<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206</id><updated>2011-04-21T11:58:36.933-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Adventures of an Intellectual Slut</title><subtitle type='html'>An examination of love and lust, and the differences in between, from a woman with way too much free time during the day.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>296</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-107549825709723364</id><published>2004-01-30T13:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-01-30T13:34:03.530-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Future's So Bright&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately, things have been pretty good.  Okay, work sucks and it gets suckier by the minute.  My boss seems to think we have nothing to do so keeps assigning us new duties.  I talked to her about a possible promotion, and she basically said that no promotions are happening but then gave me a list of what I would have to be to be qualified as "senior."  I didn't really look at it.  I figure either I'm already functioning at that level, and I won't get a promotion.  Or I'll work my butt off to be functioning at that level, and I still won't get promoted.  I suppose this can be blamed on the economy, but when I brought it up with her, she acted like she had never even considered the concept of promoting someone.  Snowball's chance in Hell is probably all I have now.  Must move on, somehow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But other than that, I have been getting along well with R.  We had a rough few days but have seemingly pulled out of it.  And I have been making a lot more effort to be physically active which makes me feel good.  And it's Friday.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-107549825709723364?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107549825709723364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107549825709723364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107549825709723364' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-107531536178579991</id><published>2004-01-28T10:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-01-28T10:44:50.436-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Time Flies&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hm, I never got around to posting anything last week.  And this week, well, I was out sick yesterday.  I'm feeling a bit better today, but I still worry that I'm coming down with something.  I have managed to not be sick at all this winter, so every sore throat sends me into a panic.  I don't want to get sick. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-107531536178579991?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107531536178579991'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107531536178579991'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107531536178579991' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-107409856252898621</id><published>2004-01-14T08:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-01-14T08:44:32.450-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Housewifery&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ever since Christmas, R has been doing a lot of cooking and cleaning.  I don't know exactly how much job searching that he's doing right now, but he is cooking and cleaning.  He's like the housewife I've always wanted, seriously.  Last night he made &lt;i&gt;coq au vin&lt;/i&gt;.  Yummy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-107409856252898621?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107409856252898621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107409856252898621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107409856252898621' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-107366720928207722</id><published>2004-01-09T08:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-01-09T08:55:12.483-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Here Comes The Bridesmaid&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend at work is getting married in 2005 and asked me to be bridesmaid.  I've never been a bridesmaid before so it's pretty excitement.  The wedding is going to be the day after my 32nd birthday, so it's a ways off.  Plenty of time to get in shape, right?  Ugh.  Isn't January the time when you should be eating well and exercising?  Whereas I just feel like I'm getting sick and wanting to sleep.  At least we've managed to get rid of most of the candy and cookies from my house and I can avoid all the crap that is out at work.  TGIF.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-107366720928207722?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107366720928207722'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107366720928207722'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107366720928207722' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-107358452626503542</id><published>2004-01-08T09:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-01-08T09:57:08.153-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Attempt At Re-cap&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's see.  I've been so busy at work this week, and in all honesty, totally exhausted.  I'm really ready to get some sleep this weekend.  I don't know how people do this whole working all day thing.  I don't know how I used to do it.  I suppose that I'm adjusting, slowly.  I feel drained.  Hopefully I will manage to wake up later this morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christmas was okay.  The good parts were probably all related to just me and R hanging out.  We bought each other the same CD for Christmas, which I found kind of amusing.  I was thinking of returning mine but I haven't done it yet.  His family Christmas party was something else.  It was an okay meal, but the whole things was hours too long and most of the people were annoyingly drunk.  I guess I'm just not a drinker at all, not used to being around a bunch of drunk people.  