Popping in to say whoo-hoo a tad late to P-C. That totally rocks!

Plus ~ma to Fay, and anyone else who needs it.

Turns out, they kept it in my dad's sock drawer.

And that is how adolescent boys wind up dead. Especially depressed adolescent boys. Jesus.

Post nasal drip has been my curse for the last two months. Can't decide if it's wacky allergies or the cold that wouldn't go away. In either case, you have my deepest sympathy and empathy.

Now, I must toodle because my Graceland CD keeps skipping and playing the same section over and over. It wasn't bad the first few times, but is beginning to irk. Plus, apartments don't clean themselves. Bummer.

Be lucky I actually have no idea what I'm talking about, and so I didn't go into what histamines actually are.

See, now I'm actually interested in the subject, just, you know, can't breathe, so a little cranky.

Also, congrats on being so "Master"-ful!

Maybe I will do a blog entry on allergies. Hmm.

I feel your pain, Plei. Well, not all of it, having no Tickybox to take care of, but the money stuff, yeah. I hate that.

Can't decide if it's wacky allergies or the cold that wouldn't go away

Well, considering what this spring's been like so far for my sinuses, and as I understand it SoCal (where I am) is actually supposed to be better for allergies than other less-irrigated-desert-y places (not recalling where you're located here), my vote's for the former.

apartments don't clean themselves

If they did, I don't think I'd mindthe horrific prices to live in San Diego near so much.

Maybe I will do a blog entry on allergies. Hmm.

I've inspired a man to write! Not exactly a sonnet to my beauty and grace, but it's a start.

P-C, congrats on the Master's!

vw, go you on finals and much job~ma.

Fay, all the anti-asshat-boss~ma in the world to you.

Susan, I can understand where you're coming from. I was raised around guns also and always took it for granted there was going to be 3 or 4 rifles and maybe a couple of assorted handguns in the house. Between hunting, target shooting and quick draw contests, we were never without. Usually, in the basement where my brother kept his reloading equipment. I was never interested in them, though, and just left them where they were stored by my brothers. It wasn't until I was assigned to the military police for nine months and ended up having to wear a .38 every day that I ever even learned how to shoot. Now, I have no guns at home, but if I did, it wouldn't be a big deal to me. I'm with connie, take the DH out with you when you go to play with the Bakers and maybe it will ease his mind some.

The only gun ever in our non-rural house (and I think that is a HUGE contextual difference, btw) was my Uncle the police officer's service weapon.

My gun talk was as follows:

I was about four. He took it out and held it flat in both hands and let me look at it up close. He turned it over so I could see the other side. He told me never EVER to touch it or any other one I might see, that even by accident it could kill me or somebody I loved. He let me hold one of the bullets, I remember it was heavy and cold.

Then he put it away and never took it out in my presence again.

At his home it was in a high locked box, the bullets were in a seperate locked portion. We knew which shelf it was on and that there'd be hell to pay if we ever attempted to get up there.