 45 minutes. So lame. I walk an hour to work, work out at least 4 times a week, have started running a mile before each session to warm up, and I'm tired doing KWONDO. Whatever that means. So lame.

I was also inspired to check out health supplements in the hippie section of the grocery store. I called my ex-roommate Liz because I didn't feel comfortable being left alone to my own devices surrounded by "organic products". Knowing me, I would just end up kicking someone in the nads and breaking a box of soy milk or something. At any rate, I browsed their vitamins and then grabbed some organicky crackers. I lost my nerve when I saw some hippie browsing though. I hate hippies. Stupid tree-huggers. And I am all about animal rights, moreso than most I would say, but I will personally give a rug burn to anyone I meet that's a part of PETA.

Other than that my day has been spent trying not to get readdicted to Ebay cause it's fawesome. And I do mean fawesome. It's all....full of stuff....and deals that aren't really deals but if you read the fine print they're really ripping you off. It makes me all snuggly inside. *giggle*

Things I did yesterday

1. Sat on the phone with some guy for 20 minutes explaining to him that the director of admissions is too busy for his unadmitted ass.

2. Ate polenta gnocchi for lunch which was, in actuality, just polenta. Nasty. I finished it.

3. Listened to the entire 1st album by the Backstreet Boys. "Everybody" indeed. Highlights of the CD: "I'll never break your heart", "Hey Mr. DJ", and "If you wanna get it good girl, get yourself a bad boy". I don't know what that means.

4. Ruminated on the fabulousness of All 4 One, which was an original boy band. You know, ignoring the Beatles. "They read you Cinderella, you hope it would come true/ that one your Prince Charming would come rescue you./ You like romantic movies and you never will forget/ the way you felt when Romeo kissed Julieeeeeeeet./ And all the time that you've been waaaaaiting.../ You don't have to wait no mooooooooOOOOOOOooooooooore..." Enter chorus. Anyone who can identify that song for me (and you should be able to), I will personally make you my new best friend.

5. Took out my garbage pantsless.

6. After spending an entire day miserable due to my cold, took 3 types of medication at dinner and tried not to fall asleep while folding my laundry. Pantsless.

7. Made "sounds of the whale" with my roommate for 10 minutes. "mwwwwwwwwwwwoh, mwwwwwwwwwwoh" This was after two types of meds, but before the Nyquil.

Workity McWorksalot

Sooooooooo I was 2 hours late for work this morning cause my new alarm clock is too confusing and I set it only for the weekend and woke up at 10 am. I called my father whilst on the way and his comment was, "Uh oh." These little nuggets of wisdom are often a great help to me. Oh, Daddy... When I arrived at work, I received a look from my supervisor that was filled with what can only describe as extreme hatred. Of course, I wasn't really bothered since, as a temp, I am kind of everybody's bitch. Receiving blame is kind of in the job description. Also, it turns out that unbeknownest to me there's tons of office intrigue. When I was sitting around for most of Sunday getting paid to answer questions from applicants every 30 minutes, two of my fellow workers bitched at length about some of the higher ups. It never really occurred to me to find fault with them because when I was treated like crap I figured a) my supervisor is type A anyway and b) I am clearly the one to be dumped on. Also, a fellow coworker walked up to me today, tapped me on the shoulder, stuck out her tongue at me, and walked away. I feel like some sort of coworking wall has been breached here. I am totally in the inner circle. Of... you know... childish behavior in the office.

Speaking of which, some helpful soul called today asking why he had submitted his application in December but only just now received an application complete notice. I looked his info up and it turns out that he actually received his application complete notice in January. Being somewhat at a loss since he had clearly called to bitch someone out and had been hella wrong, he proceeded to ask me when he would have his decision. See conversation below:

"Well it usually takes 8-10 weeks after receiving the application complete notice that they make a decision. I will warn you that they're moving a little slow this year but they should have a decision sometime in April most likely."
"So I was complete on January 27th so they should decide in the next couple of weeks, right?"
"Well, as I said, they're running a little late, but something like that yes."
"So can you give me any kind of time frame?"
*awkward pause*
"What?"
"Can you give me any kind of time frame?"
"You mean other than the one I just gave you??" <-- incredulity
"Yeah."
"No."

