Pffzzt!

Bullet points y'all... it's that kinda day.

• I really kinda hate my job.



• I have, like, 10 million things to do between work and my 6:45 class this evening, most of which are spread out over a 15-20 block radius... which doesn't sound all that bad except that there is no logical way to navigate this trek via mass transit which means lots of walking. And it's cold.



• These myriad errands include, but are not limited to: pick up a book I reserved at Barnes & Noble because I now have even MORE reading to do (location: Union Square); run down to campus and pick up my signed registration form for summer study abroad (location: Washington Square Park area); take said form to Office of Special Programs and give them a check for $100 (location: same building, thank goodness); go vibrator shopping (location: 7th Ave)



• That's right, I said vibrator shopping. This seems to be a recurring theme in blogland lately so I figured that since I am clearly not getting laid any time soon, it was time to restock my solo-sex collection. All previous members of this illusive club either run on batteries that are impossible to find or were, um, broken.



• Yes, you can break them. Don't ask.



• I think my kitty has a UTI and I feel bad that there's nothing I can do for her. When I got to work today I started googling "cat health questions," but much like WebMD this only provided me with horrible worst-case-scenario information that made me feel even guiltier for being here at work instead of home spoon-feeding her tuna or something.



• Or, you know, taking her to the vet like a responsible, non-broke pet mommy.



• Before I get nasty emails from pet-owners, I would like to make my case for being anti-veterinarian except for dire situations (ie- Cat has been hit by a car, stops eating, is clearly in excessive pain, etc.). First of all, I have had cats for my entire life, we have only ever taken them to the vet in case of emergency, and they have all lived exceedingly long, happy, and healthy lives. The record to date is 18 years and the current furball looks to pass that with nary a backward glance (**knock wood**). Second of all, it seems that vets prey on the type of people who take their pets in for every. little. burp. Case in point: Crazy Ex Boss, who was conned into buying all sorts of fancy food and meds and other nonsense because she really believed this would make her aboslutely ancient cat live forever or some shit.



• Despite all the above I am still totally paranoid that something is seriously wrong with her. Is this was having kids is like?



• I realized on the way to the subway this morning that, Ooops! I had totally blanked on the fact that I have a reahearsal tonight after my class and therefore will not be getting home until sometime after 11pm. Which, well, sucks.



• It also makes working out an eating schedule a pain in the ass. I can't eat right before class because the class is really physical and I don't feel like puking in front of the cute boy I rolled around on the floor with last week. And there is no time to eat after class as I'll be hightailing it to rehearsal. Hmmm... well, I am playing an ill-treated monster. Perhaps a grumbling stomach will get me into character.



• Looking for a Fall internship is proving to be a royal pain in the arse. I hope I can find something or I am sca-roo-hooed. (That was "screwed" said in a cheesy fake-cowboy voice, in case you were wondering.)



• Damnit, my carefully crafted eating-schedule is falling all to pieces. I'm not supposed to want lunch for another hour but here I am, all hungry and shit. Motherf*cker.



• Oh well... at least I'm going vibrator shopping tonight...