I don't really like the idea of being out of control in front of all these people related to R.  We had a bunch of other family activities that were somewhat tiring though one person did say that she was glad that I was in the family.  I told R that and he said, well, she was pretty drunk.  Ha ha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We didn't end up going to see his family for New Year's Eve, and just spent the night at home.  R made dinner, steaks and twice-baked potatoes.  I didn't drink anything.  I think there is nothing that would make me less want to drink than spending all that time around unruly drunk people.  Drunk people are way funnier on TV shows like "Absolutely Fabulous."  In real life they are just tacky and annoying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh speaking of tacky, last night, R's sister gave us our Christmas present and then told us that she got it on sale and exactly how much she paid for it.  I really didn't know what to say to that.  It was too weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am glad that it's almost Friday.  I got way too used to just doing nothing all day while I was off work.  I wouldn't mind doing nothing for another two weeks.  I used to think that I'd get bored with not working, but now I'm not totally sure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-107358452626503542?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107358452626503542'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107358452626503542'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107358452626503542' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-107332422031227437</id><published>2004-01-05T09:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-01-05T09:38:38.606-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;I'm Back&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was painful waking up early and coming back to work today.  I'll have to write more later about my various Christmas activities when I'm more awake.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-107332422031227437?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107332422031227437'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107332422031227437'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107332422031227437' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-107212803358589896</id><published>2003-12-22T13:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-12-22T13:21:53.950-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Vacation Rules&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am really enjoying not being at work today.  I stayed up late last night, slept late today.  It's fantastic.  R is actually working today, taking care of his nephew, so I have total freedom to do pretty much whatever the hell I want.  This is great.  I'm sure I'll get sick of it eventually, but until then, I'll enjoy this freedom tremendously.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-107212803358589896?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107212803358589896'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107212803358589896'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_12_01_archive.html#107212803358589896' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-107187448774411598</id><published>2003-12-19T14:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-12-19T14:56:03.593-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Happy Happy Happy&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's Friday.  And my last day of work for the year.  I'm not going to be back here until January 5.  And as of the last 10 minutes, I finished all the piddly crap I had to do for the month.  So yeah, I need to stay here at 5 but I can totally screw around for the rest of the day.  Yay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm probably going to be posting occasionally from home though I do have a tediously slow net connection.  I'm so looking forward to being on vacation.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-107187448774411598?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107187448774411598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107187448774411598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_12_01_archive.html#107187448774411598' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-107150949699977219</id><published>2003-12-15T09:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-12-15T09:32:47.686-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;He's Back&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After over a week of housesitting, R is back at home with me.  Yay.  It got really tiresome after awhile having to drive over to his sister's house just to see him.  And it's cool because we're both really happy that he's back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-107150949699977219?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107150949699977219'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107150949699977219'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_12_01_archive.html#107150949699977219' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-107116506923134818</id><published>2003-12-11T09:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-12-11T09:52:14.250-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Who Flu Who(m)?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm finding myself exceedingly paraniod about getting the flu.  I refuse to get a flu shot because every time I do, I find myself getting sick.  So I have no excuse if I do get sick, right?  I find myself worrying endlessly about a sore throat, achiness, etc.  I took yesterday off work because I wasn't feeling well the night before and I was concerned that going to work would make it worse.  (And also, I had been planning not coming in one day this week because honestly, work has been hell lately.)  I always feel a little odd about taking off in the middle of the week and then having to come back in.  