Laura, ouch, bad knee! Hope it's easily fixable.

Every time I take some quiz, I'm convinced I have the whatever-it-is. I just avoid them. I have a therapist and a psychiatrist; if there's something wrong with me, they ought to be able to figure it out.

I just realized - "IF there's something wrong with me"? ha! Obviously there is or I wouldn't have them.

My hair is dark again. Feels more like me. Unfortunately, I'm having to stick with temporary dyes because of the strong possibility that I'm allergic to permanent dyes. (My hair started falling out, aiieee! and my eyebrows, which was the real clue, because my stylist was dying my brows too.) So it doesn't completely cover the gray. However, I'm not sure I really mind... kinda makes me feel like I look like a grown-up, if that makes sense.

I didn't sleep at all last night, so I called out from work. At 3am. Then I got up to find that it had snowed. Good timing! Now, off to forage for breakfast, at noon.

Blarg. Am training again. I shouldn't be here. I really shouldn't. And yet I cling to the Buffistas. Yes, I cling.

Every time I take some quiz, I'm convinced I have the whatever-it-is.

I'm usually convinced that the tests are just flawed. I could be in deep denial.

I was accidentally screened for autism once. They were supposed to be screening me for ADD. So I know I'm not autistic, though my ADD status is still a mystery. (And I know enough Aspies in real life to know that, no, I don't fit that description. Okay, elementary school me did, but I think that was just poor socialization.)

What really throws the quizzes off with me are the sections or questions on stims. Especially now that I've gone and undone years of training myself to sit still and stop twitching. (Twitchy people burn more calories, drat it!)

Breaking news on CNN says Barbaro, the horse who broke his leg during a Triple Crown race, was put down this morning. Sad.

Rats! Last I heard he was doing well.

And I know enough Aspies in real life to know that, no, I don't fit that description.

This. I mean, I don't LIKE small talk -- in a huge violent way -- but I *can* do it. I just vastly prefer not to. That doesn't make me an Aspie.

It just makes me a dick.

Ple and Teppy don't have Asperger's. They're just freaky in their own special, sexy ways.

Raq and Suzi! Check out these pictures from Fan Fest. Crosby and Haren have full beards! Swish with the samurai 'do!

I got called at 5pm last night and told there was a Little League manager's meeting at 6:30. In the East Bay. While JZ had the car out in Walnut Creek. Oy. Scrambled to get there and Marcelo picked me up and we went to Pyramid Alehouse and I got to hang with the Triple-A movers and shakers and sort out the draft order. Previously this had been a very mysterious process, and now I was in the thick of it.

It was fun and got me all hepped up on goofballs baseball. We're going to be The Mets again, and a good chunk of our team will be from last year's 8 y.o. tournament team. Emmett and the Eights! I keep saying, even though all the 8s are now 9 for this season. We got a break on the draft and will have two picks in the top ten of available kids. For those of you keeping score, Emmett was rated as #3 of all the kids in Triple-A this year. Which is about exactly where I'd peg him.

If his buddy Jack turns into a decent pitcher this year, however, we might have to re-evaluate. (Jack is Coach Wayne's son. Coach Wayne is dating EM. Jack's the best catcher in the league and will be the best power hitter in the league. He's also got a very strong arm, but doesn't like to pitch.)

I mean, I don't LIKE small talk -- in a huge violent way -- but I *can* do it. I just vastly prefer not to. That doesn't make me an Aspie. It just makes me a dick.

It will surprise nobody that Teppy and I are as one in this.

That doesn't make me an Aspie. It just makes me a dick.

I dont think that it makes you a dick to not like small talk. I'm a huge extrovert, and I don't really like it. I mean, if the conversation doesn't delve into something meaningful in a few minutes, I move on.

It was fun and got me all hepped up on goofballs baseball.

Seriously. He actually lay down beside me at around midnight and then woke me up with a long, long stream of barely-audible muttering -- I thought he was sleep-talking about the book or grumbling about Matilda's night noises, but he was muttering Little League draft picks and possible team rosters. Over and over and over.