Stupid blogger still won't let me publish comments like they used to. You know, type and THEN sign in and publish. No, sir. That'd make too much sense. Afterall, it's just the way they've always done it, why continue? Ugh.

I start my part time job on Monday. I'm trying to get in with a full time job. Maybe I'll have both. Maybe I won't feel overwhelmed. My husband, meanwhile, is not working at getting a job at all. And no, he doesn't want to go out. To the store. Or anything. "Next thing you know, I won't be willing to leave the bedroom." Funny, that's exactly how I was feeling just about a week ago. And two weeks ago, too. Get out of bed? What the fuck for?

I'm starting to feel slightly more alive these days.

Oh, and that Magic Bullet thing they keep advertising on TV? I'm totally sold. I don't know how or why but I want one so bad I'm tempted to put it on credit. And I NEVER put ANYTHING on credit. Except, every single time I see the ad or hear the name I immediately think magic bullet... is that a vibrator? At which point I start looking for ways in which the magic bullet is shaped similarly to a dildo. Maybe that's part of the reason I really want one. Sex sells.

I'm still not looking for a lover. It struck me the other day as I was in the shower that I cannot for the life of me remember the last time I got fucked. Oh, wait. I vaguely remember, now. It was with that cop at the hotel. I suppose it's only been 4 or 5 months. Only. God damn.