Nobody has laughed at my geek joke, not even the major geeks, like ex-housemate Cian. I have gotten a basketful of small slaps and loud groans instead. This hurts my already injured feelings. First UCD send me that poem created by a random poem generator, suspiciously in the same vein as many a random poem generator poem produced by me, might I add, and now THIS. All a girl wants is a little ACCEPTANCE for [GENERIC SWEAR WORD]'s sake. Wise up!

So, can you believe it? The delectable Jimlad went off and got himself married to Curly Dee! That was on Saturday. I sang for them during the service, and I enjoyed that. That cheered me up a bit. Singing is good for the heart. Not literally of course. If you eat nothing but butter but sing your guts out you'll probably still get clogged arteries and have to have a triple bypass at 28. Well, that's the dream anyway. So, yes. It was a lot of fun. And we ate a lot of beef and we drank a lot of wine and champagne and we made very merry, and I even danced a lot to a bunch of Abba songs with some Dutch guys. As an afterthought, I would like to make it clear here that I was actually invited to participate in the wedding service; I didn't just stand up and join in, like that time at the National Concert Hall. In fact, the whole day was a marvellous and joyous event from top to bottom, with only one exception, being that I gave my left leg the mother of all cuts when shaving my legs that morning before we left. Luckily it's bloody torn-ness was obscured from the general public. I guess that's what happens from time to time when you regularly scrape your skin from hip to ankle with razor blades, eh? The scab is itching as I type.

Well, today is my father's birthday. He is one hundred years old.

K spent the entire day making love to computers on the kitchen floor of our house. I arrived home to find my zen-master calm state thoroughly disrupted by computer components, spread far and wide, and squirrels. For company, he said. Well, I can tolerate a lot of things, but squirrells pooping in the egg carton is the final straw. I took those squirrells and one by one I booted them up the hole and out the back door. They didn't come back. The incident got me thinking on a philosophical level about how squirrells are like little furry men, and I was sorry I had booted their holes. But what choice did I have? It was either faeces omlette or bye-bye bushies. Sometimes you've got to make tough decisions in life, and sometimes you've got to harm God's creatures. I took the road less travelled by, and that has made all the difference.

neuro-praxis -- I Can Make Your Wish Come True