:: Saturday, November 29, 2003 ::
WHAT THE HELL DAY IS IT???:: Friday, November 28, 2003 ::
This is the problem with taking so many days off: I feel like I'm drifting around a gigantic swimming pool on a blow-up Daffy Duck raft, with no sense of gravity or time. At all. Plus, I just watched The Matrix: Reloaded so somewhere in the back of my head I've started wondering if I'm really just made of cascading green code. Doesn't help that I've loaded that as my screensaver.
How disconcerting.
And then I look over at Speaksy and see his hair sticking up in all directions and realize, I'm not the only one with problems.
Trust me, I'm not unhappy about my five-day hiatus, but without a workday thrown in as a reference point I've totally lost track of the calendar. Hence this entry: once posted it will have a time and date stamp.
Of course, since the blog itself is just code how do I know the Matrix isn't bending my perceptions to its sinister will?
Pfft. I don't care. If chocolate tastes better in the Matrix then call me Agent Speaks.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 2:29 PM [+] ::
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The Birth of a Template:: Thursday, November 27, 2003 ::
Wow. The amount of junk going into my body today is stunning. Cookies, brownies, chocolate-covered pretzels and Beavis and Butthead Do America - sweet. I love the day after Thanksgiving.
So, as Tara so kindly pointed out, several links are now missing from my template. DAMMIT! I noticed this late last night but was too tired to fix it then, so I thought I'd open the floor today for anyone whose links have fallen off, or who never had a link but wants to be included. If this is you, please email me at worldofjuliet@yahoo.com and I'll add you pronto! (This means you, too, Tara - for some reason when I saved the old template I lost anything you don't already see over there. Rats.)
Thanks to all of you who responded on the new template! To answer some questions I've gotten here and elsewhere, I used a basic template I found at BlogSkins.com and merged it with some features from my old one. I created the graphics using Microsoft Picture It! and the Good Dog Cool font from fontgarden.com. The main body text font is Georgia.
And everything you see is extremely low-tech.
Of course.
Oooh, Speaksy just found Ferris Bueller's Day Off for B&B commercial breaks, so I've got to go. Have a great day, everyone!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 3:01 PM [+] ::
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I love it when a plan comes together.:: Wednesday, November 26, 2003 ::
Leave it to me to bring the A-Team quotes at a time like this.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! In honor of this fine American holiday I've done a little redecorating. I've been struggling for weeks to find a template I like and can deal with, and today I finally hit paydirt. Well, actually I got sick of looking for something I liked and just did one myself. What do you think?
As with the last time, if you hate it, say so. If you find things that are out of place, let me know. I'm sober this time, but not for long, so it may take me a few days to get everything straightened out.
In the meantime, back to turkey coma I go! (Except instead of turkey it's Wendy's and instead of coma it's an overdue power nap...)
Hugs!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 9:35 PM [+] ::
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And Liaraven Gets the Prize:: Tuesday, November 25, 2003 ::
Yes, the book in which HFS has her nose so lovingly buried is I Don't Mean to be Rude, But... by one Simon Cowell. All I can say is, put this one on your "can't wait for Christmas" list.
Do it now. I'll wait.
The kind online marketing department at Random House contacted HFS/JS Industries and asked if we would advertise Simon's book on our myriad sites, and in return we received two advance copies (to my PO box over there, for those of you who thought I was kidding with that ;)). They arrived while I was in Philadelphia and it took me a day or so to get HFS' copy to her so we're just now getting down to the reading, but so far it's exactly what you'd expect.
If you don't hear Simon's voice reading every word in your ear then there's something wrong with you.
Oh, and read it before bed. I promise you, it'll be worth dragging out this one-day read just for the spectacular directed dreaming you can do.
Seriously.
Eat your turkey, break out some old AI vids and dust off your running shoes. I Don't Mean to be Rude, But... hits bookstores December 2.
And by the way? Olivia Newton-John has Glint. Just so you know.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 12:20 PM [+] ::
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Not...snarking! Must...find...Cirque...marathon...:: Monday, November 24, 2003 ::
No. I will not recap tonight's American Idol Christmas special (before Thanksgiving, which is sacrilegious to begin with) - NO! I am not mocking this!
I am, however, making noises something like those of an old farmhouse screen door.
