Monday, October 31, 2005

All hallows

Just got in from a Halloween party. Brilliant costume. Went as an attractive woman. No one recognized me.

Cure for boredom

Bored? Play the Google Game. Here's how it works: choose combinations of two words at random and type them in to the Google search field. The object is to find a combination of two words that yeilds EXACTLY ONE hit. Go on; it's harder than you think. Prize for the first one to do it.

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Hi, Five!

I just bought this. I had to have it. It's me.

This cartoon was drawn in 1934. I just purchased an original copy from ebay.

The caption reads "Number five recognizes a friend." I'm number five. It's me. I couldn't afford it, but had to have it. If you know me, you know y.

Friday, October 28, 2005


First there was Tom Delay, and now...

We got Scooter!!!

To all you assholian Republicans who impeached Slick Willy because he lied about his slick willy, I have this to say:


And by the way, when Bill lied about his zipper problems, no one got killed, submarined, or financially ruined. And don't ever come whining to me with your fucking Christian morals again, mother-fuckers.

That's schadenfreude. Oh, how sweet it is.

Flash of inspiration

Yesterday I was struck by lightening. No joke. There was this moment, right before it happened, when I knew it was about to happen and I knew I couldn't do anything to stop it. Sort of like falling on a train track and looking up and seeing a speeding locomotive 10 feet away and you think "well fuck." That's how it was. I felt all the hairs on my body stand up and a tingle and I heard a soft crackle, like an untuned radio. Then there was a deafening, almighty "crack." I think the noise alone would have been enough to render me unconsious. I felt every muscle in my body seize up, and the pain in my head and chest was indescribable. I thought my head would explode and my brains spray all over. Then I collapsed, and I remember all I could do was blink. I was desperate to keep blinking becase I wanted the people nearby who saw it to know that I was still alive. I was terrified that people would think I was dead and not get help, so I just kept blinking. My skin is all grey now, and the hair has been burned off the top of my head, so I look like I have a monk's tonsure. There are 3rd degree burns on the top of my scalp as well, so the folicles may be dead and the hair may not grow back.

Thank god it was all a dream. I'm still having a hard time believing that wasn't real. It was the most vivid dream I've ever conjured. Shit, if I'm going to have dreams that vivid, why can't they be about getting double-teamed by Liam Neeson and Lucy Lawless? I'm mean really, that's just not fair!

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Bristol banality

Four days a week I leave my flat in the small hours for an early workout. The city is still beneath a bored night sky which shows little interest in the dawn. Only one or two bright planets manage to wriggle through the sickly yellow street lamps. The streets and sidewalks are shiny from the rain that only stopped a little while ago, and will return shortly. The city is still, and yet there is life scuttling about like so many invertebrates whose rock has been upturned. A handful of pigeons bicker over a scrap of naan bread. The pile of sick that is the rest of the kebab is spread just meters away -- evidence of student activity. Lorries lumber up the steep streets to make their deliveries, and come barrelling down again moments later. It's a game with the drivers; who can get down Park Street the fastest? Grumpy shop-keepers and restaurant-owners have to be at work to meet the deliveries. A girl in a denim mini and slouchy boots pushes her messy blonge hair out of her face and hugs her corduroy jacket closer around her body. She is slinking home after a lager-induced love dance. She tells herself never again, it was a mistake, but I know I'll see her again on Saturday morning, maybe walking from the other direction this time. But where have all the tramps gone? In the bustling eveing you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a bum, knocking you up for spare change. Where are they now? They know the hiding places, the secret places. They watch the pigeons and lorries and sluts and me from the shadows, the voids left by the sulfurous municiple lighting where they snuggle up to the rubbish bins.

Monday, October 24, 2005

the Mad Linker strikes again

As my good buddy Oscar Wilde once said, "I can resist everything. Except temptation." Too right, Oscar, too right. Which is why I'm sitting here eating a pile of dark chocolate digestives (god, they're lovely) and caving in to the linking urge yet again. This may be the cheapest shot I've ever taken, but I just can't help it. I'm so sorry. So here you are:

This is an EX-PARROT!

*whew* There. I did it. I'm so sorry.

Annonymity repealed

I know that for the last few days i've become the Mad Linker, writing very little that's original and just pasting in links to entertain you lot, but as of now, that trend is officially continuing. Here's another: The Imminant Nuptials of Marley and Miss Happy
You can see why my brother, back in the day of the Berlin wall, was often suspected in airports of being an East German terrorist. When he's not smiling he looks like the poster boy for the Arian Nation.

