I hate filing bugs. Our developers all have puppy dog eyes.

Huh. When I was a developer, if there were bugs, we wanted bug reports so we could fix it. To get the message to users, we put a cookie jars out with signs "reward yourself if you helped us improve our system by reporting a bug". (Yes, people took cookies even when they did not report. But it got the message across that if you notice something wrong, we really want you to report it.)

Our developers don't actually do anything to impart guilt upon me when I report a bug. They just look anxious and kind of disappointed. I hate making them make that face. I much prefer the "The users really liked us!" face.

Yes and my satisfaction.

sarameg, I've had that happen with the puppy. She is obsessed with textures and scents.

Huh. I'll also be in LA. Where will you be? Maybe we can figure out a way to get together.

I don't know. Our friends are pretty different; don't know if they'll really get on.

My grandmother cut my bangs off when I was a baby, and my mother was mad enough to remember the incident and tell me about it later. Probably when there was another haircutting incident. Most of the unauthorized haircutting incidents I actually remember involve gum, and no one getting punished. [Grandmother was not punished, by the way].

Oh, I am continuing to crochet my sweater this weekend. And, at the rate it seems to be going, picking my car up from the tire place because they haven't called me yet to say it's ready. Possibly I should check on that right now.

Our developers don't actually do anything to impart guilt upon me when I report a bug. They just look anxious and kind of disappointed. I hate making them make that face. I much prefer the "The users really liked us!" face.

An involuntary reaction. That is why our supervisor trained us to smile and say "thank you" in response to bug reports. Not the natural response, but an important one to avoid users reacting the way you do. Plus cookies.

I have ordered pho for takeout. I need to kill 10 minutes before I leave to pick it up. I need it to be ready because I'm going to double park.

We got pizza and I didn't get enough of it and it wasn't very good pizza anyway.

I knew Mr Peabody was "burying" things in the living room. I'd hear scrabble, scrabble, scrabble and he'd appear with an ancient rawhide chew toy. I thought he was putting everything under the sofa. I just moved the coffee table, which is a chest with maybe an inch and a half of clearance off the rug and discovered a field of chew toys and a lot of bits of what used to be a kitchen sponge.

(Note to self: Occasionally move things when you clean.)

I'm off to the grocery store. I've eaten yummy Chinese take out and I've made a list so I'm as ready as I can ever be.