Meep.
C'mon though. Christina Christian? Where'd they even find her, the unemployment office?
ACK! NO!
Right. Okay, so have you seen Michael Jackson's mug shot? I guess now we know what happened to Baby Jane.
See what I did there? That's transference. I am taking my displeasure over K-Lo's panty lines in those white pants out on someone else.
That there's a skill.
Oh man, what's with the green light show going on over Tamyra's head there? What is that, a fleet of California governors in their T getups comin' at us from the laserdome?
STOP IT! Gah! I don't think this is working out for me. I can't hear that AI theme song without turning into ubermockass woman.
Although some people might say that's a skill, too.
Not me, of course. But some people.
I have to go eat some bread to counteract all this sugar. I'm gonna be so bloated tomorrow...
Night!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 8:53 PM [+] ::
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Desperately Seeking Sharon Stone:: Wednesday, November 19, 2003 ::
Wow, am I out of practice at this. See, this is why I don't exercise either: you spend a year building a habit, take a few days off for whatever reason, realize nobody died during your mini-vacation and say "aw fuck it" and lie down on the couch.
Seriously, I spent five days in a dry-ass convention center getting my lips chapped and only blogged once. How is it I can't find anything to tell you about that? Oh, right. Philadelphia.
Maybe I have to ease myself back into the blogging routine. You know, start with a little post about nothing and work my way back up to the full-length entries about nothing. Or, maybe I left my muse in the hotel. I hate that. I forgot my favorite hairbrush once and was traumatized for weeks. How I missed it on my 37 inspections of the room is beyond me. The hairbrush, not the muse. Well, maybe the muse, too.
Of course maybe she found a hottie in the bar and ditched me. That would be just like her.
Slut.
*huff*
Love,
Juliet (who is quite sure that post didn't make a bit of sense to anyone, but it's okay because she's easing back into things)
:: happy hour begins at 8:56 PM [+] ::
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Well, that's something you don't see every day.:: Monday, November 17, 2003 ::
Greetings from the Hilton! Philadelphia is gray, semi-cool and rainy, and my hotel is having internet access issues. Shock and dismay.
So we made it here yesterday with plenty of time for a stop at Metrosexual Mecca, aka The Bar That Looks Just Like Every Other Bar in America But Contains Mainly Excessively Well-Groomed Men in Ties (Some of Whom Sail Clear Past the Metro Line), a Few People of Unspecified Gender, a Band That Tries Hard To Be Jazzy Yet Only Manages to Screech Really Loudly...and Me in a Pink Sweatshirt and Jeans. I guess there were a few other women there, but they were either bartenders or tragically 90s in their pearl earrings and white pantyhose with black suits and shoes.
Girl, if you're going to be a fag hag at least do it right. My gay friends would have left you and your Payless party pumps at a truck stop with a copy of Vogue and a dollar for the bus.
Anyway, believe me when I tell you I considered it a great fortune that the gaggle of drunken firefighters in the back - who wore crisp company T-shirts neatly tucked into color coordinated trousers - burst onto the scene and appropriated the microphone from the desperately unhinged singer. Some guy declaring himself the next American Idol took over and professed his love for some other guy in the crowd, then butchered tune after tune in an effort to bring some fun to the masses.
Thank God.
So tonight, hell bent on finding someplace less high-strung in which to find beer, we struck out in another direction and found a fun time just a block up. Apparently one of the shops here in Chinatown had constructed a three-story wooden frame over the storefront and affixed a giant blue tarp to the thing. Think wind. Think three stories worth of plastic sheeting and broken two-by-fours spanning the street. I can't tell you how many cars got trapped under it, but there were two helicopters, three camera crews and two fire trucks.
I wonder if the next American Idol was on the scene.
One trip to Wa-Wa later I am back in my hotel room with a diet coke, a banana nut muffin and a roast beef sandwich. It's just safer for me in here, spotty internet connection and all.
I hope you're all having a wonderful week! I'll check in again if I can!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 7:16 PM [+] ::
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Sneak Attack:: Friday, November 14, 2003 ::
I'm leaving for Philadelphia in the morning, and I won't be back until Sunday night. I realize I haven't mentioned this before, and there's a good reason for it:
I forgot.
