Do you like Primus?
Did you know that my level of frustration is directly proportional to the amount of runaround going on at my place of employment downtown?
I think my blood pressure is, too.
My only comfort in putting out TBA and her husband for so long is that they are moving soon, and that they can stay with us, I mean, if they want to.

It seems that being under such high levels of stress has forced me to regress into some giggly nervous wreck. Which is not conducive to my trying to act all adult and shit. Y'all just don't understand how bad it really is.

Two days ago, as TBA, Dh, and Phyllis observed, I tried to make a phone call regarding a property that Dh and I would very much like to see. You know, so we can quit Minny the Moocher -ing around here. Prepared to talk to a person, what did I do when I was directed to voice mail? I started giggling. Like a preteen meeting Ricky Martin (speaking of whom, have y'all heard the one about the pate and the dog and the preteen?) I was laughing and shaking so hard that I had to hang up. The harder I laughed, shook, and flushed, the more dh, ph, and tba stared at me in utter amazement and mortification. I'll be 30 next month. AND NOT going on 13, thank you very much. Balls. I quickly wrote an e-mail apologizing to the lady for my INSANITY and tail between my legs-ingly admitted that I had gotten flustered. We didn't hear back from her. But can you blame the broad?

Me either.

Manifestations of this irrational nervous giggling ('Cuz I'm a blond, yeah, yeah, yeah!) have made utterly annoying and embarrassing cameos throughout my life, the most recent at my first wedding. I could barely say my vows I was tee-heeing so hard. That's some crazy foreshadowing, yo.

It hasn't just served as an indicator, though - it's also a hindrance. Summer between my freshman and sophomore year at Loyola New Orleans (The TOUCHDOWN JESUS is STILL STANDING! And, speaking of whom? Did you all hear the theory that the levees were scrapped to save the garden district?), I landed an internship in the Office of Equal Opportunity at FDIC. Not that I'm bragging. My aunt worked there, and as we all know, it's who you know.

You know what my job was? Making phone calls. To people who had applied for government jobs. Can you imagine having applied for a job, waiting for the phone call, getting all excited when you hear the, "Hi this is Alex from OEO at FDIC, I was calling..." and then having the 17 year old me collapse into giggles? Tres professional! One poor gentleman thought I was making fun of his stutter. I think I'm probably going to hell for that, too. Now mind you, I wasn't laughing at his stutter, I was too nervous to talk to him. But call we must. The answers in the data base had to be uniform, so call we did.

Thinking about that summer makes me break out in hives.

Talking on the phone makes me break out in hives.

I laugh at funerals, too. At least hives are quiet, no?