T-minus one week until I move. I am all nervous-like. I'm completely stressed out. I even got called 'abrasive' last night. Edgy.

It doesn't help that I have been freezing my ass off for the last 14 hours. I went to Friday Night Swing last night, and the hall practically had stalactites hanging from the ceiling. What is this hyperbole you speak of? I coughed all night from trying to dance while breathing in that air. On the plus side, there were lots of newer people last night, and that was cool. I'm glad to have met them, because I've gotten roped into a ballroom social dance on Monday evening at Towson, where otherwise, I'd be all awkward-like.

It's also become apparent to me that I need to learn a little Lindy, if only so I don't look like a complete fluffhead when a Lindyhopper asks me to dance. I learned two moves last night that you can mix with East Coast, but I have yet to learn the basic step. I'm kind of intimidated, in that "I'm not sure my hips do that" kind of way. Still, Sarah says it'll tone my ass into steel, so that's an incentive.

I got home and took a quick shower before plunking my head down on the pillow at 12:30. I burrowed under two blankets, in flannel PJ bottoms and a sweater. I shivered all night, waking up from time to time because it was too cold to get comfy in my room. When I woke up at 5am, my joints were stiff from sleeping with my knees drawn to my chest. And this office is as cold as this a witch's nipple. I'm wearing three layers. This is ridiculous. Pancakes now, please.

Feel free to tell me when this gets old. I'll call Chuck Norris, and he'll kick your ass.

"When Chuck Norris does push-ups, he does not push himself up. He pushes the Earth down."

I walked downstairs the other night, and my parents were watching Walker, Texas Ranger. I burst into giggles and almost choked.

(In other news, oy, am I shallow. One day, my pretties. One day.)

Adrian, my stepfather and boss, asked me to stay on with the company for a $3/hr raise today. His reasoning: "That's an extra $120 a week. If you save up, you can get your own apartment instead of sharing a house." His real reasoning: "No one else can train your replacement and if she messes up the billing in the middle of the holiday season, I'm fucked sideways without lube."

Ah. Ah-ha. Hahahaha. Ha. Ahhhhhh.

Sorry. I just had to get that out.

So. The plan is as follows: I'm still moving all of my stuff out on Dec. 10th. I explained to him that it's time for me to move. It's not as though I don't have reasons, and at the top of the list is that I was told to move. So, there's that.

However, I will stay on with the company for an extra week to train the new person better. It's not fair to her to only have one week's training, and I'm not going to make the drivers suffer because we have an asshole regional manager who didn't prepare for my leaving when I gave him my notice. No one could possibly learn that job in one week. Well, I did, but then again, I'd covered for my mother a few times before, so I already had an idea of what I was getting myself into.

I'll live out of a duffle bag for a week, get paid extra for staying on, and alleviate my own holiday money headache. I'll be able to go to New York with Skyler on the 11th without freaking out about being poor, and I'll be able to pick up a few gifts that I didn't know if I'd have the money for. Plus, my first student loan payment is due on the 14th ($200), so that will make that easier to do.

Still, I am going to miss the job a little. I came back from the restroom today, only to find the number for "Sexy Melvin" programmed into my phone. Melvin's one of the drivers, and he's hysterical. I'm going to miss him stealing my breakfast bars every morning. I seriously get asked out at that place on average twice a week. I've been proposed to, been recited Spanish love poetry. It's kind of amusing.

Plus, there are the wonderful customers. Crazy Chinese ladies who curse in Mandarin (my inner fangirl howled), women who sound like the Swedish Chef. Guys who live so far out in the sticks, they give directions like "go past that fourth red barn and turn left at the archery target." Doing billing for Ms. A. Merica, Ms. Krach, Mr. Penix, Mr. Smellers, Ms. Awkward. I'm going to have some funny stories when I leave that place, like the time that the guy who threatened the office with a gun asked me out, explaining that he'd never have shot me, because I'm too pretty to die. Ahh, working for the mob can be so lively.