The Sounds of Silence?

In South Dakota, you can hear the mosquitoes. This is partially because they are the size of small aircraft, but if you’re lying in bed and there is a mosquito in your room, you know it. You’ll never find the little bitch, but you can hear her. Lurking. Waiting. Plotting.

In Los Angeles, the mosquitoes have silencers.

Quick aside (I promise it’s relevant): In Southern California, many of the Green Mojave Rattlesnakes (the most venomous snake in North America) don’t rattle. People killed the noisy ones and the quiet mutants survived and bred.

I think the same thing has happened to the (impossibly small) mosquitoes. Saturday evening, I had a mosquito bite on my shoulder. “Ha!” I thought to myself. “That’s my 7th mosquito bite in 7 years in Los Angeles. Silly city with no mosquitoes. I’m sure gonna miss that.”

Sunday morning when I woke up, I had seven mosquito bites. Evil, angry, extra-itchy mosquito bites. By 10 AM, I had four more bites, including one on the bottom of my big toe. In one 12-hour period, I nearly doubled the number of mosquito-bite received in LA. In addition to the itchiness, I felt yucky all day. Of course, that meant that I had contracted West Nile and was going to die.

That afternoon, after receiving his first (and only!) mosquito bite, the architect killed a mosquito. I haven’t gotten another bite since. And, I haven’t died yet – so that’s a bonus.

So – that was my exciting mosquito saga. Fascinating stuff, I know.

In other news, 21 days until we’re out of here. I have packed up all the books, magazines & tchotchkes. Next weekend is my exciting bachelorette party. I understand there will be naked men and debauchery, but thankfully, the men will all be on a stage and far, far away from me. I’ve had enough stripper experiences to last for the rest of my life. (Enough stripper experiences = 1. My 25th birthday. Las Vegas. Yes, there are pictures. No, you cannot see them. That’s all you ever need to know.)

Only 14 ½ days of work left. Or, approximately eleventy billion hours. I am looking forward to the end of the daily madness, but have agreed to stay on as a consultant, so obviously I am secretly a masochist. The project that I have been working on like a mad woman for the past two weeks is nearly finished. And, as a reward for all my hard work and brilliance (seriously, this paper is a work of genius), my boss bought me two martinis last night.

I apologize for my neglect of all my faithful readers last week, but hopefully, it will get better from here on out.

Also, I want to thank my dear friend in Chicago for the lovely voicemail his son left me yesterday. Nothing says love like “Amazing Grace” played on the recorder by a nine-year-old.

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