You'll Put An Eye Out With Those Things.

I'm bored. Hate Friday afternoons. Hate 'em. Let the weekend fun commence.

I think I am going to attend this little shindig, because I'm a dorky fangirl. If you plan to or want to attend (ahem, luvabeans, jacky, and any other Chicago folk), drop me a line and maybe we can meet up somewhere. It's near the red line.

No psycho stalkers allowed, though. I will be wearing my bulletproof vest and carrying mace.

Tonight is Movie Night, which will be followed by Go Out To The Freaky-Deaky Club And Further Damage My Moral Reputation In The Diary-Reading Community Night, also known as Bad Mom, No Cookie Night, Dude, Where's My Spermicide Night, and TranceJen Is A Trollop Night.

Looking forward to it, as always.

I bought a corset on Ebay (cheap!) for its funky fashion flair as well as its waist-sucking-in properties. I attempted to put the thing on and very nearly poked an eye out with my own breast.

This is an undergarment that I don't understand very well. I have a few lingerie-type corsets that have flexible boning, and they're not bad. The new one is a steel-boned industrial nightmare. I think I will need to saw off three ribs in order to successfully wear the thing.

It fits, but my boobs wind up at neck-level, and somehow this strikes me as neither sexy nor fun. I think I need help getting into it, but I really don't want to ask my mom to lace me up while I shove my breasts into the thing with a spatula.

There should be a certain amount of personal space between family members, unless your name is Cletus and you've grown up in rural Arkansas.

My son is deeply in love with the little red-headed girl from Freaky Friday and Confessions of a Teenaged Drama Queen. Her name is Lindsey something-or-other.

A few minutes ago, I walked past his bedroom door and heard him murmuring, "Lindsey, you're so pretty. I love your pretty red hair. You dance so good. I can dance good, too."

My son is going to be the supreme mack daddy of his elementary school. I won't be surprised if he starts wearing a pager next year.

Motherhood is a scary, scary thing.

Happy Friday. Rock your socks off.

4:40 p.m. - 2004-02-20
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