Holy Shit

Today all the birds woke up chirping and everyone seems happy and elated to be alive including my mom's neighbor whom I know poisoned one of our cats last year because her soul is rotten but it's okay because she goes to church every Sunday.

It's good Friday and like the stellar Catholic that I am (even that made me laugh) I'm here to make a confession.

Annah isn't my real name.

I know. You're more than disappointed in me but let me explain. When I first started blogging my mother, father, great grandmother, and ex-fiance were incredibly worried about my safety. I tried to explain to them that everyone has a blog these days but all I heard was You're going to have stalkers coming to your house and This is how people get murdered.

I'd be lying if I said this didn't sort of creep me out so I decided changing my name would be a smart idea. Then months later I realized it's all pointless because my picture is plastered all over this damn thing and whomever wants to find me will do so anyway.

People forgot my real name. I'll go to bars or be buying eggs and cheese on a random Thursday evening, when someone will stop me and be all "Annah, how are you? My God I love your blog!" And I ask myself, Who the heck is this Annah? And then my alter ego answers, That's you, you dumb fuck.

If it makes it any better "Annah" is actually part of my real name. So it could be Diannah or Annahlynne or Mariannah or Hannah or Tiannah. Actually, it is one of those, I just won't say which to please my parents and anyone else who cares if I live or die.

At any rate, I adore Annah and I'm keeping it so please don't stop calling me that because I've come to love it and if I ever become famous I will legally change it.

(Maybe).

Previously, I mentioned my parents were leaving to Cuba for a week and yesterday I woke up at four in the morning to take them to the airport. I promptly went back to my apartment at six that morning to walk my dogs and change to head on to work. After my shift I went back to my parents' house for a small nap and will you look at the small surprise I had on my pillow?!

Sidenote: My parents aren't going on vacation until their diamond anniversary which is a few decades from now. Even if they don't know that yet.

For Cubans, there's a superstition that if bird shit lands on your car you have something good coming your way in the form of money. If this is God's way of telling me something massively awesome is headed for Annah-land then I hear it loud and clear, buddy (now bring it).

This whole sitting of ten dogs, five cats, twelve ducks and one spoiled turtle named Genevieve has already been an adventure and only 24 hours have passed since my parents left. Then this morning I woke up to an email on my Blackberry with God's sign that something so fucking incredible was going to happen to me that the papers would have to write about it in bold shadowy letters: an email from Bank of America with the subject "Courtesy Balance Notification."

Well that's nice, Bank of America. So sweet of you to send me a notification shedding light on the fact my checking account only has 31 cents, I thought. But then I opened the email and almost had a coronary in my underwear right there on the kitchen floor:

Way to go, Jesus Christ (and to top it off, I can't even call Bank of America because they're closed today to question why all of the sudden, I am a negative millionaire).

I'm not really sure but I think this could possibly be one of the best Easter weekends in the history of mankind. No parents, 28 pets, greasy Chinese food, and a cool negative one mill in my checking account.

Fucking ninja, guys.