- My mother is now not speaking to me, as of the OG's indignant phone call to her to spill the beans on who I voted for. (And, by "not speaking to me," I mean that she is calling me and/or e-mailing me every hour on the hour to berate and harass me.)
- Cristen won a ticket to the debate! Wow!!! I'm evilly jealous! (And, The Man is there, but segregated into some media ghetto that they call the "Spin Room." So, in a nutshell, he's going to watch it on TV like the rest of us, but he'll be closer than we are.
- All this stress is making me sick. I've retired to the couch with a bad chest cold. Balls.
Happy 8th birthday to the Original Gangsta herself (and, by relation, Happy One-Year Anniversary of the acquisition of Curbie, the World's Most Smug Bastard Cat):
She got the coolest haul of gifts: a Millenium Falcon - albeit one in about 10,000 pieces that I am NOT putting together tonight - a light saber, and all of the crucial Episodes IV-VI action figures.
The Man and I are a little jealous. (But not of the cat on the head. We're OK without that.)