I agreed to cover this business trip a few months ago so someone else could get shuffled to Chicago. I filed the information away under "someday" and whistled while I worked. Then hell came, and we all know what that was like. By the time I finally looked up at my chronically-one-month-behind wall calendar, it was, like, last week.
So, in a panicky sequence of events worthy of an Ed Wood after school special I found myself at the Laundromat tonight, and if that doesn't paint a picture for you then you must be new around here. Hi, I'm Julietspeaks.
As with the trip to Atlanta this summer, I have yet to pack at 10pm the night before I leave. Meh. This means I should be going.
Which also means I'm probably going to read some J/D fanfic for a while after this.
I may or may not be able to get internet access this week from the Hilton ("Times is haaaard" - Speaksy), so if I don't talk to you again have a wonderful week! If I do talk to you again, let's hope it's not because they closed a major department store in my destination city (stupid Atlanta Macy's).
Cheers!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 10:32 PM [+] ::
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What Have I Done?:: Thursday, November 13, 2003 ::
It started innocently enough. All Dad Speaks wanted to know was, why was our phone line always, always busy? The good answer: because we had dial-up and I was on the computer a lot.
What I said: because I am horrifically addicted to American Idol Simon Cowell and message boards and I write fanfic and on one of the message boards I've started a sort of journal and yes I'm protecting my identity by using an alias which is Julietspeaks so don't worry!
Jesus Christ. Anybody out there who thinks I'd make a good spy should just quit living right now.
If this weren't bad enough, within a week - a fucking week - Dad had uncovered two different people who had already heard of me. Mind you, at that point I was just writing on Prospero; the blog was still just a gleam in Jo's eye.
But born it was, and google found me, and Dad Speaks saw people in the grocery store and soon people I'd gone to high school with, their parents and some of my relatives knew about it.
Freak. Freak. Freak.
Then people at work caught on, and not just people I told about it - also people I respect very much but don't talk to regularly. Yes, I call it my home page on the company's intranet but it's not like anybody reads those things, right?
Freak.
It's so funny, though - I don't worry about that when I'm writing. Sure, I nut out all over the place while I'm not writing, but once I sit down to do it I almost forget the fact that not just strangers, but people I know are reading about my underwear and could pretty much calculate my monthly cycle.
And let's not forget my undying love for two 44-year-old celebrities who are anything but mainstream choices.
While at times seriously oppressive, me writing out my day in the face of that is sort of freeing. Like, this is me - this is it. I am 31 years old and this is my life, warts and all. Yes, sometimes better judgment will swoop in and stop me from writing about that or kicking the hell out of this person, but mostly I just don't worry about it.
And then when I see these people I just try not to make eye contact.
Shout out to T! I'm so happy you're here! I know when you told me I probably gaped like a goldfish who didn't realize there wasn't water outside the bowl, and I could have been much more helpful with the Whitford situation, but I never stop being shocked that people come in here. Welcome!
Have a great weekend, everyone!
Juliet
Blog topic brought to you by Blogger: What to do if your mom discovers your blog...
:: happy hour begins at 9:13 PM [+] ::
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I had a perm, too.:: Wednesday, November 12, 2003 ::
Thank you to Jo for this fabulous fucking quiz (read: I've just visited hell on earth and am ready to recommit to Sing Sing Sing):
126, baby. With Speaksy's help, of course. He's a music teacher and I'm just a FREAK with lyrics.
So tonight is a flashback to last night, just with different pajamas and Pat Benatar over Patsy Cline, plus a few snowflakes and a windstorm. Nothing else new to report, unless you count the sitemeter hit from google search:
south+park+cartman+saigon+whore
Classic.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 7:14 PM [+] ::
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Themeless in Maryland:: Tuesday, November 11, 2003 ::
So here I sit, barefoot in a pair of pajama pants and a tank top with my hair in a sloppy knot on top of my head, eating a brownie out of the pan with a semi-clean spoon and lip syncing a heartfelt "Blue" with Patsy Cline. Tom Hanks is going to walk through here any minute now.
Sadly, someone making a movie of my life would spend a lot of film on scenes like that. The most action I saw all day was when our satellite went out in the middle of The West Wing (!) and Speaksy and I launched off the couch to try and reconfigure the 89 appliances in the entertainment center so we could scooch over to cable. (Remember when all it took was a pair of needle-nosed pliers to change the channel?)
