PS to my student worker: Just because Miss Manners says it's OK doesn't mean it's OK under your parents' roof. Especially when it comes to knocking boots with your boyfriend on a weekend visit to the 'rents.

And why did you tell me all this, anyway? Why the flip do you think I care about your sex life? And why do you think I care about your rationale for why you think your 'rents should not have a cow about whatever sex you and your boyfriend have? I don't care. I'm too tired, stressed, and busy dealing with work crap to care about whom you are playing Hide The Cannoli with.

Songs of Innocence and Experience tonight. That's a contrasting pair of posts...

I feel like I need to give her a nickname for this board. Ideas?

We need to know a little bit more about her, I think.

Have on, then, Gris. Tell us tales of starry eyed love.

It's a romantical board in most ways.

Mmm. I'm so bad at tales. Terribly bad. They never come out sounding the way they should sound, and everybody gives me weird looks.

I'll sleep on it. Maybe I'll have come up with a good story to post in the morning that can lead to a nice nickname. It does seem a shame that the only stories I ever tell of her center around our one major snag.

It doesn't have to be a story.

I'll settle for details.

The way she holds her fork. The way she fiddles with her hair. Her smile when she sees you. Her gait. Her scent. The thing she wrote to you. Her snarky wit. Her kindness.

I'm just here to show solidarity with ita about eggs. They smell revolting, and almost always taste the same.

I like curry, but my DH concurs with dw, so, no curry. But we all know that I'm married to the person with the smallest range of acceptable food on the planet.

Data dump: Mallory's first tooth is in, without teething fuss.

My step-mother is arranging a big gathering at the court house in my hometown on Day of the Dead to remember the soldiers killed in Iraq.

I dreamed that Nick's band was an instant and runaway success.

I'm thrilled for Gris-in-love.

I seem to be gaining weight. Must figure out how to exercise.

It's nice to read of tales of romance, as I deal with helping my friend and her unwilling-to-sleep-in-the-middle-of-the-night new baby. (2nd son, so she's an old hand at it but I'm trying to allow her to get some sleep, and baby just isn't having any of it. He's more than willing to let me console him during daylight hours, but apparently at the moment only mama will do. At least he seems calm for the moment so perhaps they're both getting some shut-eye. Papa is upstairs getting some hopefully uninterrupted sleep.)

Also, I should not read 700+ posts in one night before going to sleep/nap, as it leads to odd dreams. Although the dreams would have been odd on their own, actually. I just didn't expect to dream about dw. Not that I can recall what you were doing. I think Susan cameoed as well. I think that's the first time Buffistas have infiltrated my dreams.

I'm currently in the land of clearly awake, but somewhat fuzzy-headed thinking mode. Oy.

The way she holds her fork. The way she fiddles with her hair. Her smile when she sees you. Her gait. Her scent. The thing she wrote to you. Her snarky wit. Her kindness.

Uh... they can't take that away from me?

Mallory's first tooth is in, without teething fuss.

Yay for scream-free teaching boy!

I just didn't expect to dream about dw. Not that I can recall what you were doing. I think Susan cameoed as well. I think that's the first time Buffistas have infiltrated my dreams.

Huh. Um. I'm infiltrating dreams now?

I've never had a dream about any Buffistas. Pele had a cameo last night.

The soccer player or the goddess?

My son is turning into an upholstered-furniture-based starchy tuber. He's is Baby Einstein's bitch.

My son is turning into an upholstered-furniture-based starchy tuber.

BWAH! It took me a little bit to get it. I'm a couple of french fries short of a Happy Meal tonight.