So that was pretty fun. Also, it turns out that my cat is a giant whore. My roommate likes to pet her roughly and she purrs all the way. I feel kinda dirty watching especially cause he tends to say stuff like, "I got want you want" and "Let us go look at womens, Kitty". And she just takes it. I feel used. You can observe his blog cheeah: http://pococurantism.blogspot.com/. Not for the feint hearted. Or people who like long blogs, twah. Also if you didn't get those last two random word references, I can't be bothered to explain them.

Weekend antics

So this past weekend was a concert and party, followed by a mellow Saturday involving seeing old friends and a good movie in Kendall Square. But first things first. The concert was fairly awesome in my personal opinion. Very vocally fatiguing, but all the good ones are. It's a style of music I enjoy but don't like as much as, say, something more vocally challenging like Mozart or Handel, but it was really interesting to hear the music and be given time to consider how it progressed over the past several hundred years. Listening to the solo pieces was amazing and I enjoy muchly watching theorbos pluck away. There was talk of how they make them, I naturally assume that the theorbo lady found a tree trunk somewhere and whittled it, but I've been vetoed. Whatever. I don't hear any better ideas being tossed around. And I'm fairly positive she had a switch blade. Suffice to say she looked like the type. Early music buff, my ass.

Okay so then we had a par-tay, at which two of the soloists showed. I was both massively creeped out by that in addition to thinking that it was adorable. He even brought his own dance mix. What do music nerds listen to as a dance mix? I have no idea, but I hella want to find out. There was drinking and socializing to be had and, surprisingly enough, only one moment of mild awkwardness that passed quickly and, all in all, the evening was a pleazzure. I got to spend more time with one of my favorite peoples, Kemp, who continually proves how awesome he is and I'm not positive, but I'm fairly sure that a) Alex grabbed my breasts since I have been talking for weeks about how they've shrunk since I lost a little weight (no, no, thank YOU, God) and b) that Dave and I made out for 2 seconds simply to prove we could. These kinds of things wouldn't happen if I had a chaperone. *cough* Emily *cough* The end.

Incidentally, I just saw the photos from said party. There seems to be a disconnect between how I perceive myself to look and then how I actually look in real life. I occasionally get comfortable with myself and then someone has to go and take pictures of me and then I am reminded that the beaming white in most photos is, hey! ME!!! And WOAH! I look fugly in that! Awesome!!! Happy Friday everybody!!! On the plus side of things, I have some amazing friends who pretty much periodically tell me I'm not heinous looking so I forget often and spend my days in blissful ignorance. Rock.

AND I saw the movie tonight "Walk on Water", which is a fairly amazing film about an Israeli assassin and how he interacts with some German adults he's supposed to be investigating because their grandfather was a Nazi. Lots of beautifully shot scenes and some fairly complicated relationship issues so I was impressed. It's artsy, but not artsy in a boring way. Also, I have never been to Israel so I'm all about learning about it, even though this was clearly fairly limited. I highly suggest it. And it was a lovely evening with my friend, Randal, who spent most of the time alternatively watching the film or being uncomfortable because there was a sense of homosexuality in it. Men from the South are adorable.

Dating and it's many crapcentricies

I didn't date anyone in high school for an extended period of time, but I feel like I understand the concept of dating. You go out and have fun and if it works out, awesome! If not, well that's what friendships with boys are for. I found that people in college primarily seemed to think you can only go on dates with people who will be your future spouse. That is retarded. If I wanted to get married, I would become a mail order bride and leave it at that. Dates aren't even for serious relationships I believe. That's amazing if it turns out that way and, naturally, I, too, would like a boyfriend, but I can't imagine assuming one person will be it. I've tried that and they dumped me after two weeks. Go sophomore year!

Anyway, I have to wonder why I continually find myself in awkward non dating situations. By which I mean I have a crush on someone I shouldn't and then just silently wish to do something as simple as going out and having fun on a Friday night, followed mayhap by accidental kissing actions. Which leads to excessive fear of bringing it up because I only ever want to date people I get along well with and, therefore, I want them as friends too. That sucks. Don't get me wrong, I *love* crushes. It gives me a reason to not look heinously ugly on a daily basis. They are snoodles of fun but frustrating because I find that very rarely am I interested in someone. Do I develop crushes often? No. Do I have one now? Of course. Why the hell not? Winter's almost over! Time for some unrequited lovin'! And scene.

