Ah. Facebook. A curse and a blessing.

The events of last night are as follows:

• My apartment manager calls me to tell me they were unable to fix my thermostat, and in fact, they’ve now realized that my heat is, in fact, out.
• I post the following Facebook status: Stephanie is going to be without heat in her apartment tonight. At least they called to tell her. Good times.
• I attend an after-work meeting during which I receive two calls from someone at from parents’ number.
• At 7:30, following the meeting, I return the call.
• They have both read my status (yes, both of my parents are on Facebook) and want me to come over, bless them. 
• When I tell them I’m fine and I’m going to the boyfriend’s, this does not set well. (Mind you, I’m 31 years-old!)
• No, you don’t need to do that, they tell me.  Come over here where you have a warm bed. (90% of the time they put me on speaker phone. This was no exception.)
• But, you don’t want Gertie at your house over night.
• Gertie is fine, my dad says. (Apparently my mom has walked away from the phone.)
• Well, regardless. I’m going to the boyfriend’s house.
• He doesn’t live in a safe neighborhood, my dad tells me.
• Enter into whinyvoice circa 1990 when I’d ask for something such as a ride to the mall: “Daaaaaad, it’s fine. I’m there all the time.”
• Dad enters into denial mode. He clearly didn’t hear the part where his 31-year-old daughter confesses to staying with her boyfriend on a regular basis. He’s fixated on the safety of the neighborhood.
• Where does he live, he asks.
• I tell him.
• Well that is absolutely not a safe neighborhood.
• I remind him that the boyfriend has two roommates, one of which is a bouncer at a punk rock bar in Westport.
• My dad is still in denial about me staying there and we change the subject to the Muppets.

I’m still her:

Photo courtesy of my dad’s Facebook account in which he has taken up converting old slides into photos and posting them for the world, or at least his Facebook universe to view.