We look silly because we ARE apparently

Today I woke up in the living room.

To be fair, I was supposed to.

With our couches gone (mercifully without sweat stains as feared), our living room was nice and big and open and the coolest room in the house (no small thing in August in the desert) and completely empty.

When I say completely, I mean that there was a sorry pile of library books sitting in the corner and an old Chipotle receipt from October 2009 that came out of the couch cushions and fell on the floor and that was it. And let me repeat, this is the coolest room in the house.

So we did what any moderately creative being would do - we moved our bed into the living room.  The Mister even brought in the nightstands. Then we went on a manic light hunt, looking for any rogue sources of brilliance that would wake us up too early with beaming rays of cheerfulness.  We brilliantly pinned up blankets over the windows to make faux black-out curtains and got it all set up and then we were out (like the lights).

Twenty minutes later, the air conditioner kicked on.  And it sounded like we were suddenly in the middle of an airplane hanger, with a fighter pilot who was trying to revv up the engine for kicks because he wasn't loved enough as a child and wants to prove something to his buddies. Twenty minutes after that, it suddenly kicked off, and the noise ceased instantly like a guillotine had taken it on.

All night, you guys. All night.

Airplane hanger. Guillotine. Airplane hanger.  Guillotine.

I think they have a phrase for this.

I think it's "you can't win for losing".