Hallo, Bitches. Lots to do, no motivation. My perpetual state.

@@ at Aims' friend's husband.

Anyone any good at socialising dwarf hamsters, i.e. getting them to stop running away every time they see any creature that isn't, well, them?

I need an entire blog entitled Taming Hamish. Today: getting her to live with the plastic exercise ball in her cage for a bit, so she gets the idea that running around the living room in it will not lead to her violent demise (for we have no cats).

That's why God created hamsters - so they could run around in little transparent plastic balls.

Good lord, Aims. If anyone tried to pull that sort of shit on my behalf, I'd go ballistic.

Anyhow, I worked for a partial day, took care of some stuff I'd be worrying about if I didn't go in, and then came home. Co-worker was very understanding about my bailing on the concert and was able to get someone else to go with her. I'm sad about missing the concert (my attempts to go to any concert at that particular venue are cursed - plans have been made on multiple occasions only to have something happen at the last moment) but glad to be staying home.

That's why God created hamsters - so they could run around in little transparent plastic balls.

I know! She's refusing to engage in the entire purpose of her life! It's clearly some kind of existential crisis.

Anne, I'm glad your friend understood about you not being able to go to the concert, and that you will be able to get the rest you need tonight.

Aims, I also boggle at your friend's husband.

That's why God created hamsters - so they could run around in little transparent plastic balls.

We keep pondering the fun of getting a small mammal and a plastic ball for the entertainment of the feline members of the household. It would be evil. But the cats would really enjoy it. Or perhaps not, now that they have the hang of the plastic balls that dispense treats....

Can't. Stop. Eating. Caramels.

Blah, I dithered too long and the Amanda Palmer show this weekend is sold out. Maybe I'll try Craigslist.

Blah, I dithered too long and the Amanda Palmer show this weekend is sold out. Maybe I'll try Craigslist.

Keep an eye on her Twitter, too. She frequently runs ticket give-aways.

Aims, I think J's husband is being ridiculous, but the thing that I must comment on?

New Moon. I will see it a couple of times, I am that mother.

Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear. Should we stage an intervention?

(Okay, I was going to go see New Moon on Sunday with some friends, but schedules changed and I'm having dinner with my parents instead. But my friends are going to one of those theatres where they serve food and alcohol; I wouldn't have had to smuggle a flask in.)

If my husband did that, I'd freak. But maybe she was just bitching and hubs took "Handyman" a bit too literally? Still awkward. I spent two hours writing today. Unfortunately, it was a long analysis of sexy guys left out of Salon's Sexiest Man Living column. I am a pathetic, horny loser. Dang, I forgot Mike Rowe... cultural analysis is hard, people.

What Vortex et. al. said.

Hee. "twatwaffle"

Fay, I love you. And I love that. It's my word of the day!

I am going to organize my desk area today, I am, I swear.

Did I mention I got a subbing gig? Dontcha all Buffista teachers wish you had a sub like me? Dontcha wish your sub was COOL like me? Dontcha wish your sub was SMART like me? Dontcha?

(Ok, stab me in the face now, cause I would!)

Also, blogging is (a) addictive and (b) surprisingly helpful in some areas of my life. It's all about organizing my thoughts and obsessions. Even though there's really no feedback, I know people are reading it, even if they're not responding and that's so different than a journal. I'm still keeping a paper journal, but that's mostly for the really dark stuff that needs to be out of my brain, but that I (a) need to stew over for a while or (b) never NEVER needs to be read by anyone. Except after I'm dead.