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Riding in Boats with Boys

This morning TWO women failed to show up for the manDATory outing. Thankfully our gents are keen on slacking off and hanging out in the lasses boats. Today we had 6 women and two, count 'em TWO Robs. If this keeps up in a little over a week the senior women's 8 will consist of me and 7 men. As Herebe says, Whey hey!

By the by, have you visited the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster yet?


You will do it. YOU WILL DO IT NOW!

Saturday, October 22, 2005

Fucking lazy little whiney fucking lightweights

This is going to be one of those "I am really fucking pissed off" blogs. I'm telling you this now so that you can prepare yourself for the inevitable onslaught of four letter words, and so you are not decieved by the cheerful beginning. This blog has a very dark ending, very dark indeed.

This morning I had a 30K row with my team. It went very well. I was suprisingly pleased. After the first 10K the balance was remarkably good for a scratch 8, it was strong and light in the water, the slide was controlled, the ratio steady, and the pressue stayed reasonably high. When it slacked off periodically the cox would remind us to hang off our oars and throw our hands out quickly, and the pressue came back. And the cox is improving, too. She only crashed into one tree today, which is a marked improvement over previous outings. Even the weather was good. It was fair and calm, and were were serenaded by a very horny little robin for a time. It was exceedingly pleasant. And the cherry on top was that we were short one woman, so one of the blokes filled in so we could take an 8 out, and he was sat at 4 seat in front of me (for some bizarre reason coach saw fit to put me in 3 today, which is wierd, because in 8 years of rowing I've never sat anywhere but 5, but there it is). So I had the best view in the boat. Rather than spending the morning looking at a pink babydoll t-shirt and a stringy ponytail, I got a view of tanned skin pulled tight over the broad shoulders of a rippling undergraduate. That colt needs breaking. Mmm. There were even a few strokes of "Oh, Oh! God! This is what it's supposed to feel like! God, I havn't felt this in so long! Drive, drive!" Yeah, it was a good outing. Which is why what happened next is so TOTALLY FUCKING UNACCEPTABLE.

Our captain told us that we had a weights circut from 3-4 this afternoon. The girls whined. They moaned on about how tired they were. They said they needed naps. They said they needed time to study. And they were all so tired, cause they'd only gotten a few hours sleep cause they closed down the late-license last night cause there was this really cute curly-haired bartender and if you'd seen him you'd understand. Captain said that the only way to get your body used to the intensive training is to train intensively. She said you can use really light weights, but do the reps and go through the circut 3 times. They reluctantly agreed.

Can you guess what happened when I arrived at the weight room at 3 o'clock? That's right!
I was THE ONLY WOMAN THERE. I waited for 15 mintues. No one showed up. So here's the question: WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I BUST MY BUTT TO TRAIN SO I CAN MOVE A BOAT FULL OF FUKING CHILDREN WHO CAN'T BE ARSED TO SHOW UP TO TRAINING?????? SHIT, I MIGHT AS WELL BE DRAGGING AROUND A BOAT WITH ME AND 8 COXWAINS! Fuck. So what did i do? I went into the gym and spend 30 minutes doing core stability excercises. Why? Because I'm better than they are, that's why.

Friday, October 21, 2005

Hail, Flying Spaghetti Monster!

How to piss off Jesuscrispies: go to the following website

Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster

This is the most brilliant thing I've seen in ages. Honestly, this even beats Big Box Mart. If you're been reading my blog for longer than the past 2 weeks, you know how much the Christian Conservatives in America piss me off. They're a big part of the reason why I ran screaming from the country recently. Among their many inane agendas is the desire to have Creationism (somewhat cleverly disguised by the new buzzword, "Intelligent Design") taught IN SCIENCE CLASSES along with evolution as viable SCIENTIFIC POSSIBLITY. This is wrong. It's wrong for so many reasons I won't bother to discuss them here, because if I like you than you already know them and if you don't than you shouldn't be besmirching my website with your presence. It's just that simple. Regrettably, these Jesusfreaks have had some degree of success. A school board in Kansas recently passed a law mandating this new change in curriculum, and as many as 25 of the 50 states are considering similar legisation. Good god.

