There are two bad things about being in St. Thomas for 17 days.

1) The people I am staying with only have dial-up. There are only 2 internet cafes on the island, and really, I can't afford to rack up the hours there.

2) My cell phone charges for roaming.

Don't you feel sorry for me? I'm gonna have to just be a beach bumb the whole time. It's gonna be so hard!

5AM is just wrong.

You're telling me. I'm a night owl at heart and peak season (basically the entire summer, since it's beer) just kills me. It obviously kills brain cells, anyway.

Working my way through my second venti coffee and still haven't accomplished much today other than watching a couple episodes of The Closer. Yay for marathons of shows I've never seen! However, it's not getting me any "closer" (heh) to having a clean house.

eta: oh dear, vw. I had no idea of the hardships you'd have to endure. You poor thing. :)

BUT! I get to Stephanie and Ellie!!!!!!!!

Must e-mail to figure out which weekend will work best!

Yay St. Thomas, vw!

Nicole, sorry about the work stuff, but you have definitely earned a lazy day.

I need to be writing a paper today. I really wish I hadn't procrastinated it until the last minute because it would have been nice to do something fun with Dave on his day off.

This is what I know about Cork: It is sinking; their librarians are useful and nice; you can carve peat from the nearby hills; people drink Murphy's Ale in the south of Ireland; Murphy's Ale is pronounced Marphy's; the students of communism at Cork University will gladly buy you free ale.

This is actually all useful information. Except that I'm from Dublin and thus drink Guinness (although I actually prefer Murphy's, but shh).

I'm off to the street fair today.

Somehow I don't think the next episode of Supernatural is going to be That Creepy Feeling: why is Liz afraid of the dark?

Put me on the "Loved Cork" train. I was travelling after college and broke and on a budget and couples kept buying me drinks. "Oh sweetie, buy her a drink." And I hitch hiked.

OK I'm taking a stupid OKCupid test. Why does this question practically make me cry? Seriously- tears welled...

You're in the mall, doing a bit of window shopping. You notice a small boy - maybe 5 or 6 years old - on one of the seats, crying quietly. Nobody else seems to have noticed him yet. What do you do?

I mean- this is Schroedinger's kid. For all I know he's crying because he's on a time out and his mother is three feet away. Why is my instant reaction to "scared little kid" (or scared developmentally disabled person for that matter) this gut wrenching sadness?

bad thread killer! No biscuit!

How are you spending your monday?

I'm watching Dead Like Me on Scifi and trying to sew at least 20 place mats before I go to bed tonight.

On the upside, I have skull and crossbones denim to do 9 of them in, which I believe 9-12 year-olds will like a lot.