Where Angels Fear to Tread

Our computer has been pitching hissies again lately about lack of hard drive space. Suck it up, princess! You've got nearly 650 MB of free space! What are you bitching about?

MB picked up some blank CDs today, so I thought I'd do a little archiving before I posted. Because I am paranoid, finicky, and somewhat anal-retentive, I always upload pictures to winkflash before I burn and delete them. Nearly two and a half hours later, I'm still slogging through old pictures, uploading them and deleting where I can.

Now that I'm nearly done, I really want to blog, but the alarm clock's going to go off in about 6 hours, and I'm going to be really mad at myself for staying up way too late if I don't give up soon.


As a peace offering for my lameness, I bring you an entry that nearly killed me today when I opened it at work and almost made my face implode from stifling my hysterical laughter: I fucking hate you, written by the cat of Dawn from Baleful Regards.





Reading: Sister Bernadette's Barking Dog:  the quirky history and lost art of diagramming sentences


Playing: Brushfire Fairytales by Jack Johnson