I am here:


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So. About six weeks ago this happened:


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I was waiting for things to settle down so I could write a post full of feelings and poetry and shit. But things aren't going to settle down, so here's my past coupla weeks ( Read more... )

Last week, I went quietly and mostly politely went apeshit on The Boy's Venturer adviser ( Read more... )

Been a long time since I gave you one of these. Our front-page story today is on "compassion centres" that were busted for selling pot to people who don't need it for medical reasons.

High traffic
venues shut
by police

I'm moving into Week 3 of what everyone says is an anxiety attack. Week 3 ( Read more... )

Boy: Why did you put your hair up? Why are you wearing a dress?

Me: It's hot in here, and this isn't a dress, it's a fat shirt. I look bloody pregnant in this shirt.

Boy: Never again, huh? Pregnancy?

Me: This shop is closed.

Boy: But they left everything in the display window.

Uh ... is that hilarious or just ewww?

So, see, I wrote this article on vaginal atrophy in post-menopausal women, and I have a few changes I have to make but I've just been too busy with editing other people's work. This discussion just took place in the office:

New boss: How's your vag coming?

Me, frazzled: I haven't touched it in days!

A lot of you work in IT, and I have incredible respect for you. I know you have to deal with stupid clients every day and how you manage to keep your cool is beyond me.
( However. )

I have come to understand the importance of image, but, really, one of the reasons my new boss respects me as a journalist is because I walk around with a pen behind my ear.