In which nothing really happens.

I may have given up on the brown theme. I love it, but I really need three columns and I couldn’t make those cute fucking tabs work in Internet Exploder.

This plaintxtBlog theme, however? Love it! It supports Widgets, which I hadn’t played with before but am now deeply in love with. (Widgets let me drag and drop sidebar content, rather than coding it all by hand like I used to. Widgets are very, very hot.)

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day and I have not finished knitting her slippers. She’s been my mom long enough, though, that she probably doesn’t expect anything until June anyway.

In which I work too damned close to Mi-T-Mart.

I just went next door to the convenience store — it’s entirely too close, not even thirty paces from the front door of my building — and I bought a Mocha Frappuccino and a package of Hostess Ding Dongs.

Then I consumed them at my desk in a diabetic-inducing frenzy, getting little waxy chocolate crumbs all over my gel wrist-rest and keyboard.

It wasn’t pretty.

And now my tummy hurts.

In which I’m boring.

Got off work last night, picked up some drive-thru, and went home. Bread and I ate at the picnic table outside and he showed me the tear in his jeans and the small scratch on his thigh where he’d not cut off his leg with a chainsaw.

Jesus.

He’d trimmed the lower branches off of several of the big trees near the house, cut down a badly-placed and dying pine, and done other property maintenance. The place is looking really good. We’re contemplating a barn party with music and BBQ next month.

Later he ravaged me and then I watched a TiVo’d episode of South Park while he took himself out for a cocktail in Lib’ville.

I slept for twelve hours last night. Yum.

In which I’m totally flattered.

I have a friend who drops by my office once a week or so. I work at the end of the alley the post office’s drive-thru drop box inhabits, so after her job duties take her to the post office she visits me. We go out to my jeep for a break.

This afternoon as we were stepping outside she said, “Speaking of sucking dick,” (which we weren’t), “I have something to tell you. It’ll totally make your day!”

“You do? About sucking dick?”

“Yeah, honey! And it’s all about you!”

“All about me?!” I was intrigued, to say the least. After I got my icy cold can of Coca-Cola from the convenience store next door, we settled into the jeep. “Okay,” I said, hissing as opening my cold can of Coke caused it to spray sugar water all over my right boob, “tell me this dick sucking story already!”

So she related to me that a friend of hers had told her that an ex-boyfriend of mine (way ex, like, twelve years ago) had once said that I gave the best head he’d ever had in his entire life.

Girl was so right, that little bit of gossip totally made my day.

In which I mow, eat, and feel stupid. But not as stupid as that guy.

The night before last, Bread and I mowed. He drove the tractor, I drove the riding lawnmower. I mowed the orchard, and he mowed the other three acres. I had to stop for awhile at one point, though, to avoid mowing a frog to death. They really don’t do well trying to hop through grass.

The night before the night before last, Bread and I went out to dinner at Torino’s. During a lull in our own conversation, we overheard the man in the booth next to us, who was at least our age, ask the older woman he was with — his grandmother, I assumed — “…and when was the Depression? The sixties, right? Or was it the forties?”

Bread and I stared at one another for a moment, too shocked to even laugh. The sixties?!

Then again, nearly 30% of young Americans surveyed in 2002 could not find the Pacific Ocean. The PACIFIC OCEAN! So I guess it shouldn’t have freaked me out that much.

UPDATE: Rants is back up! Long live Rants the 9th!

In which we’re on the new server.

DNS (Bind) was finally repaired on the new box, and if you’re seeing this, you’re seeing goblinbox.com on its new server! *snoopy dance*

Rants should be up soon, God willing. And so should my Gallery.