The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster so far represents the best tool/method I've seen for combating this attitude. They seem to be reasonably well organized, which is encoraging, and I hope that you will all take a mintue to read the open letter on the home page of their website, then take another moment to pee your pants with laughter, and when the trickle has subsided, get on board! Link your blogs to their website, spread the word, shop in the store, and if anyone wants the names and addresses of US congresspeople to harass with letters, let me know and I'll be happy to dig some up for you.

May the Meatball be with you.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005


Pink is right out. I don't do pink. Especially not this shade.


So you can understand why I had to break the law and defy the orders of my landlords to achieve this:

(Note the attractive chocolate brown duvet which is not pink, thank you very much.)

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Check it out

New Link: JibJab. Load the site and click on "Big Box Mart." Genius. Fucking Genius.

what? me, mature? whatever.

wow. i just re-read that post from last night. how embarassing. (*hangs head sheepishly*) i would delete it, but that would be violating the spirit of the diary and the concept of self-editing. this blog is as much a personal record of my life and experiences as it is a means of communicating those feelings and experiences to a wider audience. in other words, it's an archive as much as a publication. so as pathetic as that last entry is, i need to leave it in its pure, spontaneous state to stand as a monument to just how pathetic i can be. all the typos and misspellings convey more in their ineptitude than i possibly could this morning, cooly recounting last night's events in a state of mature sobriety. It's a work of art in the true Wordsworthian sense, who stated that "poetry is the spontaneous outpouring of powerful emotion." Wordsworth may have been a hypocrite, since he edited his poetry heavily over a period of months or even years, and perhaps he was only a great literary success becuase of his highly fortuitious surname, but i think he still had the right idea. Years from now my biographers will read back through this blog and they will come to last night's entry and chuckle, because the image i put forth of myself last night will stand in stark contrast to the woman i will have become, an impurturbable academic powerhouse who's global reputation for brilliant insight and astonishinly detailed work are about as far from the inebrieated postgraduate student as it is possible to be. And the biographers will write things like "Though 26 years old and already displaying a talent for Medieval linguistis which astonished her University of Bristol tutors, (the not yet) Dr. Bitch still displayed a childlike enthusiam for life and relationships, and was as gleeful at the prospect of a new companion as a pig-tailed schoolgirl on the playground." And all who read it will admire me and be charmed. So there. *spppttt!*

Monday, October 17, 2005

mmmmmm friend.

oh, oh, it so exciting. i finally met someone i really click with. she's a woman, but she's really cool (wait. did i say "but." as in "new orleasn got hit iwht a huriican'e BUT it'sll be rebuil" or so-an-so's a republican BUT he's pro choice"? like somehow being a woman is awful BUT i get to qualify it with some good BUT unexpected trait? chraist that's horrible. and it though ti i was a feminsit. geeeze) oh, and if you couldn't tell by now, i'm reallly drunk, so typeing is SHIT>. hee hee hee). o yeah, so i met someone i click with. ehs's really neat, and her name is liz and sadly she's straight but we're going to have a LOT o fufn. she agrees athat all men are assholes and the only reason we ikeep them around is because you can't mow the lawn with a dildo. so liz and i went out and got drunk and diescovered we are totally kindrid spirits. and i'm so happy i finally made a freiend that i'm blogging ti before i soaber up. saaaaaad. and the other thing is, if you fill a a crock pot (or slow cooker as the brits call it) with diced potatoes, carrots, an onion, an apple (diced of course) some celery )also diced) sprinkle some poultry seasoning, nutmet, allspice, and tyme on top, pour a bottle of dark ale over the stuff, stuff in acouple jumbo size turkey drumsticks and cook the hwole shebang for about 6 hours, ITS REALLY FUCKINGGOOD. yeah. do that. did i mention you nee dbeer? yeah. do taht. then eat it. liek me. hee heh hee. i can't typy when i'm drunk.


Well it's about fucking time. They let me back into my flat at 9 am this morning. I missed my training session because I was checking out of hotel, moving my bike and a pile of luggage halfway across bristol and trying frantically to make it on time to a meeting with my advisor, but otherwise life is hunky-dorey.* Ad (the advisor) is lovely. He's patient, helpful, and at the moment we are in complete agreement about what it is I need, so our relationship is rather harmonious. Right now I'm trying to get my room sorted, my laundry done, and my order form in for rowing kit. When I've done that and gotten something to eat, I'll work on posting some more installments of Storybook Epic. Apparenly there's at least one eager reader out there. Who knew?

