{{{Aimee}}} Daycare for infants is cut throat and vicious. I'm sorry you have to deal.

Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory as a (fairly explicit) metaphor for the modern college experience.

Hee.

although, thinking about it, maybe I have hidden shallows

I love this turn of phrase!

meara, I'm sorry you're not feeling well.

Re: ironing. I like things that have been ironed, but not enough to actually do the ironing. It's not the process of ironing so much as getting the ironing board from behind the washing machine, moving the living room furniture out of the way so I can set it up, then doing the ironing itself, then putting the board back, the furniture back, and the iron somewhere that it won't scorch things or people. All in all, too much hassle.

That sucks Aimee. But all in all probably worth it rather than the stress of finding a new daycare.

Oh, meara. I hope you feel better soon, honey. Did fafou already go to the store for you? If not, they make liquid Tylenol specifically for adults with sore throats. It is sort of a two-fer I think. Some helps on contact, and then it is absorbed more quickly than the pill.

I LOVE crisply ironed shirts. But those come from the cleaners. I'd probably love for someone to put my sheets out on a clothesline and then iron them so they are sweet smelling and unwrinkled but I'm afraid that just isn't going to happen.

Great, Cashmere. Now talk about perfect cake.

Oh, Aimee. I'm so sorry. I hope you can work out something.

Hil, it's about time. *scurries off to read*

The Cat Bastet!

Not to be mistaken for the Rat Bastard. Deathmatch optional.

So I've followed in billytea's footsteps, and put up a profile on the guardian's matchmaking site.

Fay, that's fantastic. Seriously, it's the best profile I've read online (including my own), and I've gone through a pretty vast quantity of late. You have a brilliant turn of phrase, and if it turned on me I'd be reaching for my Luger. (Er, not like that.) I've decided that I know why you did it, obviously it's for the sole purpose of amusing me.

And now I'm tempted to create a Guardian profile, just so I can answer "What's better, the carrot or the stick?" with "I'm sorry, I don't swing that way."

I'm a bit stumped about the "Why should people get to know you?" paragraph.

I'd make it multiple choice:

A) I can always serve as a cautionary tale.
B) Because if they just follow me around from a distance it's called stalking.
C) To witness firsthand the future of human evolution ("DOOMED! WE'RE ALL DOOOOOMED!!")
D) I'm cheaper than television. Wait, that came out wrong.
E) So there'll be two less lonely people in the world, and if we find a third then we'll outnumber Air Supply and can go beat the crap out of them.
F) Mole rats!
G) That'll do, Pig. That'll do.

Heh. Apparently I'm only an 84% match for myself. Which is unfortunate.

See, I'd be worried if I matched that well with myself, because I'm missing all those innie and outie bits that I like.

So I've left a very cheesy phone message, which they've received and need to listen to tomorrow to check it's not crude or inappropriate, and then Bob's your uncle!

Hee. Not crude or inappropriate? I must apologise, for my first thought was 'how's our heroine going to get out of this one?'

That sucks Aimee. But all in all probably worth it rather than the stress of finding a new daycare.

Alas, this is true. Decent infant care is tough to find, and they know it.

I was sad that there was no Fay voice on the profile page because her voice is as alluring as the profile.

I could easily go the rest of my life without a crumb of cake. Wine abstinence would not be acceptable.

If someone would iron for me I would happily sleep in ironed sheets, and wear crisp ironed shirts. The pleasure is not worth actually doing the ironing myself.

If not, they make liquid Tylenol specifically for adults with sore throats.

meara, get some of this if you can. It is the best medicine ever for hurty throats.

I think Trudy or someone said you can make your own with fabric softener and water, but I've always been afraid it would spot the fabric.

This is my Mother's claim every time she mocks my wrinkle releaser. I've yet to try it myself.

Meanwhile! I am currently twirling my moustache and enjoying my evil laugh, because apparently last night I managed to slip in, without anyone noticing, that I went speed dating. This is dating where if you talk below fifty words a minute, Dennis Hopper blows you up. No, wait, it's for people who are only looking for a quickie. Damn, I have it written down somewhere. Ok, apparently it's the opposite of carbon dating. No, wait, I'm reading my shopping list.

Ok, here it is. I spent the evening in a room with fifteen women all eager to meet me, and a bunch of guys who kept trying to cut in on my action, very inconsiderate of them. I had a blast, apparently I'm built for speed. (I told my dad that, and he laughed. A lot. Thanks D.) Ok, it's too early to be saying that, I haven't yet heard if any of them want to see me again, and how many women responded by changing their phone number/their address/the locks. But I still had fun. Interesting observation, most of the people there had never been to one of these events before. Naturally, that must mean that most people who've been through it before have found their perfect match, settled down and are now living happily ever after. (Fay! It would never work between us! I have no respect for the serial comma. Sorry, the serial "comma".)

I may still be a little hopped up.

Anyway, talking beforehand with some of the guys, we came up with this opening line: "Do you like strawberry ice cream?" I think it's a brilliant one. Only used it once, but it went over a treat. About four women in a row opened with "What are your hobbies", My standard response became "Well, I enjoy public speaking, playing board games, oh, and I love animals. ...If it gets cold enough.")

A personal observation. I've always been pretty crap at small talk at a party, with people I don't know anyway. I just feel very awkward. What I can do, very well, is speak to an audience. Especially as the evening went on, I was more and more treating the conversations like putting on a bit of a show. One woman actually picked it, apparently the animated gestures gave it away. That impressed me. (Oh! The last woman I talked to had just WON a trip to the Galapagos islands! She's also going to check out the Amazon while there. So jealous. I told her how to make an anaconda let go - pour alcohol on its head - just in case.)

Anyway, one problem with treating dating like performance art was I got a teeny bit hyper by evening's end. I need to watch that next time. The setting wasn't what I expected; it was just sitting around on couches in a nightclub kind of room. I was envisaging something like a bingo hall with flourescent lighting and long tables; this was much better, more intimate. Though the dim lighting made writing legible notes an uncertain venture. However, I still finished up ticking 'yes' to seven women, and with any luck there'll be a couple of them that feel the same way.