Belly dancing ... thing. I'm pretty sure my working definition is not accurate, so I won't give it, but I have been assured it's a low pressure performance thing.

Cool.

Go, Laura's son!

I have a date, but had plenty of time to come home after work, and now predictably I don't want to go back out.

I guess I can't text you, then.

FB message?

Thanks, Sue!

FB message?

Insent.

Congrats and good luck to Laura-son!

On a related note, job~ma requested for my BIL, who just got laid off from the architectural firm where he's worked for the past 14 years, apparently because they decided they couldn't afford to promote him.

And on an unrelated note, I discovered today that my primary care doc is a Canadian citizen, and is debating the merits of trying to relocate there (with her American husband and dual-citizen kids). You know, the kind of things that come up in casual conversations now once you've concluded your everyday business. (in this case, getting diagnosed with a sinus infection and mild bronchitis, lucky me.)

Costco is aggravating the fuck out of me. Almost entirely out of fucks over here.

I am definitely done with working for the week. What am I going to do for the next hour and a half??

Drink? Nap? Hallway golf?

IF ONLY.

A little filing, making sure my to-do list is right, oh, and I told someone I would make up a rubric. I guess I can do that.

I am going to get my haircut and colored. The plan is to add some purple. Whee!

Did not allow for time to have lunch, though, and I am hungry enough for stomach to hurt. So that's a drag.