*hunkey-dorey. adj. A midwest American colloquialism meaning okey-dokey, used primarily by geeks, hicks, and hay-seeds in casual social settings. Though what kind of casual social setting would contain geeks, hicks, and hay-seeds the editors of the volume can't imagine.

Friday, October 14, 2005

the next

they said i could move back into my flat at noon today.

they lied.

this is out of control.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

The horror!

It just keeps getting better. Did I tell you that the first night i was in my hotel room in Bath (Tuesday night that was) I was in the shower when the fire alarm went off? So after being evacated from my room, sent to another city, I got to my hotel, exhausted, and with no more ambitious plans than to take a hot shower, have a cup of tea, and go to bed.

And then the fire alarm went off.

So instead of a nice, quiet, early even, I got to spend 20 minutes on the sidewalk, in the rain, barefoot, in my pyjamas, being leered at by intoxicated businessmen from the hotel bar. Thankfully one chivalrous gentleman did offer me his jacket. Lovely german bloke.

This morning, the bus that was supposed to take me from the hotel to campus at 9 am never showed up. At 9:15 I conceded defeat and humped it to the train station. Instead of the 30 minutes by coach it should have taken me to get to bristol, I coasted in at 11:30. For fuck's sake. What's next?

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

The saga continues...

So ever since I got deported from Manchester I've been saying "i just want to get to bristol and get settled." i went from manchester to washington to michigan to chicago to michigan to manchester to bristol in about 10 days, and my head is fucking spinning. i thought once i move in to my accommodation and get into a routine i'll be alright.

so you can see why i'm not very happy about being evacuated from my room.

the plumbing problem is sufficiently serious that they have to shut off water to the whole building until at least friday. i'm being moved to the hilton in...

wait for it...


They're being good about providing bus transit and covering cab fares and reimbursing us for food and all that, but it's still a HUGE PAIN IN THE ASS. I'll be coming in to uni once a day for the whole day, so internet access may be sporadic. i'll do my best to keep you posted. i know how you hang on my every word. *snort*

The fun continues

I have a whopping head cold. This is not surprising. In fact, it was really inevitable. I drugged myself into a stupor last night and managed to sleep soundly for about 10 hours. So soundly that I missed the evacuation of my building.


Apparently at about 2 am the pipes on the 3rd floor burst and flooded everything from 3 on down, which is when the building was evacuated. They must not have used the fire alarm to get people out, buecause I slept through the whole thing. I didn't know anything was going on until I got up this morning at half ten, cheerfully left a massive turd in my toilet, went to flush, and nothing happened. Nada. So I in my powder blue bathrobe left my room to go downstairs to the management to complain/notify them that i had no water. Upon opening my door I was confronted with a letter which informed me that they have been forced to turn off water to the entire building, they hope to have it back on in 24 hours, if they don't they'll put us up in hotels, and in the meantime crates of bottled water will be deliverd to our flat.

At least I was able to use my bottle of water to scrape the fuzzy spiders off my teeth. With the aid of lots of deodorant, a little perfume, and a baseball hat to cover my appalling hair, I am almost fit to appear in public. Will find out this evening if I get to sleep in my own room or if I'm being shipped off to somewhere where I can flush a toilet. Thank god I've got an air freshener in my bathroom!

Monday, October 10, 2005

Saturday, October 08, 2005

Bristol bound

A thousand dollars and 10 days of my life down hole, but I finally made it.

