August 18th, 2005



I wrote: "Please do not fold, spindle, mutilate, or pee on. Thank you" and: "Hi, postal workers! Thank you for getting this to my friend. You are awesome" on an envelope yesterday.
That letter is totally going to arrive with scorch marks, soaked in cat urine.

I sometimes say to myself, "Self, in the event that you would want to marry someone, how would you know they were 'the one'?"
And then I answer myself, "Because they would participate in conversations with me that go something like this."
And then I say to myself "Self, you realize you cannot legally marry half of your friends all at once, right?"
And I answer myself, "Dammit."

<-- this icon is too precious for words to describe.
It apparently comes from _iconsyoustole

I eagerly await the inevitable news of the slaying of some persons partaking in this bit of mischief by some bookstore employee who just spent hours perfectly arranging the fiction section, only to have it disrupted. I mean, it's a moderately amusing idea, but I can guarantee you customers_suck will be forming lynch mobs. They're already disgruntled, people, don't antagonize them.

So Nicole is off to college. Well, really, a week in New York City with our mum and Claudia, THEN college-y goodness.
Man. It's so weird. Not that she's going, since that always seemed inevitable. But there's this little twinge of jealousy and irritation at myself for not managing to do it, too. When Emma was really little, sometimes I'd get up and give her a bottle or rock her to sleep at night so Mom didn't have to climb upstairs to do it. I'd tell her about how when I was grown up, I'd live in New York and life would just be awesome and she could come visit me. It was my plan. Along with being a veterinarian and a writer. Especially the writer part.

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