The thing about Literature (with a capital L) is, there's always more than one answer.
People say that there are no wrong answers, which is absolutely not true. But there certainly can be a plethora of right answers. There is always more than one way to read something, always more than one way to interpret this line or that, this reference or that combination of words that may or may not be a hidden reference. There's a whole world of possibility in every book, in every paragraph, and every interpretation can be argued and defended and appear equally right.
It's infuriating, really.
I got to a point in college when I longed for logic. A math class, a formula. Numbers, a right and a wrong answer. Results.
Sometimes the only way to know an author's true intention is to hear it from the horse's mouth, as it were. But what if s/he is long since dead and gone? Hope to hell they told someone else what they really meant? Or try to be content with the not knowing?
I myself don't really like the not knowing.
I should've majored in math.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Oh, hello July.
Ah, my dear readers. I apologize for my woeful absence. There is no excuse, really. Except that I don't think my life is exciting enough to blog about lately. But I could be wrong.
Did you know that when I have downtime at work (for example, I've finished my beverage service and there's still an hour left of flight time; we've just taken off, but we'll be landing in fifteen minutes, so I don't even have time to get out of my jumpseat; we've started our descent, I've made both pre-landing announcements, I've done my compliance checks, and now all there is to do is sit in my seat and wait), I often write down little tidbits to blog about later? Things that have happened to me, something I observed that day, or even just subjects I've been meaning to mention.
For example:
Little old man is reading Eclipse. Eclipse! Which means either he's very confused, or he's already read Twlight and New Moon! Love it.
The barf bag is not your personal garbage bag. Some people actually need to use those for their intended purpose, which is hard to do when it's missing from the pocket. If you don't intend to throw up in it, kindly leave it in the seat pocket for the next person.
And so on and so on.
The other day, a little old lady ("I'm almost 90," I overheard her tell someone) was sitting on my plane after everyone else was gone, waiting for wheelchair assistance. MSP is not often on the ball with wheelchair assistance, but that's a rant for another time. I sat across the aisle from her to chat while we waited (did you know it's illegal for me to get off the plane if there are still passengers onboard?). She told me about her son, and where she and her husband had been, and how that was the smoothest flight she'd ever had. Then she asked me some questions. "Did you make it through high school?" she wanted to know. I smiled a little, nodded, and said, "I'm 24." Her eyes widened and she actually let out a little gasp before telling me, "Oh! I thought you were 16!" I laughed and said I get that a lot, and proceeded to tell her yes, indeed, I went to and graduated from college, and certainly made it through high school.
It was only a little white lie. I'll be 24 in just over a week now. Around about the end of June every year, I start thinking of myself as the age I will be as of July 10 instead of the age I am until then.
Also, I thought 24 would be even more of a shock than 23, and I'm all about wowing people when I can.
Fun fact: I was due on July 4th. I was a procrastinator/sleep-in-er even before I was born! Can you imagine, though? I definitely would have believed that the fireworks were for me.
Did you know that when I have downtime at work (for example, I've finished my beverage service and there's still an hour left of flight time; we've just taken off, but we'll be landing in fifteen minutes, so I don't even have time to get out of my jumpseat; we've started our descent, I've made both pre-landing announcements, I've done my compliance checks, and now all there is to do is sit in my seat and wait), I often write down little tidbits to blog about later? Things that have happened to me, something I observed that day, or even just subjects I've been meaning to mention.
For example:
Little old man is reading Eclipse. Eclipse! Which means either he's very confused, or he's already read Twlight and New Moon! Love it.
The barf bag is not your personal garbage bag. Some people actually need to use those for their intended purpose, which is hard to do when it's missing from the pocket. If you don't intend to throw up in it, kindly leave it in the seat pocket for the next person.
And so on and so on.
The other day, a little old lady ("I'm almost 90," I overheard her tell someone) was sitting on my plane after everyone else was gone, waiting for wheelchair assistance. MSP is not often on the ball with wheelchair assistance, but that's a rant for another time. I sat across the aisle from her to chat while we waited (did you know it's illegal for me to get off the plane if there are still passengers onboard?). She told me about her son, and where she and her husband had been, and how that was the smoothest flight she'd ever had. Then she asked me some questions. "Did you make it through high school?" she wanted to know. I smiled a little, nodded, and said, "I'm 24." Her eyes widened and she actually let out a little gasp before telling me, "Oh! I thought you were 16!" I laughed and said I get that a lot, and proceeded to tell her yes, indeed, I went to and graduated from college, and certainly made it through high school.