I also had the hiccups all damn day. Compelling stuff there.
Then there was the fit of hysterics involved upon finding this google search on my sitemeter:
goddamn+song+that+robbie+williams+sings+in+patch+adams.
God, I wish I knew the answer to that, just to give this kid a prize.
And full circle we come, though now I'm onto "Stand By Your Man". I just had a moment so dramatic I knocked the headphones off my head and onto the floor, and hit my head on the desk on the way back up.
I think that's my clue to go to bed.
"Keep givin' all the love you can!"
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 11:08 PM [+] ::
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Resolution and Hair Care:: Monday, November 10, 2003 ::
"That's not being a fan. That's having a fetish."
-- Josh Lyman, The West Wing
Now that I've found part of the source of my ire from Sunday (there's still the Whitford quote out there somewhere, taunting me) I believe I can move past this issue and find my happy place.
Breathe in, breathe out.
"It's true that you adapt to the terrain. Of course, after a while I just said to hell with it and took my pants off."
-- Josh Lyman
And that would be my happy place.
So all night I prayed that my newfound Tennessee heritage might pay off in the form of some big-ass hair, but alas, it seems my Polish/Irish-by-way-of-Canada genes have trumped the Dukes of Hazzard card and left me with a mop of nothing. I gotta tell ya, every time I see an ad for Paul Mitchell products flash across my television screen, I hear the voice of that strange little woman from Poltergeist saying, "He liiiees to her!"
Not that her spectre stops me from opening my wallet and letting the chick at the salon remove all my dollars and go back for the penny wedged in the corner, but whatever.
At least now I know my phony tails are part of my lineage. I love you, Dolly Parton!
Juliet
PS - Yeah, I know tonight was thin but I'm distracted; HFS and I just found a clip from Pop Idol Extra on the Pop Idol website, featuring the Heat article about SCU. EEEEEE! Sure, they were making fun of us, but what the hell. This entire blog is dedicated to me making fun of myself, so it's all good. ;)
:: happy hour begins at 10:40 PM [+] ::
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The War of Northern Aggression:: Friday, November 07, 2003 ::
When we first moved to Maryland there was a scandal afoot about the Confederate flag hanging in the rotunda of the Maryland state house, and I thought, what kind of hicks still fly that thing? THEY LOST! WE WON! END OF DISCUSSION!
Except apparently, when I said "we" I meant "other people", or "lost" meant "won". Tonight, Dad Speaks clued me into the truth: at least one quarter of my lineage, and the bearers of my maiden name, fought for the Confederate Army from Tennessee.
I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT GRITS ARE!
This former supposed Yankee is just completely nonplussed. I realize there are people who were born and raised with a Confederate birthright and are perfectly comfortable with that, but I am not one of them. The mere mention of such brings images of crinolines and Scarlet O'Hara and various food groups of which I have no prior knowledge.
I suppose I should learn. This whole thing also probably explains my affection for the second amendment, although until tonight it's never once crossed my mind that I might need a gun rack from Wal-Mart.
Perhaps my ancestors' transgressions are balanced by the fact that Speaksy's relatives ran a link in the Underground Railroad. Of course, his home town also fell to the Confederacy when our (*shudder*) soldiers painted a tree trunk black and said they had a cannon.
I'm drunk, in case you haven't noticed.
I am also sorry Formerly Entertained found a need to chastise me publicly but keep her name private. In the end, I'm just a girl with a blog who doesn't always have a funny day. I don't always have a good day. I fail. I say things that I'm feeling, not just when they're funny but when they're real. Sometimes I have something serious to say, too, and it's my blog so I get to say it here. I wish she had emailed me because I AM grateful for my fans, and I'd like to know more about why she thought she had to criticize me. But that's water under the bridge.
Thanks to all of you who support me every day, whether I've had a good day or not. It means more than the world to me that you are there every day, sharing my failures and my triumphs. It's you who make writing this blog worthwhile.
Much love from Dollywood,
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 10:36 PM [+] ::
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The Week in Review: A Production Not Unlike Country Crap Night on American Idol:: Thursday, November 06, 2003 ::
Let's see...
I spent a lot of time romanticizing a gig serving hot dogs at the local DQ Brazier, including a trip into Cosmo fantasyland over the trend I could start with the uniform and visor.
