Oh Frabjous Day, Calloo, Callay

Millie and Medea are settling in here at the house. Although we ruined that today when we took them to the vet this afternoon. Poor little Miliie kitty has a respiratory infection. She has this nasty cough that sounds like Gollum shrank to two pounds and grew black fur. Her eyes and nose are full of gunk and she's having trouble breathing, so she doesn't want to eat much. My fabulous friend the fabulous vet, Michelle, is now our vet, and she took care of us tonight. There are liquids to drop in the mouth and ointment for the eyes. Yummy. Millie got subcu fluids to bring down her fever, and shots, and more fun than a little 12 week old can stand. She was kind of upset. She's such a little bit, but she made her feelings known. Got her to eat some wet food when we got home, after the medicine, and she ironically enough loves the giant adult kibble we're giving Medea. Oh well, as long as she eats something, right? We'll worry about proper nutrition later.

Medea is in perfect health, but we expect her to catch the cold imminently. Yay. So we'll try to get them both healthy and happy soon. Luckily PAWS supplied us with a bunch of coupons so we weren't out as much as we might have been. Millie goes back to the vet next week to see how she's progressing, and Medea goes back later in July for another shot, or something. Booster? See what a bad mom I am, I've already forgotten. I'll have to go look it up.

Millie follows Medea around piteously, and when Medea isn't irritated with her ("Go 'way kid, you're botherin' me.") she grooms her vigorously from head to toe and pushes her around. Medea can't stand it when I take Millie into the bathroom to feed her by herself. I think Medea wants the food, but she also comes to find Millie if Millie is crying too much, which I think is sweet. If Medea's doing something interesting, or wants the food she's eating though, Millie will stop eating to watch her. Which is why we're trying to feed her by herself.

So far Millie is still pretty shy and tense, but I think some of it is that she just doesn't feel good. Medea is very social and loving, and I expect her to become a lap cat as soon as she trusts us a little more. She's already interested in spending time with us, and both are sleeping on the bed with us. (I'm so worried I'll kick little bit, I've been sleeping kind of tensed up. Also that awful coughing sound wakes me up. I'm tired and out of it, and work has been, um, interesting. Yay for not going off soda yet.) Medea is definitely living up to her description as a "Personal Assistant" cat. She meows at you to let you know you're doing it wrong, and has to follow you and see if maybe you might need her help. Also, could you maybe see if that window would open and let her look out of it? Just stand here and let her use you as a shelf, thanks. Yeah, she's not shy.

Poor little bit should hopefully be feeling better by next week. I can't get this thing to post up pictures, so you'll have to go to my flickr. http://www.flickr.com/photos/10217945@N03/

Look at Kitties 09 for photos. I'll prolly add more later. This post is blathery and blithery but I'm too tired to edit. Hope y'all can deal.

Today is not a good day for science. Which is unfortunate, because we were totally going for science here at work, and it's ended up being a day for GAH! Why is this not working?!?!! And people working all weekend long and pulling all-nighters and still the computer systems are refusing to talk to one another and make nice and we can't start the science part of all this science. I did not have to work all weekend, because of not being capable of making computers make nice with one another. But all my science-y applications for today rather rely on that. So: not a good day for science.

Unless you count virtual servers refusing to run and tablet computers that work with special pens having security problems and surveys of massive proportions and components just ... not being where you put them last as science. Which it is. But it's not the science we were trying for. The science we were trying for was supposed to run smoothly and happily and tra-la-la and butterflies. Meh. I am not a tech person. If it does not go when I push the button that says "This Will Make It Go" then I have to be like those weird little people from ST:TNG and find someone to make things that Make It Go. Because I am Smrt. And tired. And hoping that tomorrow is more with the tra-la-la and butterflies sort, or the nurses are just going to shake their heads and give up and not do any of this stuff because who wants to bother with crap that doesn't work, anyway?

I can't really blame them.

Tomorrow evening there will be kitties. I just have to get through these work days and hope for the best, really.

I just returned home from PAWS Cat City in Greenwood. We are set to pick up two cats on Tuesday, pending landlord approval. (The landlords already said they were OK with hypothetical pets, but we have to make sure first.) Medea, a 2 year old black female who likes kittens and has a lot of personality; and Lilly, to be renamed Millie (short for Maleficent), a shy, 2 month old black kitten who likes Medea and likes to play, but is a little uncertain around people so far. Medea has a paler undercoat and green eyes and is friendly and outgoing, but is a bit of a queen kitty. Millie looks a lot like her, but much smaller. We'll get pictures when we get them home on Tuesday. It's Tuesday because we weren't ready to bring them home today, and they're closed tomorrow.

