I've never worked for a company that gives Random Raises before. It's called a "cost of living increase," and I guess they've finally woken up to the fact that living here ain't cheap, folks. They re-assess the economy, figure out how much people are making in the area around the coffee shop in question, and adjust accordingly. Otherwise you'd go be a Minion elsewhere, I guess and god knows they don't want that.

I actually got really lucky with this thing because I haven't gotten a raise since my promotion six months ago, and my review is next month. If I had gotten the review first, I would have gotten a raise based on my review, and then a small cost of living increase. This way I get a big cost of living increase (which takes experience into account) and then an even bigger merit increase (since it is based on a percentage of my current pay rate). This good timing will probably mean an extra twenty five cents an hour. (I know. You all just had heart attacks out of envy.)

This is all silly excitement over a few extra cents, but when you're me, those cents add up. In other words: yay. A raise! A raise! And another one next month!

My weekend was eventful-- these days, aren't they all?

On Friday, I went out with Laurie and Joey. It was so great to see Laurie again (she cut her hair off, my god) (I know you don't care, because you've never seen her hair, but she had this long Princess Buttercup hair, and she cut it off) (not in a bad way though, she looks gorgeous). There was much squealing.

Then we moseyed into the Mission to find Mexican food, ate Mexican food, talked a mile a minute about girl-related things. (Joey and I both needed Laurie's level-headed advice re: boys.) It was a great dinner. What to do next?

The word on the street was that Probst was having a party. None of us had been invited, so we decided to crash it. I think it's the first time I've ever crashed a party. It was pretty cool to see the look on Probst's face when we materialized in his kitchen.

A couple of my former students were there, and one of them handed me a stack of Polaroids she had taken around the party. Guess who was the subject of the very first picture?

Yep, it was Ian. Of course. Why wouldn't my ex be at my other ex's random party, especially since-- to my knowledge-- they've never even spoken. Why, it only stands to reason.

Good lord. Why do I sometimes get the feeling that I'm a B-plot character in somebody's madcap romantic comedy? I am sure you can imagine the feeling of horror as I tried to make my face as impassive as possible.

The problem is, I am chemistry's bitch. He walked into the kitchen two minutes later, and my friends (who had not seen the photo and therefore were taken by surprise) gave me looks like, "Oh god, oh no, we'll get you out of here as soon as we can!" And then he walked straight up to me and we got into an intense conversation about absolutely nothing, just an excuse to stand next to each other really, and it was all my friends could do to drag me away.

I have no idea how Ian feels. I have never known how Ian feels. I try not to give a rat's ass about how Ian feels. I am merely trying to turn off how I feel. This magnetic pull towards a boy who's all wrong for me, which does me absolutely no good whatsoever.

On Saturday, I woke up godawful early and drove to Santa Cruz (never been there before) to see The Merry Wives of Windsor, courtesy of my friend Waldemar. (I need to ask Waldemar if I should use his name or a pseudonym or a ten-digit encrypted code-- or whatever he might like. For now, I'm kind of digging Waldemar.)

We met up with a bunch of people for a potluck picnic on a hillside. (I didn't know any of these people. It was all good, though.) We had wine and fruit and hummus and Oreos and pate, among other things. Then we headed into the outdoor theater, sat among the trees (if I've learned one thing about Santa Cruz, it's that they're big on trees) and watched the play.

I've never seen Shakespeare done live before, and I have to tell you I am absolutely hooked. They set the play in the 1950s-- very clever. It was an amazing production; every actor was brilliant; the staging, costuming, music... everything was wonderful. Note the use of ineffectual adjectives. I was enthralled.

After that, we took an extensive driving tour of Santa Cruz. The university, the beach, the boardwalk, etc. Mostly we were just digging on conversationating (note: this might not be a word) but the city seems nifty as well. And the ocean makes me happy.

So that's the verdict. Santa Cruz, Waldemar, and the Merry Wives: all nifty. I wish I could spice up the story for you, but that's all I got.

Since then, I've spent my days oversleeping for work and feeling stressed. I wish I could get away with running a sleep deficit, but I really can't. Especially not when I'm cranky, overwhelmed and possibly premenstrual. A delight to be around, truly.

I don't know how my sister does it. She's working sixteen hour days and doing intense maid-of-honor duties for a wedding next month. And somehow, she still found the time to send me a box full of Whedon swag. (Among the coolness is a Gentlemen holiday ornament and the Angel episode guide.)

Anyway, my sister is a remarkable person who impresses and amazes me. And I? Am going to sleep.

"I spent fifteen minutes trying to explain to him that "the internet" will still work when they move to the new house. He wondered if he had to change his email address, or his phone number, or something. Actually, the question was mighty unclear. "