Here's what's been happening:
- I did, in fact, step all over the wet varnishy kitchen floor. I was pissed and horribly, rottenly entitled. On the first two steps my shoe stuck and the third step I slid in a pool of varnish...and then I panicked, grabbed a fork and back tracked. I didn't ruin the floor all that badly. The one spot that is noticeable is actually a sock mark at the very edge - from where I had to lean to use the microwave.
- I finished some baby socks and gave them away (pictures at the end of the post). I was also commanded to start making those socks for my friend's unborn babies. That she isn't going to start having until she is 30. Which is 5 years away. What she doesn't realize is that those tiny little socks are a pain in the ass to make and she'll be lucky if she gets one pair.
- Lot of emailing to Canada. Then a phone call to the burbs. Welcome back to Chicagoland Al.
- Christmas shopping and the like...
- Figuring out what my chances are to hit it on New Years (I'm going to go with...7 to 1. And by hit it, I mean something tame like...make out). Apparently I'm going to be forced into a shopping trip with "baby sock commander" friend where I will be forced to try on humiliating hootchie shirts so that I can show off the ample cleavage. But like "maybe I'm jewish" friend states: they're there - it's not like anyone is going to miss them. Why sluttify myself? Let's struggle with that one shall we? Because apparently I would have a better chance with men if I wore tighter clothes (courtesy of "baby sock commander" and husband). But what they don't understand is - I don't want to be that girl. If you only like me because my shirt is tight and my boobs are large then fuck off.