Last night in a fit of boredom I reinstalled Diablo II, promptly obliterating any plans I may have had for productivity this weekend. I was thinking about doing some desperately needed spring cleaning, but how can I be concerned about the sentient dishes in the sink when Andariel is corrupting the Sisters of the Sightless Eye? I’ve made my choice, and I’m sticking by it – saving the world from Baal is much more noble than sorting my underwear into manageable piles marked “sexy times” and “frumpy pants”.
Oscar is all lubed up and ready for spring. Unfortunately, his tune up cost me $250 and now I am very, very poor. Normally I bid my men folk to change my various fluids in exchange for food, but since this was Oscar’s first shop visit since I bought him last June I felt it was a good idea to make sure he was running smoothly for the upcoming riding season. His battery could probably stand replacing – the alarm completely killed it – but other than that, he running just great. Everything feels .. tight. I like it. My lady parts are ready to be tickled.
Speaking of tickled, last night at dinner the topic of happy endings came up. I’m still annoyed that Ed didn’t take up the offer of a birthday rub n’ tug at the establishment of his choice from a couple years ago – I even offered to buy him one myself, with the same stipulation: you can have your anonymous orgasm but only if you write about it on my website. He won’t do it, and that is making me eternally cranky. I can’t experience this for myself, and Ed won’t play along! I even made the same offer to Josh, who turned it down on the grounds that Shan would kill him. What does a girl have to do to pay someone else to jerk off one of her male friends who will then tell the internet about it through my site? JEEZ. Damn you all and your “morals”.
I bought myself a really neat compact that has a mirror on one side and a spot for a picture on the other. I couldn’t find a picture of loved ones small enough, so I improvised:
It is entirely irrelevant to be me.