Scott left from PAWS to go to a ball game, and I stopped at Petco on the way home and got a few things I don't have anymore. Such as cardboard scratchers, a few toys that don't smell like Abby or Reggie, and a Pedipaws, which seems like it might be a lot easier on cats and humans as far as nail trimming goes. Oh, and a Furminator, which is the best grooming comb I've ever tried, but I left it with Mingus last year so I needed a new one. And anti-dander shampoo, and wipes, and,  um, yeah. TOmorrow we'll have to take the refillable litter things in, and also buy a new litter pan, once we figure out where it's going to go. Now this afternoon I'm going to have to catify the house some. Luckily, I had planned to organize some things anyway, just now the focus has shifted. I need to look at the closets (since they don't have doors) and be sure that all dresses and things that hang down are properly stored so as not to tempt kitten claws into destruction.  Also vacuum the heck out of both of Abby's cat trees and figure out where those will go. I'm excited to bring home new babies, and a little sad thinking about my past ones.

I've never had a kitten before. This should be interesting. At least we know that Medea and Millie already get along, and are comfortable together, so that's one less stressor on them. And since Scott will be working from home some next week, I think we'll be all right with them getting used to the place. Oh yeah, and we'd better fix that hole in the back screen door tomorrow. Yipes! Almost forgot about that. Here I go a-catifying!

Nightmares off and on all night. Part of it involved a BBQ get-together and a lot of people I knew in high school showed up, which was less a nightmare and more strange. The fact that in the dream I was in terrific shape might have helped. Perhaps it was the fact that they all looked the way they did in high school, so I did too? Nothing like the 18 year old body to make you feel good.  Anyway, somehow mixed in there was the ocean, flooding and drowning and whaling ships killing beautiful beings I loved. And music, and standing on the tops of roofs, mourning, watching the sun set crimson over a blood red sea. My thoughts as I woke up: "I feel like Shrodinger's wife."

I know exactly where that last bit came from.

I totally copied this pic from cuteoverload. Because while I may be flying with the turkeys buzzards, at least I'm riding in style.



Dude, that is one happy crow.

I have very red toenails now. I decided I needed to repaint my toes, because of dance class damage to the previous (very blue) paint job, and it's sandal weather, and I wanted nice toes for the weekend, and I decided I wanted to do it now. Yes, after midnight. What?

Of course, I wanted to use a color that exploded a few months ago. Just by the way, never leave bottles of nail polish for days on end in your car. You'd think I would know that tidbit of information, but if I did, I ignored it, and it was very cold at the time, and one of the several bottles of nail polish decided that it didn't like the cold, and gave notice. Which I didn't notice right away, and since it was in a bag... it could have been worse, of course. So you're welcome, I took that bullet for you. Now you know, too. Although I find it apropos that the one color that did explode is named "Possession." Perhaps it preferred heat. Hmmm.

In the bottle it looks like a dark brick or black cranberry. On the outside of the bottle it looks like that, too. I wanted to try and reclaim it from the splodey mess, which is also a ridiculous idea at this hour, and here I am just by the way blogging about it and I have to get up and drive tomorrow, so you can see where my headspace is right now anyway. But it worked, I reclaimed it, never mind the gooped on stuff still on the outside, I was able to open the dang bottle. The color it looks on my toenails is somewhere in the region of what I imagine raspberry blood would look like, if raspberries could bleed. Mmmm, raspberry blood. With a coat of clear shiny sparkles over it, my toes look slightly, albeit dementedly, sinful. And possibly the sexiest color I've ever done. As a rule I've avoided reds because I think they get too orangey and I'm not fond of that. But delicious raspberry blood Possession is flirty and fun and I think I'll try and clean that bottle off some more. I'm glad at least half of it is left.

Now I think the toes might be almost dry enough for me to go to bed, so I'll stop posting silliness about all this and try and wash the smell of polish remover off of my hands and maybe get some sleep.

It was announced this week that bhagwanx  and I (among several others) have won the cake wrecking contest thrown (as it were) by lisamantchev  . She ran the contest as a promo to her forthcoming book "Eyes Like Stars" which is, um, forthcoming. In July. Hooray!

