(Shit, that might have been just as twee! Aah well. The rule for this type of babbling entry is to keep going no matter what! Otherwise I won't get to bed before my bedtime. We're just gonna go with it.)

Queen Latifah got a breast reduction, I read. From DD down to C. I have been wistful over her boob job ever since I heard about it. I know I am still in the weight-loss process and blah blah patiencecakes, but my back still hurts every bit as much as it ever did. I hate working eight hour shifts, because my whole body aches when I get home and my back aches worst of all.

I bought new shoes the other day, thinking that might help, but I went for the cheap shoes instead of fanciness and I think that's where I went wrong. Fancy shoes would probably help me. I am going to buy some type of gel inserts next. Aren't the right sort of shoes supposed to be miraculous back-healers?

Not like I'd get a boob job anyway. The idea of surgery terrifies the hell out of me. Voluntary surgery? Are you fucking kidding me? I will just keep Weight Watchering until my back doesn't ache anymore. That seems a reasonable goal, doesn't it?

Also, I should do more yoga. Remind me to do some yoga.

I've been thinking, in fact, that I need to take a class. I need some structured activity that isn't work. There are so many things I'd like to take. (I just went and surfed over to a local school's website. I could take Hula! I missed the first class, sadly, but: Hula! How much fun would that be?)

So that's one thing on my mind. "Curse you, giant boobs." There's a picture from Books & Pie where it looks like my boob is peeking around the corner to read the book along with the rest of the group. There's another picture where my boobs are sort of... I don't even know. They don't even look like boobs. Ian's all, "Where did Jen Wade go?" And I'm all, "Clearly, I've hidden her down my bra. Jenfu is in there too. And a pie."

Sigh. Maybe I need a new industrial-strength uber-bra. I haven't purchased an uber-bra in quite some time, and the only one I have pokes me in the side, and makes my boobs all pointy and weird, so I never wear it. "Hey, Boy of Inappropriate Age. Allow me to blind you with my nipple. Older women-- aren't we sexy?"

Speaking of boobs, my little sister came to town for Pride weekend, and she brought her new girlfriend-type-person along with her. (Ash was in town too but I didn't get to see her, which sucks.) We ate burgers, nailed down plans for our Europe trip, and laughed a lot. Abby's new girlfriend was kind of quiet in the face of our sisterly insanity, but I liked her a lot, regardless.

On the way out the door, I spotted a picture of someone I know in the paper. I pointed to the picture and said, "Oh, he's the president of my school!" I was talking to my sister, but what I neglected to take into account was that some poor middle-aged guy was reading the paper at the time.

He's sitting there, calmly eating his burger and reading his paper, and then I come over out of nowhere and start pointing to things, giving him information that he could not possibly care less about. You should have seen the look on his face. He was like, "And... you are?" I have absolutely no idea why I did that.

I talked to my mother tonight too. It was typically surreal. I had emailed her some graduation photos, and she said, "We got your photos!. I loaded them down into my website, but we haven't found them yet. But they're okay, they're in there somewhere. Maybe they're in dad's website."

My mother has developed a love for the internet. Her thing is: she enters contests. But her rule is, "I only enter the contest if it's a product I know. Like Kraft, or Hormel, or Campbell's Soup. And some of them you can enter every day! So I go back every day!"

Then she wanted to know how much could fit in the "recycling can." Then she gave me a URL that took her five minutes to explain. "Double you. Double you. Double you. Then a dot." Mom, I love you, but aaaugh!

Okay then. My time is up and I must go to bed. To do tomorrow: go to the post office, get my car alignment done, call the airline and possibly book my Europe tickets, get replacement keys made, and exchange gel shoe inserts for gel shoe inserts that aren't stuck together. Then go make cappuccinos for eight hours.

Oh, my exciting, enviable life.