It was only a little white lie. I'll be 24 in just over a week now. Around about the end of June every year, I start thinking of myself as the age I will be as of July 10 instead of the age I am until then.
Also, I thought 24 would be even more of a shock than 23, and I'm all about wowing people when I can.
Fun fact: I was due on July 4th. I was a procrastinator/sleep-in-er even before I was born! Can you imagine, though? I definitely would have believed that the fireworks were for me.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Five sure signs it's almost that time of month.
One: My boobs will be ginormous one day. I will definitely notice, and probably spend some time ogling myself in a mirror.
Two: One day, nothing will fit right. My pants will be too tight, my stomach will be visible in every shirt I try to wear. I will feel gross, and think to myself again how I really should start to work out. I will not make the connection until a couple days later.
Three: I will be super horny.
Four: I will have a LOT of extra road rage. A LOT. And I can have quite a bit to begin with.
Five: I will have a lot of extra rage in general, but mostly directed at my mother. By this time, I've usually figured out what's going on, and I feel guilty about the anger. But knowing doesn't actually make me not angry.
You'd think I'd just know to expect these things when I reach my sugar pills every month, but sadly, you would be wrong. Will I ever learn?
Two: One day, nothing will fit right. My pants will be too tight, my stomach will be visible in every shirt I try to wear. I will feel gross, and think to myself again how I really should start to work out. I will not make the connection until a couple days later.
Three: I will be super horny.
Four: I will have a LOT of extra road rage. A LOT. And I can have quite a bit to begin with.
Five: I will have a lot of extra rage in general, but mostly directed at my mother. By this time, I've usually figured out what's going on, and I feel guilty about the anger. But knowing doesn't actually make me not angry.
You'd think I'd just know to expect these things when I reach my sugar pills every month, but sadly, you would be wrong. Will I ever learn?
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Wild-Eyed Bibliomaniac
Yesterday, I got an email coupon (say: KOO-pin) that I've been waiting a long time for: 40% off any one item at Borders.
Remember my Twilight obsession? I've been wanting to buy/read Stephenie Meyer's The Host ever since I finished Breaking Dawn (the second time), but ever the cheapskate, I didn't want to buy it at full price.
So I rallied myself (long story short, I had to call in sick for my trip that was supposed yesterday afternoon) and headed out.
My email koopin had also mentioned that all bargain books were buy two, get the third for free. I fully planned on ignoring that sale, as it just reeked of danger. But there were bargain books galore on shelves right in the door vestibule area as soon as I walked in, and obviously, I couldn't just ignore such a blatant display. I ended up with three books that I was super excited about. Sometimes I'll buy a bargain book just because it's a bargain, but these were books that I would have considered even at full price. I grabbed The Host, and I was out of there with four new, hardcover, awesome books for the low low price of $30! And there was much rejoicing.
The Host, Stephenie Meyer (author of Twlight); A Spot of Bother, Mark Haddon (author of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime, which I loooooved); Flush, Carl Hiaasen (who I've always meant to read); Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Jonathon Safron Foer (author of Everything is Illuminated).
Score.
Today, I went to lunch with my sister, and after a meal filled with much coffee and much sugar, I was too hyped up to just go home. We settled on the most dangerous place ever for the two of us: Half Price Books.
I'll save you the story this time and jump straight to the climax: for just $32, I got nine books, a movie, a magazine, and a reusable bag.
Score of scores. I am not allowed to buy another book for at least a month. At least a week, anyway.
While I'm on the subject, I'd like to recommend Suzanne Collins's The Hunger Games. It's young adult fiction (my favorite genre), an easy, fast read, and it's fabulous. I read it in a day. Also, Christopher Moore. I love all his books, but I always recommend starting at the beginning and going in order, not because you need to, but because he likes to reuse characters, and it's more fun if you already know them. The beginning is Practical Demonkeeping.
For now, I'll leave you with this, a picture of the reusable bag I got for 98 cents (minus 20%, because it was extra-20%-off-everything day):
Remember my Twilight obsession? I've been wanting to buy/read Stephenie Meyer's The Host ever since I finished Breaking Dawn (the second time), but ever the cheapskate, I didn't want to buy it at full price.
So I rallied myself (long story short, I had to call in sick for my trip that was supposed yesterday afternoon) and headed out.