We entered with this photo-story (which you can read here, click on first picture to begin, but I think you have to be on facebook, sorry) - fairy cakes made (and some eaten) by me. bhagwanx stars as the ogre. I am a fairy with a boy fairy's name, but not a boy fairy, mostly because I think the name Mustardseed is funny.

The other entries are pretty funny, too. I enjoyed them. And I enjoyed the title and story that Scott wrote. In fact, I like it so much, I was thinking we should do sequels. Or at least sequel titles with poster images.

Cakeapocalypse II - The Revenge of the Cake (Me throwing a cake at Scott's head.)
Cakeapocalypse III - The Cakening (Little evil cakes everywhere, with googly eyeballs)
-Alternatively - Cakeapocalypse III - The Cakinator (Destroyed cakes, frosting everywhere, and glowing, red eyes over a frosting-filled mouth!)
Cakeapocalypse IV - Cakeheads (Scott with a cake for a head. Mmmm, cake for a head)
Cakeapocalypse V - Caketasm! (I, I think I have overloaded on teh cak)

I think there might be a series here. And cake. Lots and lots of cake. A friend of mine recently said "Official Cake Taster is a title I would like to have." I agree. And I think I might need to bake something now....

Memorial Weekend is upon us. I will be missing Baycon in San Jose this year, which will be my second year missing it due to money. (Earlier missed Baycons were entirely because I hadn't started going to cons yet.) I enjoy SF conventions in general, but Baycon is where I get to see a lot of folks who don't always come up here for the PNW cons, and plus it's usually warm and sunny, which we don't always get here. And there's usually good dancing. I'm fond of the dancing. And the talking to people, and then dancing again. I'm sad to be missing it this year, but I just can't afford it. I usually stay with my good friend shaolingrrl , and we have a blast. And I really, really wish I could go. Sadness.

Another Memorial weekend tradition that I can't do anymore is the Kinetic Sculpture Race in Humboldt County. It's a lot of fun, and I used to go watch the starting parade and art festival and laugh and eat things and get a huge kick out of all the fun sculptures. A racing dragon that rolls, floats, and breathes fire!? That is flipping awesome! Plus lilac everything and rhododendron everything else, and bread and popsicles and hippie fair clothes. What more could you want? I miss Arcata sometimes, I really do. The late summer hippie fair with the blackberry popsicles (pretty much just pressed, frozen blackberries, OMG NOM!) comes to mind as another thing I miss. Oh, and the ocean. But Memorial weekend was a grand blast full of the odd and un-ordinary and random, which always makes me happy.

When I first moved to Seattle, Memorial Day meant going to Folklife Festival, a big music and arts festival, giant hippie fair that reminded me of Humboldt, and so I liked it. I find it's too crowded and exhausting to go to every year now, and plus I've been out of town going to Baycon a lot for the weekend, so I've stopped going. But it was a nice tradition while it lasted.

When I was younger, Memorial Day was pretty much just a good day off from school at the end of the year. Often there were concerts I was in, performances to get ready for. End of the year things for school and choir. Sometimes I even studied. Dad usually had a gig or two. We might barbeque that evening if any of us were home. But we didn't have a tradition, or anything we did special beyond hey look, an extra day, let's cram everything we can into it because it's almost the end of the school year. The performances were special because I was a part of something fun and joyful, and so I guess that counts, even if it wasn't necessarily because of Memorial Day in particular.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this, other than to say I like to have a little something special to do for this spring holiday. I have never lost immediate family, but I do have a few friends of friends and family who have been killed in duty, so I think about them a little, and celebrate life and springtime and the nearness of summer. It's a little like a ritual for accepting the weird and spectacular and fun into my life, with celebration and laughter. This year I'm going to jens_fire  's baby shower and meat-a-thon (there will be barbequeing for the men) and celebrating two new lives on their way, and I think that's spectacular. And I think it will do.

PS - Although I don't think Ken and Jen ought to make a ritual of expecting twins. That might be a bit much. Ahem.

Appropos of nothing in particular, I thought I'd send y'all to watch this little heartwarming video from the BBC. Plus, I find it out-of-proportion hilarious that this happened in Spokane, but I found it on the BBC news website.

Man Saves Ducklings! Hooray!

Enjoy for a little dose of daily fuzzy.

Neil Gaiman has something really brilliant and insightful to say about how we as consumers tend to feel like we have the right to tell writers/artists how they should work. Go read his blog post here (it's the second part, in response to a letter).

