I like how a weekend can be defined in movies.
Saturday: The Virgin Suicides, The Others.
Sunday: Star Wars Episode II, Center Stage, The Fast & the Furious.
(Monday: barbecue with Cory's Mike, which has nothing to do with movies, but everything to do with chess and international music and wet dogs and steak.)
And now, I ship.
When I call Cory, I try to have something witty to say when he answers the phone. It's never all that witty since I tend to start thinking about it as the phone rings. But this time, when I called him at work and got to bypass the secretary and go straight to his extension, I said "Megan's on line 1" in a breathy voice like the secretary. I figured the phone system there works like ours, where you just hang up and the person's on the same line as the line you were just on. But he said thanks and hung up and went to line 1, which I think had someone else waiting or something. I embarrassed him. Now I feel really bad. No more wittiness when poor stressed, busy Cory could get hurt.
So I have twenty minutes until I can go home. It's pouring. I didn't bring a jacket because it was nice this morning. It's been freaking COLD in here, too, from the air conditioning, which is stupid because it's not that hot outside, especially since it's raining. I've had goosebumps all day. So at 3:30 (half an hour before the employee store closes), I went downstairs & bought a really cheap jacket I've had my eye on for over a month so now I won't get quite as wet when I go out there. It has a hood, too. But I can't read at the bus stop or my book will drown. I guess I just have to run over there at the last minute so I don't drown too.