dig dig dig

PTT wants your hot bod. I'm sure of it.

Don't be embarassed. I can tell everyone I have hemorrhoids or syphilis or something to make you feel better.

Eight hours of sleep was a start at cheering up. If only I could go back to it now...

At work. I just PTT'd someone in InDesign, but I didn't know all the answers to his questions. So now I feel stupid and the sleep is irrelevant.

A rose for the lady? No? Then toss that wench, good sir! Ahoy!

Or some shit like that. Wish me luck!

If you want a cookie, you can't be picky about the timing. Unless you just want a ball of dough to bake up yourself.

Renaissance Festival was not all I hoped. See my page.

Tomorrow is going to be one long ass day.