There's a pile of Smartees wrappers on my computer desk large enough to melt into a Saturn Vue body.
I stood at the mirror muttering, "You're so fucked," while applying mascara (at least twice).
I wore phony tails three days due to the panic attacks described above.
Nightmares visited me twice, including during my nap this afternoon (which left me with bedhead and crease marks on my face, neither of which you want to have when walking the dogs and wearing shorts in 50-degree weather; such things beg comments from everyone within a ten-block radius).
And, I promised to use the word "Ratfuckers" in this post. So, for MSC, RATFUCKERS!
Actually, I'm glad I saved that one for today. Turns out it's just the word I needed.
Happy weekend, everyone!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 10:20 PM [+] ::
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Plugging in the Tiara:: Wednesday, November 05, 2003 ::
History lesson: Did you know the rhyme, "Three Blind Mice," refers to Queen Mary I? She was a raving Catholic, you see, and she had three Protestant noblemen burned at the stake for conspiring against her.
********
Someone who retired not long after I started working for the company recently came back for a visit, and was surprised to find me still working there. "I never thought you'd last - you're way too nice for this job!"
Well, let me tell you, a very special carving knife has been set aside for the three people who falsely accused me of various "crimes" this week. Vengeance is mine, you sniveling pissants.
In the words of some guy on which I eavesdropped in a bar, I'm an "innocent-lookin' squirrelly fuck."
With a tiara and a carving knife.
And Smartees.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 9:22 PM [+] ::
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Twisted:: Tuesday, November 04, 2003 ::
So last night I had this dream. It involved Speaksy and me visiting my parents in a house they don't live in, where we met up with my sister who was wearing some weird coat. Lola, Mom and I get in a mini van that nobody here owns with a golden retriever I've never seen before, and we are hit by a tornado IN THE DRIVEWAY. Since I'd taken off my seatbelt for some reason, I hit my head on something when the mini van tips over, and lose consciousness. When I awaken, the crowd of people (!) in the driveway cheers: "Great, she's awake!" Ahkay. I climb out of the mini van and ask if my dogs are okay. My mother points to the front seat, and there they all are, all three of them, smiling at me.
So, I saunter into the house to go to the bathroom, except by bathroom I apparently mean a child's potty seat in the backyard. While I'm heeding nature's call a little girl wanders out, possibly my manager's granddaughter, and talks to me for a bit. Someone else joins us, and I tell her the little girl is next in line. She disappears and I turn around to see several green tornadoes lined up like dominos, all headed for the house. One veers to the left, another to the right, and I'm in this back yard on a potty seat thinking, good thing those weren't too close. At least one house down.
But then I see it: one is headed straight for us. I grab the little girl's hand and make for the house, slamming a set of french doors behind us. I crouch down on the floor next to my brother in law (when did he get there?) and panic when I hear screaming out front. BIL remarks, "I'm sure they weren't in the street or anything," but all I can think is, my whole family is out there and I can't save them!!!
And then I wake up.
I definitely need comforting here, so I roll on over to Speaksy and see if I can wake him up without seeming like I'm waking him up (you know the drill). I touch his arm. I touch his cheek. I run my hand through his hair. I wrap my arm around his chest and squeeze, just a little.
Nothing.
So, in a move I later realize I have learned from my cats and bitched about for years, including on this blog, I proceed to press my head into the crook of his arm. Harder, harder, harder, until it's clear Speaksy is either ignoring me, or is seriously just not going to wake up. Well, fine. I snuggle down into the covers pressed flush against my man, and eventually make it back to sleep.
Today there were unconfirmed tornado sightings in the area.
Tonight's episode of The West Wing featured a tornado in Oklahoma, something I did not know until about an hour before the show started.
Behold: the Power ofCheeseSmartees.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 11:41 PM [+] ::
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Salvation in a Tiny Pastel Pill. Or, Rather, Rolls of Pills. A Whole Lot of Rolls of Pills.:: Monday, November 03, 2003 ::
So the Reign of the Smartees has yet to end. I've moved on from the dainty practice of plucking them from the package one at a time, to loosening the ends of the wrapper and sucking the whole of the contents into my mouth like a cartoon character with an ear of corn.