I felt this morning like I missed some crucial thing.  And perhaps I did.  But I don't care that much.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-107116506923134818?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107116506923134818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107116506923134818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_12_01_archive.html#107116506923134818' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-107064377904003938</id><published>2003-12-05T09:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-12-05T09:03:58.093-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Life In Hell&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have an eyelash in my eye today that is annoying me.  Okay that really is a minor problem compared to the fact that it's Friday, I'm stuck at work, and I only have $20 until we get paid.  Our payday is Sunday, so maybe I won't actually get the money into my account until Monday.  Bastards.  Theoretically, R will be getting a check from his sister and signing it over to me.  She is going on a cruise this week and is paying him to housesit.  At least he's bringing in some money, right?  I have a friend at work who asks me every day about how his job search is going.  I almost feel like my friend is nagging ME about it.  What can I do?  Be a total bitch to him until he gets a job?  I really don't know.  I have a friend at my workout class who has been out of a job for a few years.  She does stuff like substitute teach and work temp jobs.  She has had two temp jobs where she got laid off, one because the company was going under and the other because they didn't like her.  Though I will say that she seems more aggressive about finding a job than R.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been very hard trying to adjust to being back at work after being on vacation.  The first few days, I had this feeling of being well-rested, but today I do not.  My alarm went off and I almost cursed.  I'm not a morning person at all.  Given total freedom, I wouldn't come into work until 9 or 10.  I get in at 8:30 and that seems to be pushing it as far as my boss is concerned.  She's one of those early riser, perky in the morning people.  Like I didn't have enough reason to hate her already.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-107064377904003938?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107064377904003938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107064377904003938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_12_01_archive.html#107064377904003938' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-107039251137388915</id><published>2003-12-02T11:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-12-02T11:16:05.233-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Trial By Travel&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to say that the airlines are not as cool as I remember them being when I was a kid.  Sure, I bet the seats just seemed bigger when I wasn't fully grown.  I'm only five-two and there is barely enough foot room in coach.  The first leg of our flight was cramped but thankfully it was only a 2 hour flight to Chicago.  Once at O'Hare airport, R had the brilliant idea of us giving up our seats on our flight back to San Jose to get free roundtrip tickets.  Okay, I'm not being that sarcastic; it actually was a good idea.  Sure we had to hang out at O'Hare for 5 hours.  Five long hours of sitting around doing very little.  But that airport does have a good snack selection.  I'm still fantasizing about the gigantic lemon bars I saw at a coffee shop there.  And the pizza was good.  Then we did get to fly first class from Chicago to San Jose.  I have to say that I got better service on that flight than I have gotten at some restaurants.  I can't tell you how many times the steward refilled my glass of water.  Good thing first class had our own bathroom because I was running there quite often.  Also on first class, they still serve a free meal.  It was just a cold cut plate but we did get warm chocolate chip cookies for dessert.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Flying was not good for R's back.  It was kind of weird too because we were not sitting next to each other in first class.  He had said something about me giving him a handjob during Charlie's Angels Full Throttle, but it not being possible since we weren't next to each other.  As we got off the flight, I asked him if he asked the woman who did end up sitting next to him.  Yeah right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been not too bad being back so far.  I do really feel well rested and actually got up a few minutes before my alarm clock went off the last two days.  Being back at work still sucks, but I feel sort of apathetic to the annoyances instead of getting caught up in them.  It hasn't really been too busy here either, so I don't feel like I have to work too hard to catch up.  It's not a picnic or anything but it's not too bad either.  I guess most places probably slow down bigtime before the holiday season like this place does.  And I keep reminding myself that I'm taking off two weeks at Christmas and I won't have to be back at work until January 5, 2004, so I think that will get me through these next couple of weeks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-107039251137388915?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107039251137388915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107039251137388915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_12_01_archive.html#107039251137388915' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-107008447228058553</id><published>2003-11-28T21:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-11-28T21:42:01.030-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Don't Let The Turkeys Get You Down&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our Thanksgiving was very nice.  This was the second Thanksgiving I spent with R.  