My father has a similar shirt, with the clocks replaced by guitars. He also recently got me a shirt with a picture of a melting Rubik's cube on it. I'm not quite sure what that one is supposed to mean, but he says that he saw it and decided that I had to have it. (I'm sure my mother was consulted, because there's no way he would have figured out what size to get me on his own.)

went to baseball game with friends instead of packing. Had lots of coke-cola at game to stay awake. Was hoping it would keep me awake a bit to work into the night. Not working. Thinking sleep would be better. Ack. Movers come Friday morning. Must pack iMac and side screen, dismantle corner desk unit, unwire & pack entertainment center, and pack clothes. And clean. Thankfully they are doing the kitchen, but still have to do dishes so they can do kitchen. Ack! Not. Quite. Panic... (yet).

Breathe, omnis. You'd do fine.

When I saw the Dali exhibit

With me! Ah, memories. Persisting.

A few weeks back, at Sakura-con, Lewis bought a t-shirt that had a parody of a Very Famous Painting screened on it. He wore it yesterday and Abby took one look and said, "Oh my God, what did they do to Dali's Persistence of Memory?"

I admit it: that picture exceeded my expectations of a parody of a Dali painting.

Bitches, I need advice.

On this French study group I've made, there's a guy. Said guy and I differ on our ways of study, to the point where it takes us good 3-5 minutes to understand each other's questions and meanings. It's insipid and irritating and feels like so much energy is just spend there, on understanding one another questions and explanations. If it was just me and him, I'd break it up, but there are two other persons with us. One understands both of us and mediate between the both of us, and I suspect that the other has hard time understanding the guy as well.

Do I quit the group I started the first place? Ask the guy to leave? Clearly there's a problem here, and there's only so much I can do - but I can't change my native tongue to Russian nor have the knowledge of 3 years in linguistics he has.

Hey, Barb, did Lewis ever hear anything on that job?

I have more photos of Ryan up on Flickr: [link] Includes highlights from his first birthday party (his actual birthday starts about an hour from now - in two hours it'll be exactly one year since his birth at 1 a.m.), and saying farewell to his grandparents at the airport. They promise they'll be back later in the year. How could they not? [link]

So I'm coaching t-ball and for the most part, it is a blast. The kids are great fun and are so very enthusiastic. You know that video of the LED sheeps that follow each other and such? Imagine the sheeps as 4, 5, and 6 year olds all following a ball. It's fantastic and I love it even though it's not a whole lot of coaching and a lot of "Put the dirt down!", "Ready positions!" "Get in your shape!" "Ready, Giants?" "Run to first!" and "Throw it to first!"

However.

I had one kid last night who just was not into playing. It was a weekday, it was 6:30, and he was probably tired. He played in the dirt constantly, but he and I had a good time bantering about the playing in the dirt and playing in the game and him being bored and me joking with him that if I have to be there, so does he. And then? He threw a handful of sand/gravel/dirt IN MY FACE. Now, I was walking toward him and I do not know if he did it on purpose or if he was throwing it and I walked near him at the right time, but I really think it was on purpose because he smiled and said, "It was an accident! It was an accident!" It took everything in me not to yank him up by his stirrups and put him on the bench, which is hard to do when parents and grandparents are watching. I was picking pebbles out of my hair all night. Thank God I had my sunglasses on so my eyes were protected.

Apple-Cinnamon Nutri-Grain Bars:

Dear Asshole Woman I Just Talked To:

Unless you are going to go knock on every other person's door that lives on that street and ask them if they are always sober when residing IN THEIR HOME, don't fucking call me and ask if my residents are REQUIRED to be sober simply because you were told that our agency houses the formerly homeless, you fucking bitch. Your "very young child" has a statistically higher chance of getting fondled and mistreated by your fucking father-in-law than one my tenants. So don't come into this town and start making assumptions about who your neighbors are. Look inside your family first, assface.

Signed, Doesn't Know Who the FUCK You Think You Are.