The Dane

It's official. He'll be here tomorrow. I'm trying really hard not to freak out. I mean totally and completely. freak. the. hell. out.

That is my M.O., don't you know. I freak out, become a total bitch and kill a relationship before it has a chance.

So, he arrives Friday. I have, at best, a loose plan. I am sick as a dog. Full of flem. Can't breath through my nose. Blowing my nose every 3 or 4 minutes and in between snorting. Oh, this ought to be lots of fun.

And, although the Dane is coming a great distance to see me, where usually I am a whirling dirvish of action: nails done, exfoliate, wash hair, cute outfit, house clean (just in case), all he is getting at this point is my fervent prayer that I be able to breath through my nose. My car is going to be clean, but that is only because I sent a kid to clean it. Seriously. That's why I have boys on the yearbook staff, but I digress.

Last night I went to La Boheme (fabulous opera, but I didn't get home till midnight, so I am zonked). Tonight I have the first of two senior ads meetings (parents come, and we explain how to do ads etc.) With any luck I will be out of here by 9, so that I can at least WASH MY HAIR.

I'm working really hard to not think about this weekend at all. If I do, I will start to hypervenilate. Beeeee caaallllmmm. Beeeee cccaaalllmmm...