December 1: A whole lot of nothing.

First real snow of the year! It was 67 degrees 10 days ago, and suddenly it feels like the dead of winter. I mean, the LIFE of winter! Winter is fun! Winter is...eh, you'll never believe that anyway.

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Last Wednesday I called for the annual pre-Thanksgiving happy hour at the Esquire. After several drinks, we moved over to M&M's, where we ran into a crowd of great people we hadn't seen in a long time, most of whom were well on their way to drunkenness (or, in some cases, fully arrived). After we'd been there about an hour I suddenly realized I didn't seem to have my purse anymore. (Guess which one? My fantastic not-a-Prada just does NOT want to be my bag. I think it knows that nobody would believe I was carrying Prada anyway.)

I dashed back to the Esquire to see if I'd left it there. As soon as I walked in Neighbor kind of gave a wave of alert.
Me: "Oh, great, you have my bag?"
Neighbor: "Yeah. And...I, uh, talked to your mom."

He'd got the phone number off my checkbook, which is my parents' phone number because I've been too busy for the last 14 years to change my checks. That was a very kind and thoughtful gesture, which I figured I'd hear about in great alarmed-ness at Thanksgiving dinner.

Of course it didn't take that long. My mom called me right after the bar called her, all "Someplace called 'the Scriber' just called and they've got your purse! And you're supposed to drive tomorrow! I just hope they're still open..." Then she called again at 7:30 in the morning, to make sure I'd played the messages. (Which: damn, mom, 7:30? But also, good call on the message-playing.) All is well. Safely rest.

* * *

Decatur teachers are on strike, and "people are confused why," according to WILL. Maybe because they want to work in buildings that aren't falling down on them. Anyway, I woke up today to the sound of my 8th-grade algebra teacher in my bedroom. That's never good.


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Today the Chief Wants: "Come Monday," Jimmy Buffet
"Jet," Wings
Maybe the chief wants to get away from us.