I don't worry for myself at all. I'm not afraid of dying. But I am terrified of leaving my dogs fending for themselves. Relatedly it's my dogs' care that finally got me to sit down and work out a will and post-death finances.
Java is me, totally.
Bartleby's guardians all know who they are and my will provides for him.
It's funny, three people assume that they would be caring for him. So, I know he will be safe, no matter what.
During the house fire last year and earthquake this year, all I grabbed was him and his food.
There's a Bradley Cooper backlash? What the hell ever. However many years ago, he was the dork on Alias. Now we need to be rescued from his shallowness?
It's weird. On the other hand, I quite liked Salon's list.
There should just be "more hot men" lists, without the implication that *this* list of hot men is cooler or deeper than the last one.
Yes, the more hot men lists, the merrier.
So tonight I'm heading down to Tuscaloosa to see Monica. I'm taking a train (in a sleeper car) to Jackson, MS and getting a rental car from there.
My boss is at a client's in Houston--this morning he called me and assigned me an "emergency programming request" to do today. That means I can't play on the internets much, but it will make the day go by fast, so that's good at least.
Thom Yorke is talented, but hot he ain't. He looks like he needs a few hot meals and possibly an antibiotic.
I'm going to make a list of hot male authors. Or just hot authors, come to think of it.
Some of my coworkers are cheering on the police as they arrest protesters. I'm feeling ill.
Ugh, Tom. You've had a tough run of it lately, and I wish it would stop.
