Frank the tank has been adopted. Can you believe it? Cos I can’t. God bless his little heart and all but that dog is going to be a lot of work. His adoptive parent knows this though.


The weekend generally involved a lot of booze, cupcakes, and dildos with flashing lights and dolphin adornments. Dinner’s graduation party was a success. We followed it with an evening of dancing to some Irish tunes at O’Reilly’s and then attempting to pick up a hooker on the corner.


Saturday I met with the writer ladies to exchange presents and eat breakfast at Cora’s. Boy did I ever want some sausage. All I could think about was sausage, sausage, sausage. Posh was my Secret Santa, much to my delight because she has fantastic style. She gave me a beautiful black t-shirt designed by a local artist, some ladybug earrings, a blue purse, and a magnet which pokes fun at my lack of cooking abilities. Success!


That evening, I attended a friend’s Birthday party with a bunch of the ladies. The highlight of the night was the Fantasia party… nothing like passing around a bunch of vibrators and dildos and musing over the best speed settings and stimulation tactics.


The girls and I had a discussion yesterday about how we date guys with a “theme.” For example, JagerBomb’s theme is preppy overachievers, the sort of men that generally turn into lawyers, doctors or rulers of the universe. Lottie dates assholes, which I followed up with sexy assholes. Boy do I love those sexy assholes. I danced with a guy last night who refused to believe I was a technical writer and then demonstrated that he knows all kinds of “crazy shit” cos he’s an RCMP officer from Alberta. I have no misguided delusions or hope about the future anymore. I’ll just keep dating sexy assholes and maybe eventually I’ll get it right.



I’ve been working all weekend on a training manual about echo sounding and sonar. Yeah, me with an English degree…obviously I’m the choice person to teach a bunch of military men how to use sonar. Maybe then we can discuss Wordsworth and quote Shakespeare.


Best quote of the night, while being crammed into the porch of Jungle Jim’s with a bunch of strangers and remarking on the shortness of some skank’s dress as she walks by on the street:

“I bet her lips are chapped.”