Go to sleep, Tep. Being unconscious is the best way to fast, I always say.

Which reminds me, my cube-neighbor's husband plays in a band and I halfway promised to go to his next gig. Turns out it's on Yom Kippur. Well, that evening, so it's not out of the question, but still kinda weird.

Bummer about the fast, Tep, but at least it's in the morning so you won't have to wait all day?

Yeah, I think I'll manage to not waste away. t hand to forehead

The lab doesn't do appointments; you just show up, give them your paperwork, and I assume a vampire comes out to bite you. Or maybe a leech in a white doctor's coat oozes out from its office. Anyway, no appointment means I'm going as early as possible tomorrow so I can get it done and then shovel some breakfast in my face. (I can have black coffee -- ick -- so at least my driving won't be impaired from lack of caffeine.)

And I scrambled around for the documents I need for the Social Security office, and it turns out I can mail all that shit in to get my name changed. So fuck it, man, that's what I'm doing. I'm not going downtown if I don't have to.

We don't have grandiose anniversary plans; just dinner out somewhere and cupcakes to commemorate our wedding cupcakes (we don't have year-old wedding cupcakes frozen in the back of the freezer, mostly because there is no way that cake -- even in frozen form -- would survive for a year in our house; one or both of us would have devoured it in a sugar frenzy long ago). We were talking about where to have dinner, and Tim, my vegetarian husband, suggested a fancy schmancy steakhouse I've often said I'd like to eat at, assuming there's a pasta dish or something on the menu for him. So we looked at the menu online.

Jesus, NOPE. There is an $82 steak on the menu. I feel like an unsophisticated hick by reacting with such a "Whaaaaaa???" face, but no cow part can be worth that much. (My favorite part is how you pay $82 for this steak, but if you want bernaise sauce, it's $4 extra. REALLY? Maybe if you're charging $82 for a piece of cow, you throw in the sauce for the hell of it.)

I am way too cheap to spend that much on dinner. Maybe -- MAYBE -- for a milestone anniversary. But not for Year 1: The Survivening. There are many other tasty places to eat that don't induce a reaction shot straight out of a Jim Carrey movie.

So Trevor? Not eating, for a few days now. I am sad, but I am also wondering if it's okay if I name the next toad Trevor too. I mean, I guess there's still time for him to make a miraculous recovery, but it's looking less and less likely.

Do toads hibernate? Maybe Trevor is in a seasonal slowdown.

Or. conversely, maybe he is reacting badly to the excess heat.

I have a reception today and one of my peeps who was set on attending has backed out. Anything on your plate, burrell for 10-2?

Aw, I wish I knew anything about toads.

Grocery delivery happened, right in the middle of the projected, time, too.

Phone screen interview, Part 2 still to be gotten through, though. I'm much less nervous about it, as the first part went well by my standards, and the guy has reason to be Nice to me because he had to cut it off and then didn't get back to me for hours. So I can look teamlike in my acceptance of shifting schedules.

Go Theo!

I am sad, but I am also wondering if it's okay if I name the next toad Trevor too.

I'm pretty sure my grandfather had three dogs in his life, and they were all named Frisky. (I think that's the name...)

I'm pretty sure my grandfather had three dogs in his life, and they were all named Frisky

My father grew up with dogs that often just went unnamed. He will tell a story about ". . . the dog we had before Fudd who was the best damned hunter . . ." and my sisters and I would ask him what the dog's name was. "We always call him the one before Fudd," he'd say, and we'd try and point out they couldn't have called him that always if he came before Fudd.

In a bit of what I like to think of the universe nodding it's approval, we are bringing home a puppy tomorrow. One of a litter of ten, Miss K, was definitely drawn to this one, and the rescue had named her Salsa. Salsa was the name of the search dog who looked for Sass, and who passed away this past year. We are good with this name.