My email koopin had also mentioned that all bargain books were buy two, get the third for free. I fully planned on ignoring that sale, as it just reeked of danger. But there were bargain books galore on shelves right in the door vestibule area as soon as I walked in, and obviously, I couldn't just ignore such a blatant display. I ended up with three books that I was super excited about. Sometimes I'll buy a bargain book just because it's a bargain, but these were books that I would have considered even at full price. I grabbed The Host, and I was out of there with four new, hardcover, awesome books for the low low price of $30! And there was much rejoicing.
The Host, Stephenie Meyer (author of Twlight); A Spot of Bother, Mark Haddon (author of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime, which I loooooved); Flush, Carl Hiaasen (who I've always meant to read); Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Jonathon Safron Foer (author of Everything is Illuminated).
Score.
Today, I went to lunch with my sister, and after a meal filled with much coffee and much sugar, I was too hyped up to just go home. We settled on the most dangerous place ever for the two of us: Half Price Books.
I'll save you the story this time and jump straight to the climax: for just $32, I got nine books, a movie, a magazine, and a reusable bag.
Score of scores. I am not allowed to buy another book for at least a month. At least a week, anyway.
While I'm on the subject, I'd like to recommend Suzanne Collins's The Hunger Games. It's young adult fiction (my favorite genre), an easy, fast read, and it's fabulous. I read it in a day. Also, Christopher Moore. I love all his books, but I always recommend starting at the beginning and going in order, not because you need to, but because he likes to reuse characters, and it's more fun if you already know them. The beginning is Practical Demonkeeping.
For now, I'll leave you with this, a picture of the reusable bag I got for 98 cents (minus 20%, because it was extra-20%-off-everything day):
Friday, May 22, 2009
My kind of town.
Sometimes, if I think just one good sentence in my head, a whole post will blog itself.
Sometimes, if I just log on and start writing, the screen will suddenly be full.
Sometimes, I stare at a blank, white box for a long, long time.
On Wednesday, I made the split-second decision to go to Duluth for the day. I had been pondering it the night before, but some of my texts didn't send, and I wasn't sure if people would be available. I went to Verizon, I went to Target. It was a nice day, and it felt good to drive. I got back on the highway and decided, yes, I'm going to Duluth. Right now.
I got 45 miles to the gallon. I listened to mypod, spilling music wonderfully through my speakers (in my first car, I had a set of battery-operated speakers that I would hook mypod up to for drives). I almost got blown off the road by the wind.
I went on a walk, I went to Green Mill, I went to the house with the murder room, I went to the house of brews. Er, the Brew House. I was going to leave that night, the better to be back in town to meet my grandma for lunch on Thursday. But I was ginger-peer-pressured and group-voted into getting tossed and staying the night.
So I did.
It was magical. I love Duluth. I love those people. I loved the whole world on my drive back home the next morning. I didn't have even a hint of a hangover (well, maybe a tiny hint, but not for long), I had a McDonald's breakfast burrito digesting away. The wind was gone, so the drive was smooth and easy. Mypod was being cooperative and playing great songs. The trees were varied and gorgeous shades of green. My favorite lake to drive past was looking fresh and vibrant. (I'm unsure what lake it is. Every time I drive by it, I think, "One of these days I'll get off at the next exit, find it, and take pictures." It's at mile-marker 220.)
Remember the seven-touches-a-day thing? These are the people with whom I can be close and connected. These are the people that breathe new life into me when I need it the most.
One asked me when I was moving back. I told her that when I win the lottery, I'll buy a house up there and visit all the time. "Just for the summer? Come stay up here," she tried to coerce me.
The city itself makes me happy, feels like home. It feels familiar (though still annoying) to drive up and down the pothole-infested roads. It's natural to drive downtown, park at Fitgers, and walk past the store with window manikins that always make me drool. The air revitalizes me with every breath. I don't know how I live without that lake in my backyard at home. As soon as I turn that corner on the highway (if you've ever driven there, you know the one), I feel calm, happy, home.
I'd give my right arm to live up there again, just for the summer. Or just for ever.
Sometimes, if I just log on and start writing, the screen will suddenly be full.
Sometimes, I stare at a blank, white box for a long, long time.
On Wednesday, I made the split-second decision to go to Duluth for the day. I had been pondering it the night before, but some of my texts didn't send, and I wasn't sure if people would be available. I went to Verizon, I went to Target. It was a nice day, and it felt good to drive. I got back on the highway and decided, yes, I'm going to Duluth. Right now.