I got in to Manchester on Tuesday morning, and spent 2 nights with Amy, a former team mate and good friend. It was teriffic to stomp around on the old turf for a bit, and I got to see a bunch of friends. Not as many as i would have liked, but I only had 2 days rather than the originally intended 4. I even had the priveledge of spending several extremely enjoyable hours in the company of the incomparable unconquerable HBM, which almost made up for the shattering disappointment of not seeing my lanky Scot. The realization that you don't mean as much to someone else as he does to you is one seriously hard pill to swallow. No, not realization. Acceptance. In the back of my mind I've known it for a long time, but I always managed to make excuses for him, to justsify why he only emailed once every fiscal quarter, why whenever I phoned it was always a bad time, why he didn't want me to stay with him while i was in Manchester. I made excuse after excuse for him in my mind because I was desperatly clinging to the belief that he still cared. I needed to belive it. I didn't/don't want to suffer yet another unrequited love. He said he didn't have any time for me, even though I told him a week in advance when i was coming so that he could make some time. He said he was busy. Every minute for 2 days. He said call me tomorrow I might have an hour free. I called tomorrow. He wasn't free. I was upset. I told him so. My phone card ran out and cut me off. He thought I hung up on him. I didn't have change or time to ring straight back. When i finally did 3 hours later he hung up on me. He wouldn't let me expalin. He wouldn't listen. He hung up. Oh god it hurts. He wouln't speak to me. Over a year I waited. Not a day went by when I didn't think of him, didn't miss him. But I can't make any more excuses. He's made it abundantly clear that he doesn't want me around, that I don't matter to him anymore. How does that happen? How do you suddenly just stop caring for someone? I don't know; I've never done that. If someone who was once kind begins to treat you like shit, lies, cheats, or hits you, then yes, it's easy to stop caring for someone like that. I can understand walking away when you have been maligned or misused. But I never mistreated him. I never did anything to upset him. If I did, he's never told me. I've never lied to him, never cheated on him, never spoke a single unkind word to or about him. And I know he cared about me, too. I know there was a time when I was really special to him. I begin to doubt, and I look back over the memories, the time we spent together, and i know i didn't imagine it. He cared, he really did. So how did he just stop? What happened? Where did it go? Did he wake up one morning and suddenly decide that I didn't matter any more? Or did it happen slowly? Did the memory of me fade? Should i have written more often, so he wouldn't forget me? Out of sight, out of mind? What happened to absence makes the heart grow fonder? Did I do something wrong? Oh god why is this happening again? I didn't want to fall in love. i was going to get my MA and go back to the states and live happily ever after. i didn't want another broken fucking heart. That's why i held on to the thread that it might work out for so long. Not again. I can't take it again. We were so good together. We complimented one another. We shared the same values. He gave me a sense of serenity that I've never felt before. Whenever he walked into the room I'd let go a breath I didn't realize I was holding and think "Ah, everything's OK now-- Jamie's here." He started it. He was the one who began coming in to my room each eveing before bed to wish me a good night. Every single night. "Well, that's me off to bed. Good night, CB." "Good night, Jamie. Sleep well." "And you." Every night. He was the one who put his arm around me while we watched the Diwali fireworks from my room. When I complained that my back was sore and i had no one to massage it, he was the one who offered to rub it for me. That's how the whole thing started, really. He's got such a beautiful back. Long and lean and muscular. His spine is about a meter long. it just keeps going and going and going. If Michaelangelo were alive today that sculpture would be called "Jamie." He started it. And he ended it. I guess that's his perogative. But why? What did i do? What didn't I do? Over a year I waited. When they told in the Manchester airport that they were sending me back to America I should have been worried about my degree. i should have been worried about my future. Instead, all I could think was how I couldn't wait any longer to see Jamie. I'd waited long enough, i couldn't wait any more. Don't make me wait anymore, please! It doesn't matter now. Nothing matters now.

I got in the car and drove to Bristol. On the road, behind the wheel. I've always loved driving. I love the sense of freedom, the sense of control. When you are in the driver's seat of a zippy car with a full tank of gas and good tunes on the radio you are unstoppable. You can do whatever you want, go wherever you want. You are the master of your fate, at the helm of your destiny. In high school when I was feeling particularly miserable (which was fairly often) I would grab the keys of my metallic brown 1984 Chevy Celebrity, crank up the Oldies station, and head north on 127, bleating out "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to" and "I will survive" at the top of my lungs with the windows down in the middle of the winter and feeling the freezing air whipping my hair about my ears while the snowflakes in the headlights gave the effect of travelling through hyperspace. Therapy.

On thrusday I drove to bristol. A little Vauxhall Astra something or other. Deep boot, zippy engine. The kind of car i would consider buying if i were in the market. It was grey and drizzly (welcome to an island in the north Atlantic), but I was driving. I was leaving him. I was actively taking myself away. I was NOT left behind. I was leaving. I was in charge. Therapy. And though through much of my year in Manchester i felt i could live very happily here, driving that car, for the first time i felt I do live here. This is my home now. I live in england. I'm not visiting any more. This is my home. Welcom home, me.

