I'm just mad at popular culture for perpetuating the lie that men want sex All The Time.

Truth be told it was less than three weeks ago the last time I had that feeling of having had enough sex. I'm a big whiny baby who should stfu.

That is, used to a washer/dryer, not Alan Cumming in my bunk.

See what you've done? I can see Plei rubbing her hands together and cackling gleefully even now.

Oh, God, Kristin beat me to it.

Speaking of lard, I discovered after the fact that the city of Manteca, where I spent a hellishly hot weekend watching Little League, means lard in Spanish.

Why would anybody name their town "lard"?

...maybe they came from Greece? Or had a wife named Marge?

(!!! Homer!!! Homer did it!!!)

I'd happily schlep my clothes to the laundromat if I could get laid on a regular basis.

Laga is me!

And me! And me! ....I mean, not that I'm oblivious to the goodness of having one's own washing machine - I do thoroughly appreciate my washing machine (having spent a summer in Romania where we had to do the washing in the bathtub, OldSkool, and would have been grateful even for one of those scrubby board things from Ye Olden Days, or for proper washing powder, Laundromats not being an option).

But, yeah - access to washing machine versus regular sex with someone I fancied? That's about as much of a contest as, as, as a thing that isn't even slightly a contest at all.

PS

I am not here, incidentally. Clearly. Because I am working. Hard.

gets back to grind stone.

I'm sure I've told the story of the fellow named Gareth whom I once met who grew up in the cornfield heartlands and got sent to the principal's office on his first day of kindergarten because the teacher thought he was defying her and telling her a made-up name instead of his real name, because everyone knew there was no such name as Gareth.

My older brother's name is Gareth. Just for the fun of it.

My sister loves squash. I've only ever thought of it in terms of "at least we don't have to chase the balls that far" terms.

Ooh, yes. One of the things I like about it. The other being that I can (or could, when I was fit enough) beat people notably stronger and faster by virtue of better skill and strategy.

I hate it when people responding to an email from me misspell my name, even though it's right there in my signature. Yes, I understand that you're from Europe and you spell it with an "s" not a "z". Regardless, I spell it with a "z" and it's RIGHT THERE. I also hate it when people I don't know call me by a diminutive. I'm Elizabeth, all four syllables.

How hard can this be? It's the name of the Queen of Great Britain. (And of Australia, still.)

The only ones who get to call me Lizzie are people I've slept with and still like.

And by remarkable coincidence, the Queen enforces the exact same rule.

Randomly, does anyone know how the name Vashti is pronounced? I always said "vahsh tee" but my cousin says "vahsh tye". (It's from the Bible, Book of Esther.)

I knew that! It crowned one of my weirdest accomplishments, which involved winning a Bible quiz at primary school. (The final round had 20 questions, and Vashti was the answer to the first question.)

It crowned one of my weirdest accomplishments, which involved winning a Bible quiz at primary school.

Nothing's going to top winning that Real Genius contest though.

I'm just mad at popular culture for perpetuating the lie that men want sex All The Time.

Maybe not *want* it all the time, but certainly *thinks* of it all the time... o heck, me? Ya, wants all the time, probably cuz not getting any of the time

Truth be told it was less than three weeks ago the last time I had that feeling of having had enough sex. I'm a big whiny baby who should stfu.

:: envy ::

Nothing's going to top winning that Real Genius contest though.

Hee. That did indeed rock. But frankly I worked harder on winning that Bible quiz, for which I got a maroon-coloured pennant. Go figure.

Seriously, I think that having your very own washer/dryer is better than sex. Most of the time, anyway. And that's not dissing sex. Washer/dryer in the house is just that good.

Oh, word. 4th-floor walk-up + 3-month old in cloth diapers...I think I'd give up my refrigerator before I'd give up my w/d.

When I lived with Emily in Cambridge, we didn't have a w/d, and it about did me in. I said I would NEVER do that again. I've got a w/d in the basement here, and it is heaven.

I have coffee this morning! It does appear that only the grinder in the coffee maker broke. So, I'll just buy a new grinder, or buy ground coffee. So, yay!

I've had a crappy morning already. I overslept, my alarm is messing up I don't know if I'm sleeping through it or it's set wrong, I checked it last night and It hought it was set right.

I keep having nightmares, not scary monster night mares, but emotional nightmares. Last night the bare outline of the dream was I was hanging out with this guy (based on someone I know IRL) and we were getting close, but he's married, but it wasn't cheating. Just being friends, but he cut it off because it felt like cheating. I keep having dreams about relationships and I'll be half asleep and feeling a sense of profound loss and loneliness and frustration and it's not a good way to start the day. That coupled with everything else just makes me want to go back home, curl up and cry.