We’re not far in the hockey season, but things are not starting off too swell, what with all of my teams playing like ass. I won’t get into, because talking about it both infuriates me and leaves me in the fetal position, but I wish for relief, please, and soon. I can’t suffer this much heartbreak night after night.
It is kind of disturbing how in gmail it will throw you relevant links to matters being discussed in an email conversation. For instance, should I mention the Bruins and my astonishing level of hatred for the Habs, it offers up tickets for hockey games and articles about Montreal and Boston right there along side my conversation. I’m waiting (er, hoping?) for them to link me to pictures of any/all members of the Canadiens (except samsonov) being kicked in the groin repeatedly. Then it wouldn’t be disturbing so much as pleasing and delightful.
I can tell you this much: my life is so drool-on-the-desk boring right now that not even my own stage-hungry tears of pity are willing to make an appearance.
Oh and this is the result of our pumpkin painting.
You know, his disappointingly clichÃ©d love of trucks/cars/trains isn’t really so bad after all, despite my subtle (or so I hope) attempts at making him love non-gender oriented toys. But I certainly can’t deny his immense attraction to boy things. He likes them. He prefers them. I push nothing, offer everything, let him decide what his tastes are, and he wants the damn trucks. What can you do.
- the sexiest number you’ve ever seen.
- halloween 2006