Gee, dude, THIS is why I am leaving the contract.

Suzi, just remind yourself of that. Mentally go "lalalalala, I'm LEAVING" any time the PM gets cranky.

yeah I'm pretty sure Find the Smell is my least favorite game

Yikes, deep breathes Suzi! It will be over soon. So glad you are making a change.

tackle hugs Beverly

Oh, Kristin! Poor you! I'm so sorry.

My thesis adviser just called. He's been out of the country, and, well, got two kind of panicked messages "about" me today--one from my English adviser (who I'd called, panicked because I couldn't get ahold of my thesis adviser) and one from the English Honors Program Director (who is panicked, because he doesn't want to kick me out of the program, but if he doesn't see work from me soon, he's going to have to).

Have I mentioned lately how much I love this guy? He is so good to me...so patient and wise and knows me and how I work and how my brain works. A little 11 minute conversation, and suddenly I'm feeling so much better about the whole thing.

that's good to hear, vw.

Also, poor Suzi! Hang in there, girl. I have a feeling that good things are coming.

Oh Suzi, that sucks. Remember...it's almost over!

VW, very glad that your thesis advisor made you feel better.

t jumps on the tacklehug pile

Happy Birthday, Anne!

Kristin, so sorry you are having to play FtS solo. Even more sorry to hear ND has a migraine. I am, however, jumping with joy over your $15 pants find!

ION, I have been positively drooling over the clothing Retroscope. My birthday is coming up soon, too, and I've been sending DH hints that some things from might make a good gift. For some reason, I'm having a bit of a clothing crisis and am wanting to embrace my spooky-gothy-side even more.

Hmmmmm, if the winning lottery numbers finally appear, can I restart my wardrobe in one shot?

oof!<

Hi guys! Good to see you, too.

Suze, I'm sorry it's being such a prat, but as someone wise just said, "Lalala!"

Also, *still* not taking a turn at FtS.

We have allowed a Driveway Boy--a neglected neighborhood cat whose people don't care for him, and who iswas underfed and looooonely--to come into the house. He can't come into our upstairs apartment because our feral rescue gets so cranked he goes after the humans from displaced aggression, rather than going after the other cat. But we spend a lot of time with him in what was Mom's part of the house as we're clearing out 60 years worth of accumulata (is too a word).

His dearest possession is a rabbit-fur fake mousie. Oh my, looooves to play with it. We heard him playing with it in the other room, and then realized that the fake mousie was on the floor. In this room. So we went to see what he was playing with. He'd found his own mousie, somewhat the worse for wear, as it was mostly mummified, complete with trap. Yhughh. So, you know, not playing. Nuh and uh.

Oh, trust me - the "I have something else to go to" mantra kept me sane as he was yelling at me.

And then, of course, as I was driving home I thought of stuff I should have said. He kept fussing that I hadn't informed him or the contract manager. Well, the contracts manager DID know that I was ramping up training.

Whatever. I just don't want him to throw a monkey wrench in all of this. I haven't signed my offer letter yet - they are supposed to be fixing one thing on it.