Oral Stimuli: they say that caffiene before bed is not so good...feh
I Hate: the stinking mole crickets on the ceiling above my damned head!

I ain't got no boyfriend! I don't have to worry about shaving my legs for 3 whole days! Woo-hoo!!

Yeh, OK; the truth is I don't worry about that when he's here. Or about doing my hair and make-up unless I feel a need. So, there's really nothing different except that I haven't seen him. And sometimes I don't, so its not even very different. I just like pretending that it is.

Shaddup.

I didn't do anything today. It would seem as though I have some sort of intestinal bug thing and I have a great deal of difficulty keeping food in my stomach for any extended period of time. At least I'm not throwing up. I hate that.

Went to the mall to get the b/f's cell phone, since he can't use it out of town, and I can. He'd left it at the store. Right. So I run into friend Angela and she doesn't feel well either and we decide to try on slutty dresses at the slutty dress store to cheer ourselves up. No really, all they sell are these really sleazy dresses that only strippers could possibly wear and they are outrageously cheap. Really slutty. So we're trying on our slutty dresses and neither Angela nor I are exactly well-endowed and we're starting to laugh at ourselves while we're still in the dressing rooms because slutty dresses are really meant for women with breasts and worst of all I realize that I'm wearing my boy boxer-briefs (yes, they really belong to the b/f and I wear them because they are comfortable, dammit) and that just won't do when trying on a slutty dress. We stepped out of our respective rooms and looked at each other and laughed hysterically. We looked astoundingly stupid. There are women who have no business trying to wear slutty dresses, especially women with no make-up on, with their hair yanked into a ponytail and wearing men's undies. Angela actually looked better than that, but not in that dress. No...

But we did feel a bit better.

Then tonight I gave the Girl-Child a bath and she went leaping into her bed afterwards and judged the distance quite poorly and slammed her head into the wall. There were tears. But she has a very thick skull and cheered up after I sang her a bit of "New York, New York." Sadly, my Sainted Mother was begging me to stop. I am not so much a singer. But I persisted, especially as she was reading a book about meteorology (meteorology? who is this kid?) and I was pointing out the really unimportant things like, the policeman in this picture is from DUBUQUE! Why is he from Dubuque? I made sure she noticed that and then I sang "Stormy Weather" and I personally believe she quite enjoyed it, even though she didn't believe it was a real song. My Sainted Mother convinced her it was, but that it frequently sounds better than my rendition.

Feh.

OK, OK; I'm going to call the b/f now. Shaddup.

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