I didn't get lost. Take the M6 to the M5 to the M4. How easy is that? Until I got to bristol. Then i got lost. No street signs fucking anywhere. Rediculous. Got there in the end, though. Found my accommodation. Decent room, new furniture, big window, wide window sill (good for plants - there's a violet in my future). Only 2 problems: first, no socket in the bathroom. not one! Where are you supposed to plug in a shaver? hairdryer? Curling iron? Electric toothbrush? Good grief. Other problem: Electic Pepto Bismol pink wall. That's the only way to describe it. it's hideous. there's no other word for it. For 2 days now I've been trying to understand why on earth anyone would ever paint a wall that colour (unless you're on Changing Rooms and you really hate your neighbors). then it dawned on me: it's a total fucking joke. the guys who renovated this building had a huge fucking laugh over this. They're sitting in their local right now tippping a pint and pissing themselves over the colour of this room. I've never like pink. Even when i was 3 years old I hated pink. I hated being stereotyped. I hated that people assumed i liked pink just because i was a girl. So i started disliking pink. I didn't want to be predictable. i didn't want people to suss me that easlily. i didn't want to be obvious. That's why when i was 3 years old and my parents moved me out of the nursery I asked them to paint my room blue.

On friday I went to my department to register. I missed registration. You know why. I was walking toward the English building, and i asked the bloke next to me "Excuse me. is this the English department?" he said "yes. what are you looking for?" I explained "I'm not positive, but I think this is the place to start. i missed registration due to a travel mishap (yes, i actually said 'travel mishap.' Apparently i'm already picking up the british penchant for understatement), and i need to get my registration sorted."

He replied (and i swear to god I'm not making this up) "you must be CB! Welcome!"


He continued, "we've heard all about you. i'm so glad you finally made it safe and sound. I'm John, the postgraduate coordinator for the english deapartment faculty. Come with me, i'll introduce you to everyone you need to know and we'll get everything taken care of."

John took me to the department office, where they rang Steve, a professor, who came crashing downstairs with a huge smile on his face and his hand extened before he'd even made it through the door and who exclaimed "CB! So glad you're here! What an ordeal you've had! We've been so worried about you!" (He spoke in exclamation points.) "I'm just off to a meeting, but can you stop by at 2? You can?! Teriffic! Come by my office and we'll get everthing sorted! So good to meet you at last! I'm off to a meeting, must dash!" (and as he's flying out the door...) "John here will take you for a cup of tea in the meantime!..."

Over and over again, with every person it was the same reaction. It was as though the entire department was on tenterhooks for my arrival. They all knew the story, bless them, I didn't have to repeat the tale a thousand times (i'm getting rather sick of telling it).

And it was the department's collective reaction to seeing me that really drove it home with jamie. Here were total strangers, never met me, no reason for them to give a shit whether i'm here there or in timbuktu. But they did give a shit. they were all so genuinely happy to see me, and they'd never even met me. They'd never me, yet they were waiting for me. They were worried about me. They cared. But Jamie, who's seen the most intimate parts of my heart and my body, didn't care. He wasn't worried, he wasn't waiting. He doesn't want me around. Acceptance is fucking painful.

Well, new city, new life. New adventures to be had, new friends to be met. Found out last night that Bristol's offering a new rowing scholarship. I'm applying for that. Went straight to the gym and climbed on an erg. Finally something to motivate me.

well, that's bristol, and that's my present state of mind: shattered, but optimistic. Not optimistic about love - I never want to fall in love again; it's not worth it - but optimistic about the university, the rowing, my future, and life in general.

Oh, and i'm already picking up an accent. it's quite funny, really. I've got two vowels down. I'm not trying, it just happens. Even wierder, I'm dreaming in an English accent! That's my goofy subconscious for you.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Shopping fun

You know how when you were a kid and you got new clothes you couldn't wait to show them off? As soon as you got home you'd run upstairs and put them on and run downstairs and wave your arms in the air and twirl and demand that everyone tell you how marvelous you look. For tradition's sake, then, here's me running downstairs with my new stuff, showing it off with the expectation that many "oohs" and "aahs" will follow.

Here's my new bicycle, and here are my new bed linens.

Yay online shopping! Everything I need will be waiting for me when I arrive. I am leaving (again) tomorrow. Double yay with cherry on top!