We talked about it a little bit, how we had only known each other for a few months last year.  Oh and when we were talking about what we were thankful about (sort of tongue in cheekly, no we aren't a sappy family), he said that he was thankful for me.  It was very sweet.  It seems for the most part that he gets along with my mom and stepdad.  I have to say, him doing all the Thanksgiving dishes and cleaning the kitchen has gone over very well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been fun here but I'm sick of all the clothes I brought, so I'm looking forward to going home!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-107008447228058553?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107008447228058553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/107008447228058553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_11_01_archive.html#107008447228058553' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106971077923902394</id><published>2003-11-24T13:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-11-24T13:53:42.106-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Dealing With Baggage&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;United was able to get us in on time Saturday night, but not at the right airport.  We ended up flying into Dulles instead of Reagan, which was okay.  Sad to say, our luggage ended up spending the night in Chicago.  Thankfully it did manage to arrive the next day.  I really don't get how they can be so random with luggage handling.  It makes me want to always do carryon, but for a week-long trip, it's really hard to put a week's worth of clothes in carryon.  The flights were okay though the flight from San Jose to Chicago had me sitting next to this guy with extreme BO.  They really should not let those kind of people on the plane with others.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So far, R is getting along with my family and everything is fine.  I am really glad to be on vacation and not at work.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106971077923902394?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106971077923902394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106971077923902394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_11_01_archive.html#106971077923902394' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106937339183253227</id><published>2003-11-20T16:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-11-20T16:10:29.153-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Bon Voyage&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been dog-tired this week.  I feel like my boss is slamming me with assignments before my last day of work before vacation (AKA today!).  Yet, I am done with everything here at work.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So on Saturday, R and I are going to be heading off to the DC area.  Are flights as bad now as some people say?  I guess they aren't serving meals on the flight anymore, or you can get a meal but you have to pay for it.  Not like anyone wants to pay for those meals anyway.  Too bad I can't bring my own Healthy Choice frozen meal and have them microwave it.  The food at the United terminal in San Jose sucks too.  They do have a Starbucks.  The older terminal at SJC is really archaic looking.  Instead of being up and having jetways, you walk out to your plane and walk up a stairway.  It's like those 60s movies or something.  The terminal has one big store that is mostly full of souvenir crap.  In all honesty, who really wants a souvenir from San Jose other than someone who is a total dweeb?  A computer made out of chocolate?  What the hell were they thinking with that one?  And why do the stores at the airport charge $7.50 for magazines?  I swear, I hate the airport.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should be updating while traveling, but in any case, hope your Thanksgiving is good.  I'm psyched that we are going to my mom's this year.  I don't have to deal with his mom putting nuts in the stuffing.  Or being trapped in the house doing nothing but watching tv and eating leftovers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106937339183253227?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106937339183253227'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106937339183253227'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_11_01_archive.html#106937339183253227' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106917455567610194</id><published>2003-11-18T08:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-11-18T08:56:30.153-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Counting The Hours&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so glad that it's almost Thanksgiving.  I'm so glad that Thursday is my last day of work until December 1.  I was telling a friend yesterday that I'm so burnt out on work that if my boss says hello to me, I get pissed off.  But her "hello" is so fake.  I notice a pattern, that I seem to get assigned all the extra tasks that are administrative in nature, like mailing CDs to people.  Also she gives me an assignment without any guidelines but I know I have to ask every step of the way or I'll get in trouble for doing it wrong.  It's not like listening to customers complain all day isn't bad enough, now I have to do all this stupid additional stuff.  I really wish I had the energy to look for a new job.  Maybe next year.  January is a good month to look for work.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106917455567610194?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106917455567610194'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106917455567610194'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_11_01_archive.html#106917455567610194' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106874380136724324</id><published>2003-11-13T09:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-11-13T09:17:09.060-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Uncomfortably Numb&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please don't tell me I'm getting sick.  