Today on the way back from work I was walking behind the Marketplace and like oh my God I saw a bunny a real live bunny! And I walked down the sidewalk and I was like "hi Mr. Bunny how are you Mr. Bunny don't worry don't worry I won't hurt you" and it didn't run away! It was a good bunny! It was a fuzzy bunny! Bunny bunny bunny!

I don't know if you can tell or not, but I am quickly losing what little remains of my sanity.

I exaggerate; this week hasn't been that bad. I have a paper due in 10 days (I'll get to that...eventually) and my fish STILL AREN'T HAVING SEX, but otherwise I am happy. Marcy sent me a monkey - I think it is supposed to sound like it's kissing when you squeeze it, but personally all I can discern are the sounds of a man receiving 60 very emphatic lashes. Or someone stepping on a chihuahua. Anyway, I hung it on my dry-erase board with a sign that says "Squeeze my monkey - it screams in pain!". Feedback has, on the whole, been positive.

Yesterday we had choir rehearsal from 6-9:15! That's, like, a WHOLE EXTRA HOUR! And we were singing Verdi's Requiem, and there's this part in the Libera Me where we have to hit F# above high C. So we did that oh, I don't know, 4 or 8 billion times. And, while my range theoretically ends at G above high C or thereabouts, it's not like I relish blasting it at top volume/repeatedly (Billy has kindly recorded these notes so that you can hear the ridiculousity for yourself). I'm an alto, for God's sake. My throaty parts hurt.

It is ridiculous how flamboyantly gay my fish is. If he were a person, he would carry a handbag. Why are they always the pretty ones whose genes we should be propagating? Why? Why? And why do they insist on teasing the straight females? Cotter is practically bursting out of her skin, and this dude's like "well...I'd really LOVE to have your babies, but you know, there's this sale at Saks..." She is so angry that she is beating the everloving crap out of him. Funny to watch, actually. It's sad, too, because I think he would make a spectacular dad.

I'm supposed to have substance in these things, you say? After not really updating for several weeks I owe it to you, you say? Go to hell, I say. If I had time to create substance, I'd be honing my gee-tar skills. While you are heeding my command to run to UNC, you can amuse yourself with this. Or this. But only if you PROMISE to get me one.