Some Hopefully Eloquent Bleeble

torenheksje has left me a perfectly reasonable comment on my last entry, and I will answer it as soon as I don't feel like a sorority girl emerging from a vodka and liquid triptophan bath. I'm hopeful that will be tomorrow, but then, that's what I thought about last night, too. The Red Bloat cometh, and the older I get, the more pronounced the premenstrual symptoms become. Five years ago, I would've loftily scoffed at the mere suggestion that pre-period blues would include such droopy-eyed fatigue; now I'd snort crystal meth rectally if it would keep me upright and alert past nine o'clock. Ah, a lament for my fading youth. I'd root for menopause if I weren't terrified of a corresponding loss of libido.

Tomorrow is the second day of Classical Mythology with Dr. Hot. His actual name is Dr. Dover, but when half the female population of the class is doing the clandestine seat shimmy to dislodge their smoldering panties from their sodden panty manna(and I include myself in this number, only my faithful chair betrayed my dignity with a sudden case of the chair farts), Dr. Hot is an appropriate name. I ended up staring at his eyebrows during the "Hi, I'm a gimp, and here is my list of gimpy gimp needs" consultation. Sexy, sexy, delicate red eyebrows.

I went in search of Bone Key, the latest Supernatural tie-in novel by Keith R.A. DeCandido because Amazon had it slated for release today, but neither Borders nor Waldenbooks had it. I suspect the publishers might have held the release to coincide with the release of S3 on DVD, but I'm not sure. To assuage my disappointment, I bought The Selected Works of Edgar Alan Poe instead. I also bought a book with the deliciously forthright and refreshing title of Asshole. Alas, it's not a scientific tome on the whys and wherefores of the rectum, but rather a compendium of the biggest liars, scumbags, cheaters, ne'er-do-wells, and soulless fucksticks in recent memory. Honorees include Our Esteemed President, Dick Cheney, Marion Barry, Saddam Hussein, John Wayne Bobbit, and a host of others. All of this dubious notoriety was mine for five bucks, which brought much joy to my skinflint Irish soul.

Anyway, I'm going to finish my tea and wind down before bed. Regular updates should henceforth resume unless Hurricane Gustav decides he needs to come blow on my beloved big, wet, bug-infested dick.