{{vw}} Sorry to hear you had such a sucktastic day. Warm snuggles with the pup to cheer you up.

Steph, ugh. I hope the tum settles down soon.

Love, love, love the stockings! But I've always found if they say good up to 160 pounds? They lie like lying things lie. They might fit someone who is 5'10" and 160 pounds, but they don't fit someone who is 5'3" and 160 pounds. It's all in how you pack it and the fact most stockings don't have equal stretch in all directions. Grrr.

My boss is gone for the next year. I've requested internet access at work. I will, once again, be able to lurk at will in Bitches and other places. Happy!

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{{vw}}

I have my weird super long interview tomorrow. I don't know that I need job~ma, because I highly doubt I will want the job, even if they want me. But it should be interesting anyway.

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Why isn't it Saturday yet? I have a date on Saturday! Wait, I need to prepare for it, I'm cooking and stuff, and I'm also going to make an origami centrepiece thingy. It could be Friday night, though, I'd be good with that.

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Tooth pain (well, more like jaw pain) left totally, and almost all at once, after about an hour. Fucking weird, and really agonizing.

Stomach evacuated itself in all kinds of ways, and now is just occasionally rumbly, rather than full-out mutiny. (Which I'm sure you all *really* wanted to know.... t /sarcasm But the time span pretty clearly indicates that it was, in fact, the damn dodgy salmon.)

The Boy called in between bouts of stomach evacuation, and when I told him that my insides were staging a riot, he announced that he was coming over to make sure I was okay. I protested, saying I didn't want to barf on him, but he said "I've been barfed on before, and I survived, and you need someone to take care of you."

Concerned boy is sweet boy. Eeep.

But really, when I'm having stabby stomach pains, and thinking I might have to run to the bathroom at any minute, I don't want to be clutching my gut and whimpering in front of The Boy. But he came over anyway, and rubbed my feet, and told me distracting stories, and I didn't have to run for the bathroom, and eventually my stomach calmed down. And now I'm going to bed.

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{{{Teppy}}}

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The Boy called in between bouts of stomach evacuation, and when I told him that my insides were staging a riot, he announced that he was coming over to make sure I was okay. I protested, saying I didn't want to barf on him, but he said "I've been barfed on before, and I survived, and you need someone to take care of you."

Aw. I'm now picturing a t-shirt with the slogan "I got barfed on and all I got was this lousy t-shirt", but of course it would need to be decorated with more than the slogan.

Anyway, I hope you feel better soon, but meanwhile I'm all kinds of happy that you have someone in line to look after you. And while it's true that you never want to look bad in front of the bats, it's a good sign that the bats are less concerned about it than you are.

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I've been barfed on. While I agree with the someone-to-take-care-of-you sentiment, I never particularly wanted a t-shirt to commemorate the occasion.

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{{vw}} thought the whole situation sounds odd to me, bu tI could be confused.

heath ma ~~`

and I suspect I am going to sleep soon. a 4 hour day wiped me out.

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I'm actually halfway impatient to feel my first quake in SF.

My first california quake felt like a huge blinvisible truck rumbled through the room.

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Why isn't it Saturday yet?

Because I have two memorials and need to be pretty much ready to move by Saturday? Oh? Not about me?

Screw you guys t points right I'm going home.

Tep, boy sounds like a good one. Sweet even.

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