Confidential to Mickey:

For someone who hasn't served Christmas dinner on anything without a Chinette label or mouse ears for as long as I can remember, MY GOD do you have a METRIC ASSLOAD of FREAKING SILVER.

*ahem*

And it's all polished now. And the people driving by my house at dusk today would have gotten an eyeful of a pissed off girl sitting on the porch inhaling TarnX fumes and occasionally shouting obscenities. Just slightly.

But no, seriously. Goblets? Random bud vase? Obscure single knife? Really?

But it's all polished and there are indeed pictures but the act of them exhausted me so that I cannot cross the room to connect my camera to my computer. But oh, there will be pictures.



Without any transition whatsoever, I had a dream about the Supreme Court last night. (Derrick: Wait. Was there sex? Me: No. 'cuz, um, eww.) Witness the new level of nerddom.

(Probably because I had been thinking about this yesterday. Mostly being sad. And then grateful that we never had to deal with that. Because dear God we didn't need that.)

Except Sandra Day O'Connor was at a rest home, and my mom was her friend, and somebody who looked like Velma from the Scooby Doo movies was a justice instead of Ruth Bader Ginsberg, which is a blessing because let's face it, she's just bringing the party down.

It was weird. No weirder than when I dreamt about the poisoned guy from Ukraine. That was weird too.

I have a tentative schedule for next semester that I'm clinging to desperately even though I know that, as a second-semester sophomore, there's like a 2% chance I'll be able to get it. But it's a beautiful schedule. Get this- 18 credits, all good classes, home at 12:15 and 1:45 every day and OFF ON FRIDAYS. As in, I might be able to sleep past six more than once a semester and not get myself into dangerous situations involving cars.

So keep your fingers crossed.