I wonder what would happen if you really did call whine-one-one

Things are moving along here. I've got my letter of invitation from the school in Rayong. I'm applying for my visa. I'm going to Portland to say good-bye to the father and the fam up there. I went to my last Neighborhood Night at the Seabright Brewery and got nicely drunk. (But not as drunk as LAST WEEK at Neighborhood Night, thank GOD.) I fended off annoying inquiries regarding a free place to stay to watch some muay thai fighting. (Not you, Craig. You can come stay anytime.)

I have the most comprehensive and anally-retentive packing list known to man. I'm putting Emilie's stickered work-out chart TO SHAME here. There are columns. There are keywords. There are cute little boxes for check-marking. Have you ever tried to MOVE with just a backpack and a small suitcase? More importantly, have you ever been obssessed with clothes and shoes and tried to pack for A YEAR in just a backpack and a small suitcase? Yeah, I didn't think so. Because if so, you would feel my pain. PLUS I have to pack up everything else I own, because my parents want to turn my room into a shrine when I leave. (Why does everyone laugh when I say that?)

Uh-oh, somebody call whine-one-one, Laura needs a waaah-mbulance.