As a writer, I know I do not write well enough or fast enough for myself, for my own expectations. I have to fight my inner demons to be able to write anything at all lately, because I have trouble finding the voice, or if I find the voice I can't find the story, or if I think I know what the story is the characters fall flat and refuse to move. I hope to be able to move past this (and soon), but I can only imagine how much harder it would be, and how much more guilt-ridden and sullenly angry I would be, if I had strangers nagging me that I wasn't Doing It Right, or Fast Enough. Everyone's entitled to their opinions, of course. But I don't think everyone's entitled to force those opinions on others. You might not think Author X is Doing It Right, but perhaps you haven't realized that what they're doing is the Best They Can. It might not live up to standards, but it's what they're capable of right now. It's not always enough for the author maybe, either, and maybe they do need a kick in the butt. But I hardly think that's the purview of complete strangers to them, even if we all feel so much closer than strangers because we read blogs or follow twitterers or stalk them. Especially don't stalk them. In case no one has mentioned it, Stalking Is Bad.

As a consumer of fiction in its various guises, I have felt frustration that I have to wait to find out the rest of the story. In fact, I'm currently waiting for several authors' books to come out, and a couple are as far away as 2011! Gah! And I know that I've avoided starting hugely long series because, hey, there's 17 books in that series. That's a commitment to that fictional world I'm not sure I'm ready for. And then, what if I get to the 17th book, and the 18th isn't out yet, and then I will have to Wait For It. I mean, whoa, tragedy. But if it's an author I find I really like, then when the book I've been waiting for does come out, I'm so happy and I skip around in joy. And then I devour the book, and I'm glad I waited, because the author that I like wrote a book and I got to read it. And if they never write a sequel to something, well, honestly, there is so much more fiction out there to discover, that while I'm disappointed I won't get that author's take on that situation with those characters, I can probably find something else I enjoy just as much. And hey, there's always *writing* the story I want to read. [Although see corollary above re: my trouble with writing at all lately.] I don't co-opt other writer's characters and stories, but I know that I can and do co-opt the feel of the story I want. I want this story to feel like a dark fairy tale. I want this story to feel like a secret history you forgot but has been tickling your brain this whole time. I want this story to feel like with every breath you're flying, but you're flying because a giant hook has pulled you up from under your ribcage and is pulling you along through the air 1000 feet up. Impaled by dragons is good.

So I guess what I'm meandering about is that I agree with Mr. Gaiman, pretty much. Writers aren't anyone's bitches but their own, or at least they shouldn't have to be. My experience being a writer is that I'm pretty awful to myself when I'm disappointed with my writing. And I'm perfectly well aware that if I want to sell my novels and have a wider audience, that I need to get the writing done and do it well enough that other people are likely to want to read it. I'm pretty sure complete strangers complaining to me about me would Not Help.

In fabulous random good news, my (extremely late and HR demanded) 90 day review happened today. Apparently I exceed expectations in every way. I R AWESOME! Go Go Gadget Me! Have I mentioned lately that I really like this job? Because I do. Even though it has been quite difficult for me to drag my lazy ass into an office on a regular basis, this place is pretty darn cool. And my boss seems to not care that my dragging-in time varies from 8 to 930 during the week, depending on how often I hit teh snooze button (and sleep through the hitting of the snooze button. You know you're in trouble when you can turn off your alarm in your sleep).

But my 90 (or 150, whichever) day review says boss-lady thinks I do my work well and efficiently and I'm a team player and all kinds of stuff that means she's glad she hired me and she wants to keep me employed. Hooray!

Off to eat celebratory lunch soon. I was going to be good and have a frozen dinner, but forget that! I'm totally going to splurge on, um, maybe a burrito. And a coke! That's right, B*!&%es! I'm gonna have sugar made from corn! No one can stop me. Muahahahahahahaha!

Ahem. Blood sugar in general is probably a good idea.

PS Also going to see Indigo Girls Tonight! Because Dr. Gengler is awesome and loves me and got me tickets (which I totally have to pay her for)! Jumping Up and Down!!!

I found out on Monday that my high school music teacher died. He was 75. Mr. Brunelle, teacher at Davis Senior High School in Davis, CA for 30+ years. He retired in '93 I think. We who were his students called him "Uncle Dickie," and loved him and pestered him and took him for granted as we all do when we're young. And sometimes when we're older, too. He taught Concert Choir, Jazz Choir, Madrigals, Orchestra, String Orchestra, and AP Music History and Theory. He may have taught other things as well, but that's what I remember off the top of my head. He started most of those programs in the 60s when he began teaching in Davis. I was a member of both Concert Choir and Jazz Choir (JC 88-89, 89-90). I also took Music History and Theory, although I was rather an indifferent student at the theory part. (A particular despair of my parents, I might add.) I sang and danced my way through high school largely because Brunelle made it possible, and not only because that's the kind of person I am.