I got 45 miles to the gallon. I listened to mypod, spilling music wonderfully through my speakers (in my first car, I had a set of battery-operated speakers that I would hook mypod up to for drives). I almost got blown off the road by the wind.
I went on a walk, I went to Green Mill, I went to the house with the murder room, I went to the house of brews. Er, the Brew House. I was going to leave that night, the better to be back in town to meet my grandma for lunch on Thursday. But I was ginger-peer-pressured and group-voted into getting tossed and staying the night.
So I did.
It was magical. I love Duluth. I love those people. I loved the whole world on my drive back home the next morning. I didn't have even a hint of a hangover (well, maybe a tiny hint, but not for long), I had a McDonald's breakfast burrito digesting away. The wind was gone, so the drive was smooth and easy. Mypod was being cooperative and playing great songs. The trees were varied and gorgeous shades of green. My favorite lake to drive past was looking fresh and vibrant. (I'm unsure what lake it is. Every time I drive by it, I think, "One of these days I'll get off at the next exit, find it, and take pictures." It's at mile-marker 220.)
Remember the seven-touches-a-day thing? These are the people with whom I can be close and connected. These are the people that breathe new life into me when I need it the most.
One asked me when I was moving back. I told her that when I win the lottery, I'll buy a house up there and visit all the time. "Just for the summer? Come stay up here," she tried to coerce me.
The city itself makes me happy, feels like home. It feels familiar (though still annoying) to drive up and down the pothole-infested roads. It's natural to drive downtown, park at Fitgers, and walk past the store with window manikins that always make me drool. The air revitalizes me with every breath. I don't know how I live without that lake in my backyard at home. As soon as I turn that corner on the highway (if you've ever driven there, you know the one), I feel calm, happy, home.
I'd give my right arm to live up there again, just for the summer. Or just for ever.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Seven.
I remember hearing somewhere once that a person should get seven touches a day. Hugs, handshakes, pats on the back, whatever, as long as it's physical contact. I don't recall what the exact reasoning was, but I don't think that's important, because the concept makes sense to me. I start to feel detached if I don't have some sort of physical contact with people, like I'm not actually connected to the world around me, but just floating about in it, somehow.
When I lived with my fiance, the seven touches a day thing was no problem. There were hugs and kisses and holding hands and hands on knees in cars and a whole realm of physicality between us. I didn't have to worry. I always felt connected. Grounded. Present.
It helped that I lived in the same town as all of my friends, and a lot of us are very touchy-feely people anyway, with hugs abounding. (Abounding? Is that even a word?)
Now, however. Now I have none of that. No live-in man who is required to touch me at least occasionally. No hug-happy friends nearby at all times. Some days I force my cuddling upon Jess, who tolerates me. Some days I shake hands with pilots. Some days I get hugs from people at church, and often from my parents. But it doesn't seem the same. It doesn't seem like enough. How can it be, when it sends a shock through me when a nice old man squeezes my arm as he leaves the plane? How can I be getting enough contact with the world when it startles me when my knee brushes a passenger's as I walk down the aisle of my plane? Clearly, it's just not. It's not enough.
Last night, I hung out with a very friendly group of people, half of which I barely even know. We all got a little bit tipsy, and after five hours of chatting and laughing and drinking, the night ended with hugs everywhere, between everyone. People I had just met hugged me. People I've known since seventh grade hugged the breath right out of me. And this after a night of casual contact, hands on arms during a story, arms around shoulders, hands on knees to make a point. Last night, with a large group of fairly random people, I felt grounded, connected, wonderful.
Why doesn't the world hug more? I think I would be a much happier person if my world involved constant hugging.
I want to feel like that all the time again.
When I lived with my fiance, the seven touches a day thing was no problem. There were hugs and kisses and holding hands and hands on knees in cars and a whole realm of physicality between us. I didn't have to worry. I always felt connected. Grounded. Present.
It helped that I lived in the same town as all of my friends, and a lot of us are very touchy-feely people anyway, with hugs abounding. (Abounding? Is that even a word?)
Now, however. Now I have none of that. No live-in man who is required to touch me at least occasionally. No hug-happy friends nearby at all times. Some days I force my cuddling upon Jess, who tolerates me. Some days I shake hands with pilots. Some days I get hugs from people at church, and often from my parents. But it doesn't seem the same. It doesn't seem like enough. How can it be, when it sends a shock through me when a nice old man squeezes my arm as he leaves the plane? How can I be getting enough contact with the world when it startles me when my knee brushes a passenger's as I walk down the aisle of my plane? Clearly, it's just not. It's not enough.