Also, my brother provides other proof of my elusive toaster: http://www.theregister.co.uk/2001/03/30/java_toaster_prints_weather_forecast/
And I hear that there's a lawnmower that hovers. Does it make toast, I ask you? I sense an awkward silence.

People I love today: Ranga, Bill Hite, Dave for keeping me amused, and that dude in the Law School who looked at me like I'm diseased or something. Rock on.

The bestest invention EVER

So today was a day full of surprises. By which I mean filing. I was given a project that basically entailed finding around a hundred or more files for the head of admissions. When the sheet was handed to me I asked, "So where would these most likely be?" To which the response was "I have no idea." So things started pretty well. After an entire day of organizing, shuffling through unalphabatized stacks of applications that were put in an order very clear to the committee, but completely foreign to me, and ultimately triumphantly finding almost all of them by 4 pm, I was informed by the head of admissions that some of them needed to stay in the stacks in which I found them. Oh yes, things such as his "special stacks" and admits were not to be touched. Hey, that would have been nice to know, oh say, 7 FREAKING HOURS BEFORE HAND. So I got to RESHUFFLE through the entire stack I had SPENT A DAY CREATING and try desperately to remember where I had gotten a completely random set of applications from. *And* I got to receive looks of disapproval from the head of admissions. Suck it.

Also, I just yahoo searched my name and the most horrible thing possible popped up. http://www.celineonline.com/celinedion/english/music.cgi?album_id=17&song_id=12 Scroll down to read the messages that talk about their experience with a Celion Dion song. THAT IS NOT ME. But now, if someone ever yahoo searches my name, *that's* what they come up with. I quote: "Everytime I hear this song it brings tears to my eyes." Someday I'm going to be engaged and my future husband will decide one day to search my name and he will leave me at the alter because there is another Meg in the world and she hella loves Celine. I'm going to die of shame.

I was going to talk about rehearsal today, which was long and interpersed with poking Dave and making suppositions about the orchestra and their relative geek factor (read: high). But instead I am prompted to mention what I feel is the best invention to ever grace the race of man - the weather predicting toaster. http://www.culturelab-uk.com/site/templates/print_view.asp?ID=96 Yes, friends, my TOAST, which I love and adore, can tell me what it's going to be like outside today. I am obsessed with toast and I constantly want to know what the weather is like. Now I can have the two things at once. No more rifling around through the paper for weather forecasts. No more letting my toast get cold while I watch the morning news. This is my dream appliance and I have to have it. I am not a complete person until that toaster is in my possesion. I'm sure you understand.

One last thing, a certain friend of mine left a text message wherein she was drunk and feeling frisky. Dude, less drinky and boyfriend, more thoughts of being jobless. Also, I had a dream about a guy friend of mine. It was, say, a somewhat sessual dream that involved lots of kissing. Now I am awake and confused. Thanks a lot, subconsciuos. And, uh, sorry family members.

So I'm a little peeved right now...

So normally I don't imagine I'll ever be posting in the middle of the day, but I hella have to get this off my chest. For some exotic reason, I thought it would be a good idea to on Amazon.com and read the myriad of reviews by the layman's reader of my father's autobiographical book "Left For Dead" that he wrote after being caught on Mount Everest. First of all, for those who don't know, the book was not really my family's idea as I understand it. Neither of my parents are journalists. I'm not a journalist (see here: misguided blog). It's really an autobiography. I don't like autobiographies so I don't read them often when they pertain to people I don't know. Naturally, I read his book and cried like a little girl during it. Hey, the man was dead to me for a few hours, hard to forget.

Okay, that being said, there were 2 categories of people on Amazon. Those who liked it, appreciated the fact that my father isn't perfect and more or less said that the human interest side of things, that my father is a very imperfect man and how he talks about it is really quite interesting. In my very subjective opinion, that's the whole point of my father's realization on the climb. The climb itself isn't as important to him as his epiphany that what he had been missing all his life was his family. That's his message and more or less the reason the majority of the book was dedicated to his background, his recovery, and his family and friends. Go figure.

