Mitchell says I don't blog enough, and since last night proved that I do whatever he tells me, here's a blog.

All my bags are packed; I'm ready to go.

Sarah is covering me, sort of, while I'm gone. This means I will no longer have to listen to my boss mumble under her breath. She does this all the time, talk to herself. I have an inner monologue, but it's inner. As in "No one else hears what I am saying to myself in my head."

She doesn't seem to get this concept.

I'm in Vancouver this weekend, where I shall remain whisk-less but protected by the fact that I'll be in a high-rise. If I were to be in a horror movie, though, it would be on Saturday Night when I'm at a gala in high heels that look wildly inappropriate for day to day life. Picture this:

I hold a glass of wine in my hand, laughing softly at some joke one of my companions has just made and I'm ready to engage in our patented witty repartee when all of a sudden, the lights go out. "It's just a breaker," someone calls out. "They'll have it fixed in a moment."

It'll rain, because it always rains. There might be thunder and lightning but probably not. Eventually, someone will try to leave because the dark makes people of all ages uncomfortable, whether they admit it or not. That's when they'll find the doors locked.

Me? I'm still frozen with my wine glass halfway to my lips. That's when the first scream erupts from somewhere on the outskirts of the crowd.

See? Horror movie waiting to happen. I'll ditch the heels and run like hell to the nearest window. I don't want to have to be in a sequel.

I can't remember the last time a serial killer stalked a gala, though. Maybe I'll be okay.

To Do To Day:

1. Stop at the bank
2. Stop at Shoe Store
3. Pack last-minute articles
4. Give you hell?

Post after this detailing exactly what I've been watching/listing to lately.