but this morning, I saw the one on my right boob that is now turning purple, and just now, I was scratching along my right side and thought "Ow!", lifted up my shirt, and saw a huge purple blotch midway down my torso on the side. They're all in a row, so it's obviously from the seatbelt last Thursday.

Oh, I remember those well. Er, vaguely for the first few days. But well after that. If it helps, the silver lining is that your insurance company clearly will know you were wearing your seatbelt.

Sorry though. I also recall they hurt, as bruises that deep and extensive tend to do.

The sticking point seems to be giving them weapons and training them to fight back.

There's so much cognitive dissonance involved in the dude's letter I can't even begin to untangle it.

Nubian queen

And I went to a TOS Star Trek place, Squire of Gothos, except he said Nubian slave. Never mind me.

This country has seem women captured and women sent home in body bags since the first Iraq war and there's been hardly a peep about it. Women are dying in combat now, but because their role isn't considered "combat," their chance for promotions is reduced. I wish we could move on to "all soldiers, whatever their gender, are protected against sexual harassment"

CV! Pictures!

I hold the door for everyone. I run to get the door for people who look like they'll have trouble. I often become entangled in my coat, but usually someone trying help makes it worse. I am irritated when men do that little dance at doors and elevators to let women go first, because it usually just gets in my way.

So I had a nice lunch with former co-worker who told me a bit about his new company (employee-owned, reasonable size but not enormous, pretty good benefits, interesting work), and came back to find out that My Nemesis had "neglected" to inform me of a significant change in one of our projects.

I could very easily have embarrassed the fuck out of myself because she can't be bothered to keep me in the loop. Actually, I misspeak: it's not "can't be bothered", it's intentional leaving-me-out so that I will embarrass the fuck out of myself.

I run to get the door for people who look like they'll have trouble.

This is also the exception to my anxiety described above. I'll always try to do the same.

I'm also a door-holder. Also, to clarify, I am all for politeness and courtesy. Just not gender-based.

I hold the door as I go through for people behind me; I'll stand aside and hold it for people carrying things or dealing with recalcitrant children or dogs. I hate when someone makes a big production out of the door-holding, coat-assisting, seating, etc. I resent when I hold the door for someone and they sail through as though I were their personal door holder (they're usually on the phone damn them).

I'm still mad at people who I obviously let into traffic that don't give me a thank you wave. So I stop letting people in.

Say hello to the problem!

IT WAS YOU ON THE 405, ita.