Enthusiasm, plus understanding, and a willingness to incorporate feedback.

except Dan already has a term for it: GGG.

But now I feel like I'm missing out because I haven't been to class. I've got The Guide to Getting it On, though, so I suppose I've read the textbook.

After a very slow start to my day, I've now scooped the cat pans, put away two loads of clean clothes, and purged five t-shirts, one pair of running tights, three pairs of workout shorts, one pair work jeans, two sports bras, one pair socks, one pair leg warmers, three cloth napkins and one placemat. Little by little, every day, I'm getting rid of stuff. I'll need to accelerate soon.

Next is: eating lunch and then sending out my freaking resume cover letter. Oh, perfectionism, please stop biting me on the ass.

go smonster go!

Oh, perfectionism, please stop biting me on the ass.

Perfectionism is bisexual.

I think it is Omnisexual.

Check your local sex toy shop.

I used to live near this little treasure [link] - link NSFW, of course - but I didn't make it to any of their classes. There was something marvellously non-seedy about that place.

Had a really nasty psoriasis outbreak, out of nowhere. I'm going to have to start keeping a food/environmental factors log. I was outside for half an hour earlier - could be something pollen-related. OWW.

Edit: Many thanks for all the ~ma for the nearly-FiL.

Ok, so I read this article going around about that baby-play thing for adults about which I think the following: a. kinda yuck. and 2. I wish we could switch bodies. *Someone* should appreciate how often I have to put cream on my ass, if I'm going to be blunt about it.Quite frankly, the thrill is gone, from here. How about y'all stay home and be the baby, and I get to break free and go to France?

C'est bonne with everyone? Too bad the PTB said no trading. But of course, the comments about "*my* hard-earned tax dollars" pissed me off worse than the fetish.(Don't they always?) Cause you know they come from some jerk playing Minesweeper all day or something where I know I work harder than they do.

I have skipped a bunch (which I will go back and read) to bring you this week's episode of "Fun with First Graders".

So I'm helping out one of my girls on her language assignment. She is writing about being a princess. One of the things she writes is that princess' have "poofy dreses" except she made her "d" a "b". I told her to switch it so that was right. She looks down and reads, out loud, "poofy bresses." t beat "OOOOOH! Those are these!" at which point she circles her "breasts" with her pointer fingers. I respond, "Yes, they are but we're talking about dresses so please change your letter." But she's 6 and can't leave it alone so she keeps giggling and says "BRESSES" and does the hand motions again.

A little boy, who I was also helping, says, "You mean boobs."

The little girl looks at him in a huffy voice and says, "There are literally dozens of names for them. WE call them bresses." t hand motion Little Boy shrugs and says, "Boobs. Whatever."

Meanwhile, I say "You two work on your papers, I'll be right back." and I proceed into the hallway where I almost pass out from holding in the laughter.

Goodness these kids are a trip.

Oh, dear, Aimee. That kind of stuff kills me.

Dinner tonight: black-eyed pea coconut milk curry over brown rice with steamed white sweet potatoes (which were supposed to be plantains, but the grocery store didn't have any ripe plantains) and jerk asparagus. Yum. And it all cooked in a somewhat reasonable amount of time. (An hour. Too long for when I'm coming home and want dinner immediately, but pretty good for a full meal with lots of leftovers.)