I am feeling fat and sassy.

Ok, so the porno today included a new one: a midget fucking a woman. It was a first and I thank someone for taking into consideration my job boredom.

In other news, we might get to make an offer on the Weyborn house if we can figure out when Derek's grandparents' house will close. This involves me asking Derek's parents, which makes me feel like a moneygrubbing whore. (I feel as though they're hearing, "Uh, so, when can we have that money already?") But since they know I'm the one dealing with the house shite, I assume no one's going to start secretly hating me. But hey, we'll see shall we?

Ok, so this is the myspace site of the fuckwit knob who sometimes works here in the afternoon. Just don't even go there if you've already lost all faith or hope in Generation Y (is that what we're calling them?); it's that fucking sad.

But on a more positive and pleasant note, I want this guy to do my wedding photography. He doesn't usually do weddings (unless forced), but I really like his stuff. I work with him here at the lab but he often has much more interesting (or at least comical) experiences doing cinematography. You'd think working in a professional lab like this, we'd see bunches of real photographers come through here. Instead, it has simply taught me how any yokel can pass themselves off as a "professional," charge whatever they want, take what are basically snapshots and pretend they are not paper turds. I have infact, in three years, seen one and and only one customer whose photographer I would have hired. And really, I'd still pick Mark for originality.

Tonight is just going to be a boring dinner of fruit and veggies. Health, blah, whatever. Plus I want to cram in as much show as possible before Derek gets home and wants to watch The L Word instead. He's actually into more than I, it's hysterical. Derek, not the show. The show is terribly mediocre--infact, if they weren't lesbians, no one would ever watch it. It would be like every other half-assed soap opera. But it's got us watching, who am I to throw turds.

And to paint an even better picture of my life skills, I should note that for several hours last night I seem to have been quite content with chocolate on my neck. How does one even get chocolate on one's neck? And not a speck, no. More like a smear all along one side. I just like to look like I'm having way more fun than everyone else.