I don't want to hear it.  But I feel so tired and groggy today even after getting sleep.  And drinking much coffee.  Yay, &lt;a href="http://www.starbucks.com"&gt;Starbucks&lt;/a&gt; has their peppermint mochas back.  You can say what you want about Starbucks, but those things are damned good.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106874380136724324?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106874380136724324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106874380136724324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_11_01_archive.html#106874380136724324' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106859045276607206</id><published>2003-11-11T14:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-11-11T14:41:17.826-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Work Is Boring&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know why I'm so bored at work lately.  Maybe it's just a combination of having much better things to do and not getting enough sleep, but I feel totally exhausted and barely functioning today.  Thankfully at least the time is going by quickly in my hazy state.  And tomorrow is Wednesday.  I'm just looking forward to not being here for a week for Thanksgiving.  Yay.  Only a week and a half away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106859045276607206?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106859045276607206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106859045276607206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_11_01_archive.html#106859045276607206' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106823215731926177</id><published>2003-11-07T11:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-11-07T11:09:37.420-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Healing The Sick&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R has been sick all week.  It's kind of annoying because he seems to just sleep all day and isn't going out there and looking for a job like he said he would last weekend.  Once or twice, he has said to me that I seem sick all the time.  Well, here he is sick as a dog, and I'm fine.  I did get sick a lot last year.  I think the number one thing that makes me sick is not getting enough sleep.  I get less than 8 hours of sleep a few nights in a row and I start feeling run down.  Then pretty soon, it's sore throat to congestion to runny nose to lingering cough.  So I am going to try to always get enough sleep this winter and also wash my hands a lot to avoid other people's colds.  And I'm not getting a flu shot!  I don't care what people say, every time I have gotten one, I have gotten sick more. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, R was not feeling up to cooking dinner, so I picked up food for him from his favorite taqueria and also brought him orange juice and cookies.  He thanked me for all that.  So I said, remember this the next time you are mad at me.  And he said, I'm not mad, I'm usually just irritated.  And then he started talking about how I irritated him Wednesday night.  And he said, "what was that about?"  And then he remembered and started dogging me out about it again.  I would like to think it's his cold that is making him that stupid!  Trying to remember what you were upset about a day ago seems pointless to me.  If you've forgotten the initial reason, it's time to move on!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106823215731926177?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106823215731926177'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106823215731926177'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_11_01_archive.html#106823215731926177' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106823176756139720</id><published>2003-11-05T10:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-11-07T11:03:07.733-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Pentagram Personality Test&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came home from work on Tuesday and R wanted to tell me all about this personality test that he did online and that he wanted me to do the same test.  He called the test a "pentagram personality test."  So when I got back home after working out, I looked online for such a test.  Well, I have to say that &lt;a href="http://www.google.com"&gt;google&lt;/a&gt; search came up with &lt;a href="http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&amp;ie=UTF-8&amp;oe=UTF-8&amp;q=pentagram+personality+test"&gt;a lot of weird crap&lt;/a&gt;.  When he got home, he told me he meant &lt;a href="http://www.9types.com/"&gt;Enneagram&lt;/a&gt;.  Oh, okay, totally different.  I don't even know how he came up with pentagram, since the enneagram has &lt;strong&gt;nine&lt;/strong&gt; types, not five.  I am a type 4, the Romantic/Artist, and he is type 5, the Thinker.  I asked him if he thought that this might be a bit like Astrology (which he thinks is something only crazy people believe in) where it has vague descriptions that could apply to anyone.  He disagreed.  I don't really think that a 5 minute online test can tell you who you are, but then when I read the stuff about type 4, some of it does apply to me.  But I'm not going to win an award for being a drama queen or anything.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106823176756139720?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106823176756139720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106823176756139720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_11_01_archive.html#106823176756139720' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106787959436935259</id><published>2003-11-03T09:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-11-03T09:13:29.060-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;This &lt;i&gt;Is&lt;/i&gt; My Costume&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Managed to survive Halloween.  Oh come on, it wasn't that bad.  