When I was about 17, we read Ben Jonson's play Volpone in English class and I wasn't really into it. I was much more enamoured of the other two books we were studying---The Great Gatsby and Lyrical Ballads, I think---and every time Tuesday afternoon rolled around, I could hardly believe it was Volpone day again, because it seemed like we'd just had Volpone day and seriously, now we were having it again?

You know what's pretty awful?

So remember my last entry, when I spilled someone else's salad and wore a sweater that wasn't appropriate for the weather and I was all "god, I'm having the WORST DAY EVER." Remember that?

When I picked Sean up from the airport this morning, after his five days in Tahoe, the first thing I saw was the hospital bracelet around his wrist. Then I looked down and saw that the boy was WEARING SLIPPERS. In an airport! I immediately searched around in case he was dragging an IV behind him or leaning on a pair of crutches, but there was no further evidence that he'd suffered a life-endangering snowboard accident. And, uh, that's because he hadn't. Do you want to know why he'd been to the hospital?

Thank you, Internet, for all the lovely birthday wishes! You were all so kind, and you made me want to bake and deliver each of you a cake for your own birthday!

How romantic! It's Secret Bachelor Tuesday, and yet it's also Valentine's Day! Can't you just feel the love? Can't you just hear me vomiting?

Here is something sad: it's past eight on a Friday night, and I'm STILL AT WORK. Here's something even sadder: I'm mad that I'm still at work because it means that I've had to abandon the plans I had for tonight. And the plans I had were to clean my house.

I don't often get homesick because, quite frankly, I'm not really sure where to call home. Technically, home at the moment is Charleston---which is where my apartment and my job and my boyfriend and, more importantly, my pink Kitchenaid mixer are---but my family lives 30,000 miles away in Singapore. Moreover, I spent my childhood all over the place---France, Holland, Hong Kong, Abu Dhabi, Connecticut----which sort of confuses the matter.

Yesterday was totally going to be the BEST! DAY! EVER!

For the last eight years, Sean has hated his job. I wish I could tell you I was exaggerating about the "eight years" part, but I'm really not. He's been very good at it, of course, and has garnered all sorts of accolades and promotions, but he's hated almost every second of it. I suppose that's just what happens when you're passionate about design and photography, and you end up working in nuclear power.

Oh, Internet, I hardly know ye. No, seriously, I don't really know very much about you at all, and yet you know that I have a set of days of the week knickers and that I prefer to watch shows where roses are handed out at the end. I'm feeling that this relationship is a little one-sided, aren't you?

Well, that was fun! I now have a mental image of everyone's hair, a long list for the library, and a note to myself never to say PUS or MOIST or CHUNKY again. That was my favorite part, by the way, the words people hated; Pretty Coworker Elle and I used to have a running list of The Worst Words In The World, which we kept on the back of the door in our office, and added to every day. We had WOMB and WOUND and BRUISE and WAD and PANTIES and TURGID and LUBE, and it was awesome until someone stole it!