I have every mile driven, every minute of every dog walked every penny made written down, I just had to go over it month by month and add all of the mileage together in three different categories–driving from home to the first job of the day, driving between jobs, and driving from the last job to home. I don’t know if I can use the first and last mileages, so they have to be completely separate from the job to job miles, which are definitely deductible.

I did July, August and September and part of October but now I have had it. I also have to do the couple of weeks of work I did in January. And don’t even talk to me about finding all of my gas receipts. I don’t even want to think about that.

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Clearly, Alberson’s is expecting everyone to have Super Bowl parties, because the shrimp cocktail platters were on a really good sale, so Mom and I had all the shrimp cocktail in the world for dinner. No actual Super Bowl necessary!

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However! I found the absolutely last gasp pair of underwear, which would fit a Barbie doll comfortably, so I wrenched myself into those. If they had budgie smugglers for girls, they would be it.

Tomorrow morning, the laundry will occur, because the cupboard is bare. We have gone beyond the bottom of the barrel. Why does everything sound like a double-entendre?

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Put on my Very Last Pair of underwear, which means out of the house early tomorrow to do the laundry. This is why one has one million pairs of underwear, because going to the laundromat is such a pain. I miss having a washer/dryer at the house.

Tonight, saw Midnight in Paris and The Muppets at the Academy, because they are screening everything nominated, so it’s time to catch up with everything, and see the good ones again.

It’s 1a, I don’t know if I’ll be able to get up early enough to do said laundry.

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So today we FINALLY finished my Earned Income Tax Credit, though I had to come home in the middle of my work day to finish the last few things. This is my Earned Income Tax Credit for 2010, they are dragging their feet because it is from the state of New Jersey and since I put a California return address on my tax return, that meant that they wanted proof, PROOF! that I lived in New Jersey in the tax year of 2010. I sent them every goddamn thing they wanted, and several months later they requested a whole bunch more things. I think they are trying to make me give up, but I won’t give up!

And the punchline? It’s $72. I wanted to scrawl on the bottom of the letter I sent them with the gigantic sheaf of papers, “JUST GIVE ME MY FUCKING $72, NEW JERSEY!” but that might not speed it up very much.

Next they will ask for a pint of my blood, notarized proof that it is my blood, that the blood lived in New Jersey during the tax year of 2010, and copies of everything I already sent them, because it was all illegible.

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But Kymm, I hear you cry, didn’t you blow a tire less than a month ago? I sure did! And the two back tires are brand new, thank you very much, but the front two, especially the front right, had some serious wear, and it was that front tire that popped like a pinata beaten by a hopped-up eight-year-old with a stick at a birthday party. No candy, unfortunately.

Mom and I were going to go to church, then to see the Belgian film that is nominated for an Oscar, but instead Blake and I waited by the side of the road for the AAA guy to come. All in all, it was a much better blowout than the last one, which was on a workday and on the freeway, and scary when I lost control of the car momentarily. This was on an empty road on a Sunday, the only thing I really had to do all day was the SAG awards, hours away, and the tire didn’t blow unexpectedly, creating a swerve, but popped in a hole, and thus stayed right where it was.

So the guy came, put the stupid donut tire back on, and I drove home, trying to stay under 50. I went inside, quickly changed my clothes (I’ve got to start leaving some clothes at Blake’s place–I have my own personal room there, I might as well leave some of my own personal things) and got to mass half an hour late. But I got there in time for communion, so it counts!

Mom and I decided not to go to the Belgian movie, because it will play three more times at the Academy screenings for the Oscars, and instead go to Costco to get the tires replaced. Of course, last time they had to order them and it took a week, so I wasn’t looking forward to driving on the donut for another week. However, I didn’t have to, not because they needed to order the tire, but that they just plain weren’t going to order the tires, as they are currently punishing Bridgestone/Firestone. They didn’t have comparable tires either, so we had to go to Bridgestone/Firestone, but they didn’t have them, so we had to go to the Bridgestone/Firestone in Glendale, where they did have them.

We had lunch at the Americana, which is Glendale’s version of the Grove, an excellent outdoor mall, then drove home on four new tires (hooray!) in time to get ready for the SAG awards. No, we weren’t going to the formal affair, we were going to the watching party at SAG, and we had to get there by 4.45p. We did, and the SAG Awards recap is here.

And that’s the story of my Sunday!

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So then there came a wacky screwball comedy of us driving like the wind back to his house to get his flip camera, then to Santa Monica to the show, because if he didn’t get this footage, he would have no idea how to write the camera script for next week! We made it and watched it, and it was pretty good! IT wasn’t a puppet show for kids, it was a show about homeless people and used several different kinds of puppetry, very imaginative.

When we got out, we found that my car was locked in the school parking lot where we had parked. There was no room in the theatre lot and there were a million cars in the school lot, it didn’t seem too crazy at the time! Except when, only an hours and fifteen minutes later, that lot was empty as could be and locked up tight. With my little Saturn sitting, sadly, alone.

Fortunately there was a sign on the gate that said, “If you’re dumb enough to get locked in this lot, call this number!” Not in those exact words, but that was the subtext. So, disaster avoided a second time.

We stopped at Judy’s to say hi, though I was practically falling asleep on her sofa, then all went back to Blake’s to eat orange chicken and watch the first episode of series two of Sherlock again. I know that I need to move on to episodes two and three soon enough, but for now I’m perfectly happy with watching episode one a few more times. I don’t want to move on too swiftly.

So for someone who literally sees no-one but my mother and dogs in a normal week, it has been a very social few days!

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They were two chihuahua mixes, Teddy and Dakota. Teddy was the one who bites, and Dakota was the one who is very scared, but really loves treats and therefor will come up to you as long as there is a treat involved. All I had to do was let them outside to the porch so they could pee on the grass patch, and Dakota was thrilled to run outside as soon as I got there, but she wasn’t even remotely interested in peeing.

Teddy, however, was really only interested in sitting on the bed and snarling. Seriously, lip curled, front teeth bared, shaking like a leaf. I knew that they are afraid of men, and I am big, so I made myself small, sitting on the floor and on the edge of the bed. The owner had soft treats, so I was able to tear them into teensy pieces. Seriously, I could make a single treat last fifteen minutes but tearing them into individual molecules.

I went outside with Dakota twice, after letting her out on her own, and Teddy wanted to come outside the first time, but wouldn’t go through the door, and I scared him by tossing a treat. Then I sat on the bed with him and gave him bits of treats and bits of treats, and lured him closer and closer, until he started taking them out of my fingers.

I went outside again and sat on the ground far away from the door, and they both came out and it was treat treat treat, and I started holding the treats farther and farther to the left, and then Teddy was taking them out of my fingers while standing on my lap. It was a miracle. He was shaking the whole time, but he was right there with me, licking my fingers. This is the dog that my boss has never gotten near, he has only snapped at him, and his regular walker spent the first week unable to get him out from under the bed.

It took almost an hour and a half, and after all that, neither of them peed. But I felt like Annie Sullivan in The Miracle Worker, “She folded her napkin. The room’s a wreck, but her napkin’s folded.”

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I don’t know if there is such a thing as a poinsettia tree, but if there is, this is one.