If I advance any higher, this would be my career. And if this were my career, I'd have to throw myself in front of a train.

Not feeling terribly creative today. Mostly rushed. Having to work at night and g0 to Mass in the middle of the day is very time consuming, and leaves little time for cleaning, laundry folding, and eating, which you will know from countless other rants is rather screwed up on days that I work. *sigh* Oh well. Maybe I'll get lots of tips. *snickers* And I'm feeling terribly guilty because I have to ask off for like bunches of days coming up, and even though I sincerely doubt anyone cares because everybody else who works there I think would like me to die so they can get my hours, I feel guilty.

Daddy is off this week, which is completely throwing me off because I feel like we're still on vacation and therefore I don't have to do anything terribly productive, like work out or read. So I'm kind of coasting. Which should make having to go book shopping on Monday terribly depressing and Oh-my-God-it-cannot-be-September-already.

Spent most of yesterday afternoon with the paternal relatives, and finally met Ojava, who is quite adorable and cute and is amazingly good at commanding the attention of the room. It did, however, confirm my theory that I could come home and tell my mother I was pregnant and she'd be overjoyed. Immortal soul in peril or not. :P

Planning on taking the boat out tomorrow. Snaps for boating. Except my parents turn into Nazis when we take the boat out. They get all stressed and snappish and really, really annoyed when you innocently say that having a speed boat would be fun. Sheesh.

Okay, no. This is NOT acceptable. I'm sorry, Anthony Zuiker, but this will just not work. The Smacked shippers will boycott!!!(Well, okay, I won't, but I will watch and throw things at the screen. Humph.) You will either have Mac get together with Stella, or maintain his little detachment from all women in memory of his dead wife thing indefinately, okay??? Because I am fairly certain that this little British tart will not understand the sanctity of the beachball, while Stella totally would. Not that she wouldn't be a little creeped out by it, because even the woman in the coma was going, "Really? That's sweet...and a little weird..." (well, not really, but still), but she would understand it. Peyton? Not so much. And who names their kid Peyton?

Author's Note: Yes, I realize that this formerly logical if a bit weird rhetoric just turned into a completely bitchy and unwarrented ad hominem attack, but I don't care. You d0 not screw with my CSIs.

First Grissom and Sara, and now you completely destroy the holiest of CSI almost-unions??? Ugh. It disgusts me. So Claire Forlani can haul her skinny little British ass back to whatever booth she was making out Keanu Reeves in (because they're "not dating"...yeah, totally), and leave my shows alone, mmkay???? Grrrr.

Back in the real world, how do you lose something like this??? How? Did your secretary "erase" it like the Watergate tapes??? Don't they have like a safe room or something for housing tapes of major historical moments??? I flip out when I can't find one of my DVDs, and I'm pretty sure that, while it is the biggest romantic comedy of all time, My Big Fat Greek Wedding didn't change history.

See? When you aren't attractive, nobody cares. It's a little sad and superficial, but true, no?

A humerous retelling of Suri Cruise's "debut". I laughed and I laughed...

Think that's all from me today, folks. You may now return to your regularly scheduled lives.