Last night, I hung out with a very friendly group of people, half of which I barely even know. We all got a little bit tipsy, and after five hours of chatting and laughing and drinking, the night ended with hugs everywhere, between everyone. People I had just met hugged me. People I've known since seventh grade hugged the breath right out of me. And this after a night of casual contact, hands on arms during a story, arms around shoulders, hands on knees to make a point. Last night, with a large group of fairly random people, I felt grounded, connected, wonderful.
Why doesn't the world hug more? I think I would be a much happier person if my world involved constant hugging.
I want to feel like that all the time again.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
I wish I had a tidbit.
What might one find at the Bosnian Supermarket?
Sometimes, I just really dislike driving with certain people. I think they are not good drivers, and I would rather be in my own car. My mother, for example, is not my favorite person to be a passenger with.
Since neither of us will be home on Mother's Day, I took my mom to see a movie tonight. "Ghost of Girlfriends Past." It was pretty good. I probably would have laughed at more parts had my mother not been the person sitting next to me, but I'm glad we went. She probably needs to get out more.
Today started out as a very bad hair day. It ended up pretty damn good, though. I've been loving my hair lately.
I'm much more productive when my sister has stolen my laptop and I haven't made the trek to go reclaim it. I cleaned my room hardcore yesterday. It needed it more than words can tell you. I've been doing laundry all day today. I'm still not even done, with both the laundry and the room-cleaning. My underwear drawer has never looked better, though.
When Circuit City was going out of business, I bought the most recent Hush Sound cd. Why I didn't purchase it sooner is beyond me; I love The Hush Sound a lot. Why I didn't even open the cd until is yesterday is even more baffling. I absolutely love it.
People keep trying to add me as a friend on facebook. Nice people, people that I know. People that don't need to see the kinds of pictures I have on facebook. So do I add them, and limit what they can see? Ignore their requests and keep my friends strictly college-only, as facebook was originally intended? Do I delete the incriminating pictures that are not classy but are, nevertheless, part of my history and evolvement? Or do I just blog about the conundrum and make up words like evolvement?
Flight attendants have to deal with a surprising amount of paperwork. Where do they expect me to keep it all? I don't have an empty file cabinet laying around, begging to be filled with green papers.
Who the hell gets colds in May anyway? It feels like it's on its way out. I sure hope it is. I have to work tomorrow, and passengers don't like a snotty flight attendant.
Oh, the layers!
Sometimes, I just really dislike driving with certain people. I think they are not good drivers, and I would rather be in my own car. My mother, for example, is not my favorite person to be a passenger with.
Since neither of us will be home on Mother's Day, I took my mom to see a movie tonight. "Ghost of Girlfriends Past." It was pretty good. I probably would have laughed at more parts had my mother not been the person sitting next to me, but I'm glad we went. She probably needs to get out more.
Today started out as a very bad hair day. It ended up pretty damn good, though. I've been loving my hair lately.
I'm much more productive when my sister has stolen my laptop and I haven't made the trek to go reclaim it. I cleaned my room hardcore yesterday. It needed it more than words can tell you. I've been doing laundry all day today. I'm still not even done, with both the laundry and the room-cleaning. My underwear drawer has never looked better, though.
When Circuit City was going out of business, I bought the most recent Hush Sound cd. Why I didn't purchase it sooner is beyond me; I love The Hush Sound a lot. Why I didn't even open the cd until is yesterday is even more baffling. I absolutely love it.
People keep trying to add me as a friend on facebook. Nice people, people that I know. People that don't need to see the kinds of pictures I have on facebook. So do I add them, and limit what they can see? Ignore their requests and keep my friends strictly college-only, as facebook was originally intended? Do I delete the incriminating pictures that are not classy but are, nevertheless, part of my history and evolvement? Or do I just blog about the conundrum and make up words like evolvement?
Flight attendants have to deal with a surprising amount of paperwork. Where do they expect me to keep it all? I don't have an empty file cabinet laying around, begging to be filled with green papers.
Who the hell gets colds in May anyway? It feels like it's on its way out. I sure hope it is. I have to work tomorrow, and passengers don't like a snotty flight attendant.
Oh, the layers!
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Irrational fear #382:
People throwing their cigarette butts out the car.
