04.29.05

Good heavens. I misspelled "commiserated" in yesterday's post. Oy.

Today was my last (for now) full, eight-hour day at work. The nice thing is that it's so busy that I don't have time to be bored. The awful thing is that it's so busy that I don't have time to be bored. *cackle*

The soundtrack for this morning's commute was Lynard Skynard--a rarefied taste, particular to those born south of the youse/y'all line (also known as the Mason-Dixon Line). I sang to Sweet Home Alabama, jived along with Gimme Three Steps, falsetto'd on Freebird, and finished with What's Your Name? I had the most fun with that last one, changing the genders as appropriate. There's something lovely about howlin' "...I better make some plans for later or tonight, I'll find a little prince and I know I can treat him right. What's your name, little boy, what's your name?...etc." Am I big goofball? Yes. It's taken me years to get here, so I'm sticking with it--for a bit.

Hiss sent me a note about a study done regarding the mate-ability of intelligent women. Basically, it's poopy for an intelligent woman. Hell. I ain't changing who I am just to be with a man. Euw! It offends my sense of fairness. Women are told to do this, that, and 2098 other things in order to hook a guy. Guys? Not so much--though I am told that's changing.

Well.

Oop. I'm going to see Hitchhiker's Guide [...] tomorrow with one of my disreputable poet friends. Whee!

Go. Be fabulous.

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