Running pattern or god's gag on me

I hate bad days. Obviously. But it's always insult to injury on those terrible, no good, very bad days because as I'm getting ready for bed and changing into jammies, I make a slap-to-the-forehead realization. I had spent the day wearing my underwear inside out. There might not be anything wrong with that, or I've yet to realize if there is. I mean, it's almost a laundry saving technique. Almost. And gross. I've also just noticed now that it's a very SAT type of situation: The whole inside out underwear equals bad day type of thing. As in one of those "If all snuggles are puzzles but not all puzzles are snuggles" questions. Days I spend wearing the wrong side of my underwear always tend to be crappy days yet it doesn't always work the other way around. Why?

Oh, and here's a totally unrelated picture to this post. But I felt it worthy. It's me and some random person in a bear suit, who was strolling around on campus. Completely worthy of a camera phone shot.

A rice cooker has just entered my top five list of Most Expensive Things I Own. How does such a thing happen? Easy, my mom assumes I'm underfed when not under her watchful eyes so she set out to find me adequate cookware. Only it cost a little over a hundred.

Other than that, I want to marry Logan Echolls.

Wicked Heat of the West

That morbid portion of me is jonesing for some of Hurricane Whatever it's Name to stroll by San Diego and give us a downpour instead of lambasting the coastline with HUMIDITY. I can only imagine what the inland area feels like and choose to only imagine. Ugh. I might as well sleep in my underwear or in a bathtub with ice cubes.

In two and a half weeks, I might be unemployed for the first time in three years. It's kinda scary. And kind of thrilling because then I'll be able to watch my brand spanking new Veronica Mars dvds without interruption. Showers be damned, I'll have no one to impress. Five food groups a day be damned, popcorn has to account for at least two food groups.