I explicitly do not like it when checkout people talk to me about what I'm buying.

I *hate* that. Judge me all you want, just don't talk to me about it. Once when I bought a box of hair dye, the checkout girl said, "Oh, going darker, huh?" My hair at the time was brown, and the dye was red. I don't even know what that was about.

Start the laundry, Jen.

OK! Here I go. Thank you.

The dining room table is the least work, yet finishing it will leave you feeling the most accomplished.

I need a full body heating pad. Or enough motivation to ignore my achy body and run the errands I need to do.

If I forgot to put my yogurt in the work fridge this morning, how bad an idea would it be to eat it now that it's been sitting out for eight hours?

A little soupy, but otherwise fine.

Bleargh. I think I just went through a hazing ritual -- my boss got all excited about a weird case he's being asked to talk about and made me watch the surgery. It was definitely way more strange and fascinating than gross, but the gross was definitely there in abundance as well. And he kept asking me if I needed a chair or if I was going to faint, and I could totally see him giving me little gold stars every time I said nope, I was okay.

Still, bleargh. Right now I'm so tremendously glad to be a vegetarian, I can't even say (it was still bleargh, but at least I don't have to worry about flashbacks every time I sit down to eat for the next few weeks -- there's absolutely no food I eat that, even in its rawest raw stage, remotely resembles anything I spent the last...uhhh...37 minutes watching).

I need a full body heating pad.

Those exist. Heated mattress pad. Worth its weight in GOLD.

Unrelatedly -- Kate! I have to e-mail you back! I will do that this weekend, but the short answer is: YAY! And more or less wide open except for Friday night.

Laundry started per -t, now moving on to dining room table per Scola. Thank you.