And yeah rainbows and kittens for all who want and need them. [link]

That kitten looks slightly afraid that Skittles are about to rain down upon it.

It's hot out today (ok, 70 degrees, but in the PNW that's hot) and I wanna give out gold stars to the random folks liberating dogs from locked cars (apparently it's surprisingly easy to push down an open window enough to get a smallish dog out). I keep having to restrain myself from chastising folks calling in to report someone 'stealing' their dog from the locked car outside the movie theatre or mall where they left the poor animal for hours in direct sunlight. By the time officers arrive onscene they've been reunited and the call cleared as 'no crime.' The best was one guy who said a witness had seen his dog in the park nrby playing with someone. yup, that's a brutal puppy theft right there.

I'm sorry, erika -

and best outcomeTrudy

Man, Liese. That is the fucking word bomb, and I needed that too. I need to start a word doc of Buffista wisdom I can refer to in rough times. So, like, daily.

Just so y'all know, I was convinced that I was going to piss everyone off with my completely ill-timed and poorly chosen words. Aren't brains FUNNY? Ha. Ha ha.

erika, I'm so sorry about sweet Betsy. I met her, right? She was adorable.

Trudy, that is... quite a lot. I wish you patience and strength to get through whatever lies ahead.

The thoughts running through my head right now are pretty much "I hate everyone in the world" and "I want to set the world on fire." I'm pretty sure it's the result of a frustrating workweek (my boss is so lucky I haven't punched him in the nose) and overextending myself on other fronts. I was just trying to get to the weekend... and now my weekend is looking insane. Paid work and unpaid work and volunteer work are going to swallow, oh, probably 18 waking hours of the three days. At least. Plus personal errands and unpacking (yes, still). And I seem to have volunteered myself to hang out with my super-depressed coworker who could not look me in the eye today and say, "I'm not suicidal." He's so young, and so hard on himself, and so broken hearted... and has his head so far up his ass it's not even funny. Having worn my ass as a hat myself, I recognize.

So. Anyhoo. I'm recognizing, at least, that my gut reaction to push back against any more demands on my time means I'm over committed. And I've taken a Xanax and am about to go to bed, and I hope to sleep a lot. Solidly. Without pain waking me up. Ommmmm...

Oh, and D's nonverbalness is smacking right up against a number of my triggers. I guess it's karma that I, a kind of hyperverbal polyglot code switcher, would be somewhat flummoxed by someone who just... does shit. Frequently it's great. Other times it's not. And I try and talk about it with him... but see above re: nonverbal. The ESL thing can be an tricky, too. He's pretty fluent, but nuance can get lost and jokes aren't always funny.

That was... longer than I expected. Harumph. Leaving it, despite the mememe.

erika, I am so sorry. She sounded like a great dog.

Trudy, much ~ma to you dad and wife, and to the rest of your family as well.

And I try and talk about it with him... but see above re: nonverbal.

I feel you. It's frustrating to be inclined to talk 100 words per minute and free-associate and riff on everything -- with a partner who is most decidedly not like that. He doesn't have to go toe to toe with my excessive wordiness, but -- it's still frustrating, after all this time.

(Unrelatedly, either he needs his hearing checked or I talk like I have a mouth full of taffy, because the following conversation [or similar ones] happen in our house about 5 times a day:

Me: I'm going to make a smoothie before we leave; do you want one in a travel mug?
Him: [pause, blink,] Whaaaat?
Me: SMOOTHIE! [pointing] YOU! WANT?

Hand to god. I feel like a tourist in Indonesia or something. I end up pointing and gesturing and yelling the key word at him. The first few times, I thought it was me, mumbling like I just ate a mouthful of something. But it happens every damn day, so now I'ma blame him. I keep suggesting he get his hearing checked.)

(Unrelatedly, either he needs his hearing checked or I talk like I have a mouth full of taffy, because the following conversation [or similar ones] happen in our house about 5 times a day

Ha! It is the opposite in my house. I'm the deaf one and he's the mumbler! (He actually is mumbly sometimes, it's not just my poor hearing...which I blame on too many shows spent in front of speakers with no earplugs).

Hubby thought he was deaf in one ear, but it turns out he's got the hearing of someone half his age--who isn't a roadie for the Who, that is--but his brain has trouble processing auditory signals. So he's great at saying "Yes, I hear that tone. and that tone, too." Sounds with information, though, mess him up. My poor, mutant husband.

Smonster, insent.

Connie, how did he discover that?