We hung out with R's family a little that night and everyone was much nicer than when we were camping.  Though some bitching about the camping leaked in.  No doubt we are all scarred for life from that experience, ha ha.  Then Saturday was the birthday party for his nephew.  Okay, I haven't been to a kid party since I was a kid, and it was less exciting.  I used to always like my own birthday parties way more than other people's because I knew everyone and I was (supposedly) the center of attention.  But being the center of attention at a 5 year old's party would not have been that great.  I mostly felt glad that I went because I knew the birthday boy appreciated my presence.  I wasn't feeling very social otherwise and felt like I had to be more friendly than my natural inclination.  It was cool to see R's step-sister and her husband whom I had met a few times before.  I will see them again at the big Christmas event.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday R and I went to San Francisco to see the &lt;a href="http://www.sfmoma.com/exhibitions/exhib_detail.asp?id=110"&gt;Chagall exhibit&lt;/a&gt; at &lt;a href="http://www.sfmoma.com/"&gt;SF MOMA&lt;/a&gt;.  Though sadly, it was all sold out.  Who would have thought that Chagall was that popular?  I suppose he is more accessible and softer than many other modern artists.  In any case, I got to hang out with a couple of friends in SF.  One of my friends, S, just moved in with her boyfriend into a cool apartment, so I got to see that.  Somehow in the months I've been living with R, I've become more of an expert on living with your boyfriend and dealing with the problems that arise.  Perhaps I should write one of those Mars/Venus type books and be on Oprah.  Oh that sounds better than working.  Then again, what doesn't?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106787959436935259?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106787959436935259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106787959436935259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_11_01_archive.html#106787959436935259' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106747243391430189</id><published>2003-10-29T16:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-10-29T16:07:21.123-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Accentuate The Positive&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bleh, we had a class on overcoming negativity in the workplace today.  My boss made us sign up for it.  Do I even need to fill in more about this?  Seriously, it seems that if my boss thinks that we are negative, she should confront us herself instead of sending us to stupid classes.  So, I got to the class and it seems like the majority of the information is for managers dealing with their employees with negative attitudes.  Ugh.  I'm barely even self-managed, so it's not like I'm going to take this and run with it.  In all truth, I don't think I'm pessimistic or negative.  I think I'm realistic.  "The optimist thinks we live in the best of all possible worlds and the pessimist fears this is true."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106747243391430189?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106747243391430189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106747243391430189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_archive.html#106747243391430189' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106746386977968001</id><published>2003-10-29T13:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-10-29T13:44:37.733-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Back From The Fires&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thankfully we weren't too near where those fires were raging on, but we did see quite a lot of ash and dust on the drive home.  It's kind of nice to be back home and not have to be traveling.  Our hotel in LA was just okay.  I booked it on &lt;a href="http://www.hotwire.com"&gt;Hotwire&lt;/a&gt;, and it was a 3 star hotel on their site.  But I think it got a star for the restaurant which we didn't eat at.  The hotel had a insufficient parking lot.  We came back on Saturday night around 11, and drove around for almost an hour looking for a spot before parking at the lot of the hotel next door.  What a pain.  The hotel in San Luis Obispo, &lt;a href="http://www.applefarm.com/"&gt;Apple Farm&lt;/a&gt;, was really nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R and I fought very little and he seemed to enjoy the trip.  We had a family event to go to and he seemed to enjoy hanging out with my family.  Oh, and we had lunch with just my dad and they seemed to get along just fine.  As I told R later, I was surprised that my dad is even talking to him in a normal way.  Usually, my dad would just talk about my boyfriends in front of them, making fun of them, or stuff like that.  R liked my dad.  Even some of my good friends don't really like my dad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106746386977968001?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106746386977968001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106746386977968001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_archive.html#106746386977968001' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106703049428352976</id><published>2003-10-24T14:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-10-24T14:28:02.793-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Vacation, All I Ever Wanted</title><content type='html'>It's Friday.  It's quiet here.  My boss is out again.  Is she out every Friday?  It sure seems like it is.  I don't know what the deal with that is.  I have found that there are too many things that give me a headache if I think about them too hard.  And they are all work-related.  Work is tiresome lately.  I can look forward to the fact that it's going to be the holiday season soon and I'm taking a ton of work off.  Whole week at Thanksgiving and hopefully two weeks at Christmas.  Is that like being a student or what?  