However, we did get a free fancy-schmancy lunch that I got to bill two hours of pay toward. The pasta and eggplant almost makes it worth the aggravation.

Almost.

Last night was another dastardly volleyball game. Last week�s wins were in the absence of two players: One isn�t very good (but we�re nice since he�s cool otherwise), and the other has a crappy attitude.

In last night�s game, the bad attitude was there. It seriously brought everyone else down. We were hanging with the other team pretty well, losing only 12-15 or 10-15. This isn�t embarrassing considering that we�re won only a third of our games and they�ve won over half.

They had one good server who always got a few points for them, and that made the difference. His serve had some crazy spin that made even the most controlled bump act unpredictably. It was aggravating to be the one standing steady, receiving the serve, and having it fly into the other court. This happened to me a few times.

And each time it happened to me or to one of the other two players, there was mumbling under the bad attitude�s breath, exasperated sighs, and plenty of eye rolling. However, when she with the bad attitude got her chance to receive the serve and it flew unpredictably, she suggested that we use a dual-setter formation, blah blah blah. In other words, it wasn�t her fault.

No, it�s not her fault. But after being such a jerk to everyone else and then seeing how difficult it was to return the super-server�s stuff, all I ask for is a little consideration. Enough with the �gah,� �dang,� and �this sucks� comments. Enough with the sarcastic remarks and eye rolls. Enough with the attitude, already.

And to top things off, once we got even a little bit down in score, she�d completely give up. The end. She was done. If we weren�t going to kick some ass, there was no reason to even trying.

Argh.

So, yeah. Last night was totally not fun volleyball playing.

But to make up for it, Benito picked me up at the beach soon after it started to rain. We headed back to his place so I could get the beach and rain grime off of me, and then we headed to dinner with his mom.

It was another nice evening with him and the mom with good food and company.

Much better than un-fun volleyball.

All righty. I just ran outside to Old Navy for white trash rafting gear. I now have a maroon tank top with palm trees and a purple one. And since neither is particularly white trash, I got some $3 flip-flops, a $2 fisherman�s hat, and some tie-up cotton shorts.

No, I don�t do white trash well. But it beats showing up in a button-up shirt, khaki shorts, and my cute sandals.

A lavender v-neck tank top and some lounge shorts is apparently as white trash as I can get. I at least tried.

Note to self: Get veggie hot dogs and Miller High Life in a koozie. This should help make up for looking cute.

The follow news comes from my dad, so its validity is questionable. He has a tendency to pull my leg sometimes, and this would be excellent fodder for such appendage-yanking. However, it�s just ridiculous enough to be true.

Branden said his first word!

When it comes to first words, babbling ma-ma doesn�t count unless he specifically calls out to his mother to get her attention. Likewise, da-da also doesn�t count when it�s just noise-making.

However, we�re not copping out on Branden�s first word like this.

Supposedly he pointed to and then exclaimed, �MING!�

That damn cat taunts me from 1100 miles away.

Last night/this morning. 4:15 a.m.

Women are screaming at each other in the hallway. Bitch-this, bitch-that. Loudly. At 4:15 in the morning.

I�m too tired to get up, open my door, peep outside, and ask if any of them are bleeding. If someone was bleeding, I�d considering forgiving such asshole behavior at this hour. However, as soon as they replied that they weren�t bleeding, I�d come back with a quick, �Then would you kindly shut the fuck up?� before closing my door and stumbling back to sleep.

The door slammed, and they continued yelling at each other inside the condo next door. And continued and continued.

I was too tired to look up the number to the front desk to ask that the security guard tell them to kindly shut the fuck up.

I was even too damn tired to do the proper city-person thing and bang on out adjoining walls to let them know that they were rude bastards. Or bitches as it were.

4:15 in the morning. Four-friggin�-fifteen!

I half considered waking up, baking muffins, and then knocking on their door at 7 to see if they wanted any. But, as I said before, I was too tired.

This is reason #57 why I will not ever have a roommate.

All right. I�m out. I�ve gotta go grocery shopping.