Roads with two or three names

Little did I know that coming home for a week would be so noisy.
Dad's redoing the floor, so it's like a war in the kitchen. Gunshots (nail guns), tanks (vacuum cleaners), yelling over the noise (yelling over the noise), and much destruction (ripped up floors) have taken over the better part of the house.

This is war:
*imagine Colbie Caillat playing in the background*
















This is the aftermath:















And this is my John Kerry face in the middle of it all:















I'm a stickler for funny faces, even if some people aren't!

If you're wondering about the Colbie Caillat mentioning, my dad composed a couple playlists because he likes to listen to music whilst he works. So on top of the machine guns and grenades, there's easy-listening music blaring in the background. The contrast is amusing, but the way the stereo plays the same songs OVER AND OVER again is not.

And I think that I should bring to your attention that it's only Monday, which means that this war noise could go on for another week. It might still be going on when I leave the front. I got deployed here to take the GMAT.

That's a true story. I'm taking the GMAT in about 3 hours.
Am I nervous?
Not about the test, but more about my brain actually getting out of bed and working. The 10 hours of sleep is unusual for the little guy.
("Little" guy? BAH!)
(Wow. That was extremely arrogant.)

I had a dream last night that the test wasn't so bad, but I forgot to do the writing part and forgot to look at my score at the end and then Beth was there, laughing at my forgetfulness. Not cool, man- NOT COOL.

Here's another true story:
My mum, grandma and I went shopping this morning, and I sat in the back of the car listening to this tale.
Earlier that morning, Granny had been on the phone with a representative from the Bank of America about getting her bank statements as hard copies instead of online e-statements. So she's going on and on to the poor guy about how she was supposed to get one in May and how it still hasn't been fixed because she's still receiving e-statements.

And from working in customer service, I feel for the guy. I really do. It most likely wasn't his fault, yet he's the one getting yelled at. [Old] people seem to have no discretion when it comes to the phone- or even in person. If you're a breathing, warm body, it's definitely all your fault.

It's funny because when she called the bank they put her through this automated system. So the phone was like, "Press 7 for ...; Press 8 for ...." And she was like, "I want to speak to a LIVE person!" And so they transferred her to a live person. Haha. Robots understand. ;)

Anywho- so she was complaining to the guy about how the numbers on the screen are too small and so she can't read it and needs a hard copy.
So me and my smart-mouth self comments, "Can't you print it out?"
And she's like, "Yeah, I can print it out."

Then there's your hard copy with which you can peruse with a magnifying glass.
SO WHAT IS THE PROBLEM!?!?!?? That it doesn't come in the MAIL?

I don't see why [old] people feel the need to call institutions and just gripe about what they could very well fix themselves. I never thought printing a piece of paper would be a such a creative solution, but I guess it's just a difference betwixt our generations.
Or personalities.
Either/or.

Some days you're the dog and some days you're the hydrant,
TWS