The result of which is, naturally, more tremors.
I'm not good with sugar. I remember my freshman year in college, having some biology lecture at 7:30 in the morning (freshmen are just stupid) and stopping by the vending machines in the science building for my morning pick-me-up. Yes, you guessed it: peanut M&Ms and a can of Mello Yello from a machine that only sold Mello Yello, at a cost of 25 cents. Midway through every class all semester I'd get queasy and start to shake a little. I'd spend the rest of the lecture pondering the effects of beer on mitochondria and imagining Dr. B as a stylized Elmer Fudd out to reconfigure my DNA.
Just Say No.
Actually I always hated Nancy Reagan; you can't preach anti-drugs when you're four miles into Dexatrim territory. The net effect of her gigantic noggin and cotton candy hair was a head the size of Canada on a stick person body.
Kind of like Terri.
Aw crap, where was I? Oh, right: Smartees.
Well, I forget the rest. Just know that sugar makes it all better and all worse at exactly the same time, and you'll be all right.
Night!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 11:36 PM [+] ::
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And We're Back to the Pathetic Emo Blogging:: Sunday, November 02, 2003 ::
Did you ever have one of those terrible days you wish to GOD your enemies would have, just so you can later point at that day and say DON'T FUCKING DO THAT TO ME!? I wonder whose voodoo doll I am because for some reason today became National Kick Juliet While She's Down Day.
I'm so tense my muscles are spasming. I feel like someone hooked me up to a caffeine IV and let me bake too long. I'm officially calling these tremors "shivering with cold" but...no. Really they are my one-way ticket to Bellvue.
And really, that's looking like a better and better offer every damn day.
Eh, whaddya gonna do. Well, besides the obvious screaming while the shitfight goes on overhead.
Speaking of which, what's with people who think they need to talk to you while doing their business? I swear, "public restroom" does not translate into "tell me your life story from the pot." There should be a law.
Seriously.
Juliet
UPDATE: 9:03pm - This industrial-sized bag of half-off Smartees is not helping the jitters situation, but God they're good. I'm inhaling them so fast I'm choking on the damn dust.
:: happy hour begins at 8:32 PM [+] ::
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For HFS, Jr., and her sprained ankle
You already know how I broke my finger and toes. No need to rehash those glory days. Ahem.
One bright summer day I hit a rock on my bike and launched my career as an acrobat. One of my two top front teeth decided it liked lying on the pavement better than living in my head. I walked my bike (yes, pink with butterflies on the seat) to the house, screaming like a banshee while blood poured out of my mouth. After subduing me a bit, my parents summoned Brenda the dental hygienist from across the street and the four of us went looking for my tooth. And I thought that was humiliating.
A few weeks later I twirled a badminton racquet into my mouth and knocked out two of the remaining front top teeth.
In front of a boy.
Fortunately these were baby teeth so they did eventually come back, but that year's school picture has been burned.
We are not alone in the klutz department, by the way. How about when my friend Melisa broke her ankle in high school? Not dancing, not playing a sport...but running after the school bus? It was dark, there was ice, and there was the fiendish look on the driver's face as she closed the door mere inches from the tips of Melisa's fingers as she reached up from the gutter. As the bus drove away Melisa rolled onto her back in the street and screamed into the cold Indiana sky.
This girl sang opera. She could really scream.
And there's one other story I'd like to tell, though it is only loosely related to the topic. One day during a Golduster rehearsal I was standing next to my friend Angie in a huddle, when she suddenly yelped and jerked her leg, hitting the person in front of us. Narcine, who was just a little bit bitchy (on her best day) turned around and shrieked, "What the hell was that for?"
Angie was bent over inspecting her leg. "I was stung by a bee!"
Captain: "Are you allergic?"
Angie, with feeling: "I don't know, I've never been stung before. This HURTS!"
Captain: "Juliet, why don't you walk her in for some ice."
I nodded and took Angie's arm, and we limped our way across the field. Just out of sight of the team, however, Angie's stumble disappeared and she smiled.
Me: "You okay?"
Angie: "Oh, yeah."
Me, with a squint to my eye: "Did you really get stung by a bee?"
Angie: "Nah. I just wanted to kick Narcine."
Feel better soon, HFS, Jr.! Love you!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 1:25 AM [+] ::
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