The Zoo over Ambuscade Street

I am forced to the conclusion that my black corset is too long. If I don't really cinch it at all, it's comfortable enough that I could wear it all day at Wicked Faire, but...if I try to keep my arms at my sides, my fingers go numb. Errrr...

I can't pull it down any lower, because then things like sitting become challenging. Bitter.

Sleep is required right now. I also managed to forget my Bizzaro-lunch. Note to self: don't go grocery shopping when sleepy. I left with The Necessities (toilet paper, milk, cereal, happidroogs), but also fun things like:

-An avacado
-Miniature lemon-poppyseed scones
-A loaf of batard
-Pop Tarts. I loathe Pop Tarts.
-Stuffed Cabbage
-V8 juice. I also loathe V8.

I have no idea what was going through my brain, but it must have seemed like a good idea at the time. So it appears that I'll be having avacado and batard for dinner, since I neglected to bring anything for lunch. Erik will drink the V8, and I have no idea what to do with the pop tarts. *shudder*

My reading bug has been driving me towards mysteries and history books, so when I spotted this in my to-read pile, it was pretty much a no brainer. It's one of the prettiest books I own, too - much nicer than the edition that Amazon is showing.

I've also discovered a whole subset of Elizabethan mysteries. Drool. Why certain classes of historical and supernatural mysteries make my brain shut off remains a (heh...) mystery to me.

*THUD*THUD*THUD*

Today...is t3h suck. For reasons I can't even begin to talk about. All related to work, if you're one of those people I've talked to about other things - don't worry, it's not you.

People have a fundamental lack of comprehension about where, exactly, their paychecks come from. This is what is generally known as a Bad Thing. Especially for me, when I'm the one left picking up the pieces and making the best of a horridly bad situation.

Have I mentioned yet that I have to work on Sunday? They tried to talk me into three hours of driving for fifteen minutes of work. Instead, I have three hours of driving and nine hours of work, but at least I'm getting paid...

Monday, verily, is going to suck, because I'm sure, somehow, that everything will be My Fault through the magic of buck-passing. And he's not even on this coast this week!