There's a facebook page set up as a memorial. Names I haven't heard since high school, many more people who were his students both before and after me - so many people chiming in to say how Mr. Brunelle changed our lives and made us better people. And I think he did that for me too, in a lot of ways. He was a great teacher. He wasn't my entrance to music, and I didn't get my love of music from him. I have my family - my father, also a music teacher - to thank for that. I just had fun and thought he was having fun too, and enjoyed having a teacher who enjoyed teaching. It's a rare teacher who can reach out to his or her students and share their particular brand of joy to the point where all the students feel it, too.

I think that's something my dad does as well: imbues his days with enthusiasm. It's a hard thing to come by, and it's precious, and we recognize it in others and cherish it, even if we don't think we do. So I thank Mr. Brunelle for that, and my dad, too. Uncle Dickie's death makes me think of my parents, of my dad, and feel that anxious panic that borrowing trouble brings. But knowing that out there, there are all these people that my dad touched with his knowledge and his caring and his enthusiasm, and feeling the love pour out of the universe for Mr. Brunelle and reading touching words by so many of his former students, it eases that panic, and makes me feel proud and happy to have known and been taught by each man. I love my dad more, of course, and as a dad more than a teacher. But Mr. Brunelle will always have a special place in my heart. My love and thoughts are with his family as they say goodbye to someone so very important and wonderful in their lives.

Because ow. The show, she is done. We have danced, we have conquered, we have torn our feet to shreds and our knees as well, we have been naked in drafty backstage areas whilst frantically changing costumes, in front of small children and the occasional surprised parent. We jumped, we boogied, we kicked ass, and we lay about in between moaning. A Lot. Jerusha took pictures of me in my modern outfit, for which I wore pigtails, and with any luck I'll get those sometime this week and put them up for y'all to look at. I don't think anyone took a picture of me in my jazz outfit, so you'll just have to wait until official pictures come out and I'll see if there are any of me in there. But apparently I looked "adorable" in the pigtails. I did indeed look a lot like pictures of me from when I was nine. Miki said I should wear those to work sometimes. I think I have enough trouble with people taking me seriously in general. I don't need to make it worse. But the pigtails worked for the dance, which was cute and silly, with a *lot* of running. So much running. And jumping. And running some more.

And now, a tally.
-Dances danced - two per show, so eight in two days. Plus rehearsals, though, so more like, um, twelve or fourteen in 5 days.... I'm so glad I was only in two numbers this year.

-Injuries acquired: bruises on tops of both feet, both knees (mutiple), my right thigh from lifting Elise (I think from her shoulder, but maybe her grip), my left upper arm from pushing Arlene while she pushed off of me, plus strained that muscle from that lift, random bruise on my hip, probably from a roll but who knows. Floor burns on both feet and ankles, but none on my knees this time, yay for tights and long pants! Stubbed and bloody toenail on left foot and I'm not sure when that happened, tear between toes on left foot. General all over aches and soreness and fatigue. My ankles and hips may never forgive me. But all in all, pretty small potatoes. Except for big overall OW.

-Times I fell (not on purpose) - zero. Hurray!

-Times I F-ed up - Um, not going to count those. They were mostly small bobbles, and I'm not in the Olympics, so no one's counting them. Right? RIGHT?

-Times I Nailed It - a bunch, so F*(K Yeah!

-Times I said "OW" out loud - so, so many times. I was not alone in this. Kristen called us all babies. But even she had to admit that her dances are hard. So nyah. Jill just laughed at us. She is cruel and hard-hearted. :p

-Fun had - too much to tally.

So a success, really. The show went well in general, and was fun, and funny, and uplifting, and I'm lucky to be able to dance with such great people who give as much as they do. Tomorrow This morning (why am I still up?) I'm sleeping in. Until noon. Just try and stop me. I'll be the one snoring and drooling. So there. G'night all. Happy Boogie.

Or at least until Tech rehearsal is over and I can go home. At which point I'll probably be saying "Oowwwwwww," and whimpering. And I have Dress and then four shows to get through! Hurray!

