She responded this morning with this:
Please keep sending me these types of emails!
Can do, dear sis. The following is what I sent her:
Well, on today's edition of Lunchtimes with Tamsen, there isn't anything necessarily funny, but it has some good news in it...
Justin got the job!!
Fo' reals. Future marriage advice to you is: don't let your husband work nights. Unless it's absolutely necessary (in which case, ours was).
And more exciting news--they are paying him almost fifty cents more an hour than what he was told at the interview. Again,
Today I spent a total of two hours and forty five minutes ON HOLD with the social security office. And what was it to do? Oh, just schedule a meeting. Literally took less than five minutes. I've decided that they are worse than the DMV. Not only are they obviously understaffed, but those people are only open from 9AM to 3PM. Oh, and they take an hour lunch break. Do these people even work? This is how I'm feeling about them at the moment:
Today is also the first real snow of the season. Not that slushy stuff you guys experienced while you were here for the wedding, but real, fluffy, beautiful, stick-to-the-ground-been-snowing-all-day stuff. The weather liars (ahem, forecasters) told a wild tale of "winter storm warnings" and "heavy snow overnight" and "blah blah blah." So I got scared/nervous/lazy about driving in the snow and decided that I was going to ride the light rail to work (AKA going on an adventure!). My alarm goes off at 5:45 AM, then another off at 6:40 that tells me I need to get my pretty little butt out of the house and to the light rail station for the 7:07 D Line. Well, what really happened at 6:40 was me putting the leash on Pavlov. He took a very quick whiz trip outside, and then I started walking to the station. I ride either the C Line or the D Line up to the Broadway station, then swap to the F Line, which runs right along I-25. I had fun gloating as we zipped past the super stressed out drivers who were going 12 miles per hour in a 65 zone. But then they were probably gloating later as they passed me (at said prompt 12 mph) as I walked my cold little self .8 miles to work. Whatever. I didn't slide on (or off!) the road. Priorities, I suppose.