So the other group was a bunch of people that thought it was boring because they wanted more climb story, less human interest. More action! Less emotion! Bob like mountains! Bob want blood! Gore! *throws rocks* I was not really bothered by these asinine comments mostly because I expect for stupid people to not want to read complicated and emotional things. They can go make fun of other amateur climbers, because clearly if they are sitting on their 300 lb ass judging others, they *know* what is right with climbing today. One guy pointed out that the book as if it was recorded and transcribed. That's funny, because it WAS. My father's a great talker and he didn't really try to go beyond that. Also, the man has no hands. Typing is not so likely. I wasn't honestly very fond of the editor when he was talking to us primarily because he made me cry often with constantly bringing up my uncle's death. Snot.

So what I am left with is all the comments about my mother and father. There was much criticism of how selfish my father had been. He totally acknowledges that and has worked past it. He has always said that he would climb Everest again given the option because it inspired in him a desire to be with his family again. The loss of his hands = a new life filled with appreciation for those around him. I could do without the comments saying that my father didn't deserve his redemption. Those fuckers can go die.

Now I deal with what makes me furiously angry. There were many people who criticized my mother at length, with such comments as "What a bitch!" "I would leave home too if married to her" and "She doesn't understand her husband at all and does nothing for him". Huh. That's funny. I seem to remember her standing by him for years of his antics, in addition to doing such things as becoming a certified captain because he liked to sail. Oh yeah, and constantly worrying, telling the children Daddy's not going to die, etc., etc. Some of her comments in the book were rather acerbic at times. Gosh I wonder why. Maybe years of pent up bitterness even though she continues to care for him and love him despite all.

Here's an idea, those bastards can stop judging my selfless and incredibly sweet mother or I will, as a group, rip off their testicles and make them wear them as earrings. Then I will make fun of them to others. And point. And maybe staple things to their faces. Okay then.

Post Numero Uno

So this is clearly the first blog posting that I have ever done. I feel that a new era has scampered out from under a rock for me. I tell myself that this blog is to update people on the general rediculousness of my life, but it's also just because I like to vent a lot. I've never been a big writer, but I find that in general it's a good way for me to sort of lay things on the table. Kind of the same way I make lists when I'm trying to weigh important decisions, like whether or not I should bother making risotto for dinner when I know full well that it's not the most diet friendly food. But I digress.

So I guess to catch anyone up on what I'm doing, basically I'm temping and trying to secure an internship with a documentary film maker that my father knows. Temping: not so fun, but neither is a) paying rent or b) the Boston winter. How ironic that I seem to have acquired all three at once. I was positive about my decision to return to Boston because I felt kind of like a bum at home and now all I miss the accessibility of a car and, say, sunshine. Thus, I am presently attempting to figure out whether or not I want a graduate degree for Arts Administration. I have no idea where that's going to go as of yet, but I'm optimistic. Hurrah!

Okay, so recently nothing much exciting has been happening, although I'm sure these things will reveal themselves provided I keep up with this nonsense. But for today, a mildly amusing story.

So I wake up today and go work out with Babs, the nickname I have dubbed my loveable weight trainer with whom my time is running short. Hooray for special discounts on packages of weight training and parents that are willing to fork over a little money so I don't die of obesity tomorrow, but foo on them ending. At any rate, Babs and I finish our session with his usual "You're an animal, Meg!" at which point I typically manage to turn immediately around into a wall. I shower and begin to dress with lots of uncomfortably naked womens in a locker room that can't be hygenic. That's when I notice that OH YES I forgot to pack underwear. Returning home is not an option without shaving a hearty hour off of work, so today turned into both an amusing and primarily horrifying day wherein it was the first and last time I ever go "commando". I would estimate that 90% of my energy was spent attempting to monitor the height of my jeans in relation to my butt cheeks, the other 10% divided equally amongst trying to stay awake and filing. At lunch I caught the eye of a student who kept staring at me in that "You aren't wearing underwear" manner. At first I thought something akin to naked nightmares had occurred, then he spoke and I realized that he was probably just German. Needless to say, it all ended without incident but I'm still pretty horrified. As Caroline put it, "You mean there's only a thin shield of denim between you and me? We're almost having sex!"

Indeed, Caroline. Indeed.