I don't want to give the wrong impression. I really do love the dances I'm in, and I like to perform from time to time (as long as I don't have to solo). But my body is never as prepared as I'd like, and there's that nagging little fact that I'm not 18 anymore. Stupid non-immortal body. What's up with that?

( A bit of a run-through of what my weekend will be like )

So that'll be my weekend.  In other news, Scott and I are completely moved now, goodbye Queen Anne and U District, hello chickens! (And Shoreline) Due to the insanity of the last couple months and the general thinness of our wallets, we shan't plan a housewarming until June at the earliest, but we're totally having one once we can. The porch and backyard just *beg* for a big barbecue gathering. And in other, MORE fantabulous news that makes me happy, one of my very best friends got whisked away last weekend on a surprise trip to PARIS where her boyfriend PROPOSED - proposed in the Rodin sculpture garden surrounded by blooming lilacs and singing birds and ringing bells - it's all so romantic I could just scream. In fact, when I found out, I totally did, to the point where Scott thought there was a spider and came running to find out what was wrong. When I said she was getting married, he said "Well, duh, we knew that was going to happen!" I don't think that's quite in the spirit, do you? But Many Happy Returns to a wonderful couple, soon (date to be determined) they will be conjugally matrimonified, and I couldn't be happier for the both of them.

Happy May Day tomorrow, happy spring, and happy dancing. If you haven't checked it out yet, go look at eXit SPACE's web page, buy tickets at brownpapertickets.com, and support local dancers. We appreciate it!

Pedestrian rage: I was out on a pleasant walk for lunch just now, in the pretty spring sunshine, thinking happy thoughts and listening to chirping birds (and traffic, but whatever), and just generally having a nice, relaxing break. I cross a street at a light where the happy green/white walking person is cheerfully lit for me, although the blinking hand of watch-it starts up as I'm halfway across. A minivan trying to turn to its right in front of me has the audacity to honk, because I apparently don't have any rights to cross the street as a pedestrian in front of this person. Which ruined my happy mood. As those of you who know me and have seen me walk know, I walk at a brisk pace as a general rule, so it's not as though I was ambling aimlessly or practicing any dance routines in the middle of the road. My hand went up, and I said, "it's walk for me," although I doubt they were even really looking at me anymore. But what would have served me better is a bullhorn to shout "What are you, six? Wait Your Turn!" Some people are so dang rude. It's silly. It took me exactly the same number of seconds to finish walking taking my right of way after they honked that it would have without their honking, and if they'd refrained from honking (doo-dah, doo-dah) then I'd have continued to feel pleasant and cheerful, and not like tracking them down and reading them a lecture on basic civility.

Meh. Now to shake this off and continue with my heretofore relatively pleasant day.

Stupid minivan driver.

Nightmares last night. Only one stands out really clearly. I had it early on in the night, and woke up thinking: really? I need sleep desperately and you send me this? Because now I'm upset and awake. Not helpful, subconscious!

( Nightmares: Now With Extra Guilt! )

Those days were filled with fun peeps doing fun things and staying up waaaaaaaayyy too late. For which I am paying. I was already on the cusp of a cold, I think. I thought it might be allergies, as it would fade by afternoon and flare up again at night. But now I'm teetering over the edge. I overdid, I'm afraid. bhagwanx  overdid, too, and we both spent a significant portion of yesterday in a stupor. Unpacking? Why can't we just live out of boxes forever?

But Norwescon was fun! Although I was ghosting and mostly hanging in the bar and restaurant and at parties where people knew me (except for when I totally snuck into the dance! Twice! YAY for teh boogie!) I got to see many people I adore and spend not nearly enough time with. Wait ... that's...worded weird. You know what I mean. I'm too tired to figure out how to fix that. And I met new fun people and wore a new dress that I should not have bought but apparently everyone likes the look of, so it appears I'm keeping it. I guess I should take the tags out. :) Think I'll wear it to work tomorrow. With a jacket over, of course. And a cami, because some of the comments made me aware that the decolletage might have been a tad lower than I originally thought. Ahem.

I will try to organize my thoughts into some sort of semi-coherent vague report-like-thing very soon. Tonight I have to be a responsible adult and live up to some adult obligations (some of which include dancing, but that's the fun part of being an adult. The rest of the stuff I have to do tonight is NO FUN AT ALL. Meh.) and then collapse into bed and hope that I sleep well enough that tomorrow isn't made of flail.

Unnngh. Work now.