That's not the part that scares me. See, I'm convinced that, one of these times, I'm going to drive over their discarded embers, and my car is going to explode. Maybe my fuel tank is leaking, and a drop hits the still-lit pile of ashes, ignites, and follows the stream of fuel back up to my car. Maybe I'm just crazy.
I know it doesn't make any sense. That's why it's an irrational fear.
But still, I cringe every time I drive over those stupid little orange bouncing embers. Every time.
It's probably just a result of too many action movies.
That's not the part that scares me. See, I'm convinced that, one of these times, I'm going to drive over their discarded embers, and my car is going to explode. Maybe my fuel tank is leaking, and a drop hits the still-lit pile of ashes, ignites, and follows the stream of fuel back up to my car. Maybe I'm just crazy.
I know it doesn't make any sense. That's why it's an irrational fear.
But still, I cringe every time I drive over those stupid little orange bouncing embers. Every time.
It's probably just a result of too many action movies.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Good news and bad news.
Yesterday I did laundry and got ready to go to bed early in preparation for my early wake-up, because I was starting a 4-day this morning. I logged on to crewweb to check my trip schedule, as I always do the night before I start, and was surprised to find that I did not, in fact, start my trip on Friday, but rather on Saturday.
With my unexpected day off today, I did some more laundry, went to the grocery store and fully stocked my lunchbox, read some of New Moon, watched Twilight the movie with my sister, and went out to dinner with my parents. All in all, a very productive day.
I'm not in bed nearly as early as I'd like to have been tonight, but I'll survive. Tomorrow will be long, though, at a 13 and a half hour duty day. Ouch.
The bad news: I found out one of the turns on the trip is on the 900, my least favorite plane.
The good news: It's just two flights, and they're long, so I'll have plenty of time to do service for all those people. And there's a new rule that says probationary flight attendants can't work first class, so I know I'll be in back, which I prefer. Oh crap, except I just checked, and the other guy's seniority number is lower than mine, which means I HAVE to be the one to work the front, even though I'm probationary, I'm still higher up than him. Le sigh. But I do need the practice, I'm sure I'll survive. *crosses fingers* Anyway, my other good news point was that, since getting hired, my seniority number has gone from 821 to 552. Nice.
With my unexpected day off today, I did some more laundry, went to the grocery store and fully stocked my lunchbox, read some of New Moon, watched Twilight the movie with my sister, and went out to dinner with my parents. All in all, a very productive day.
I'm not in bed nearly as early as I'd like to have been tonight, but I'll survive. Tomorrow will be long, though, at a 13 and a half hour duty day. Ouch.
The bad news: I found out one of the turns on the trip is on the 900, my least favorite plane.
The good news: It's just two flights, and they're long, so I'll have plenty of time to do service for all those people. And there's a new rule that says probationary flight attendants can't work first class, so I know I'll be in back, which I prefer. Oh crap, except I just checked, and the other guy's seniority number is lower than mine, which means I HAVE to be the one to work the front, even though I'm probationary, I'm still higher up than him. Le sigh. But I do need the practice, I'm sure I'll survive. *crosses fingers* Anyway, my other good news point was that, since getting hired, my seniority number has gone from 821 to 552. Nice.
Status Updates:
Cindy...
... 's shin hurts.
... is a genius. The four-day she was sure started tomorrow actually starts on Saturday. Hooray for an unexpected day off!
... had a delightful lunch at the 50s Grill today.
... finished Twilight for the second time, just in time to watch the movie tomorrow.
... misses her cat.
... has a lot of laundry to do.
... needs to get laid.
... has sparkle power.
... enjoyed laying out in the sun today. Three cheers for 85 degrees!
... is far too obsessed with vampires.
... is thinking too much these days.
... misses you.
... is in desperate need of some chapstick.
... needs to get her bangs trimmed, and is too scared to do it herself.
... composes these in her head ALL THE TIME.
... 's shin hurts.
... is a genius. The four-day she was sure started tomorrow actually starts on Saturday. Hooray for an unexpected day off!
... had a delightful lunch at the 50s Grill today.
... finished Twilight for the second time, just in time to watch the movie tomorrow.
... misses her cat.
... has a lot of laundry to do.
... needs to get laid.
... has sparkle power.
... enjoyed laying out in the sun today. Three cheers for 85 degrees!
... is far too obsessed with vampires.
... is thinking too much these days.
... misses you.
... is in desperate need of some chapstick.
... needs to get her bangs trimmed, and is too scared to do it herself.
... composes these in her head ALL THE TIME.
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