I have a ton of vacation time anyway, even after taking Monday and Tuesday off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last time R and I went to LA, we got in some ugly fights.  I'm hoping that it's not going to be that bad.  I think that traveling can be particularly stressful, particularly when it's by car and there is a lot of traffic.  Not to mention my having to worry if he's having a good time or not.  I resolve to worry about that less this trip.  And spend time seeing friends and family.  And eat as cheaply as possible because I'm fairly broke.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106703049428352976?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106703049428352976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106703049428352976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_archive.html#106703049428352976' title='Vacation, All I Ever Wanted'/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106684817907137092</id><published>2003-10-22T11:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-10-22T11:42:58.783-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Something To Look Forward To&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thankfully, R and I are going out of town this coming weekend.  We will be visiting my family and friends in LA.  Yay, my family and friends.  They can be annoying but at least they are &lt;i&gt;my&lt;/i&gt; family and friends and not his.  We're going to spend two nights in LA and then one night in San Luis Obispo.  No, not at the Madonna Inn this time.  I'm trying to save a bit of money, if such a thing is possible for me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106684817907137092?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106684817907137092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106684817907137092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_archive.html#106684817907137092' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106675381570971647</id><published>2003-10-21T09:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-10-21T09:30:15.650-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Camping: 1, R's famly: 0&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to say that I really didn't dislike camping as much as I thought I would.  I think that perhaps it's just the comparison between camping and being with R's family.  They no longer feel like they need to be nice to me and impress me.  I'm just part of the scenery or something.  I suppose that being in the middle of nowhere didn't enhance the situation.  But after spending all weekend with those people, I'll be happy to not see them again for some time.  It was nice for them to invite me, have me in the RV, but it wasn't nice that they would just start talking in the morning while I was still asleep.  It was amazing that in a group of seven adults and one kid, there was so much squabbling and nastiness.  Maybe it's better with my family because they generally avoid each other except on major holidays.  I can't imagine my family camping at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, we survived the weekend.  No one was eaten by a mountain lion.  But I definitely want to spend less time around R's family.  Particularly his sister who acted like we were all torturing her because we weren't staying at a hotel and it wasn't a great place for her kid to play.  I guess I missed the notification about the world revolving around her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Despite all this, R and I got along very well.  And I realized that his family annoys him too.  I told him that I felt like I couldn't be critical of his family, and he said it was okay.  So I let some of it loose and felt much better.  I always thought that my family was annoying to be around but at least I feel like I understand them and know what to expect.  Whereas, with his family, I didn't have expectations, and maybe that made it worse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So happy to be back in civilization, or what passes for it anyway.  Western civilization would be a good idea.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106675381570971647?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106675381570971647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106675381570971647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_archive.html#106675381570971647' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106632004556129651</id><published>2003-10-16T09:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-10-16T09:00:45.746-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Monkey's Uncle&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've just been hating work this week.  I'm not sure if there is a particular reason for that.  However, my boss is going to be out until the middle of next week, so I probably will hate it less.  She took some kind of management class a few weeks ago and has been on a rampage to be ... uh ... more perky and less bitchy.  There's really no other way to describe it.  So she's assigned us stuff like "tell one good story about how you helped someone at our next staff meeting" and "come up with an example of doing your personal best."  Uh, my personal best is far far away from work.  In fact, my personal best would be getting a new job in this crappy economy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the camping trip is tomorrow.  We are going to be driving up there with R's sister and nephew (thankfully, I didn't want to drive and I can just sleep in her car).  Last night, R told me that the nephew was asking who was going on the trip and he asked, "is Uncle J (meaning me) going?"  I guess the whole concept of the difference between an uncle and aunt isn't clear to him.  It is kind of funny.  And the kid isn't even five yet, so it's a reasonable mistake.  Some people's families aren't that big on teaching kids what specific relationships are.  My family, well, let's just say I know the difference between a second-cousin and a first cousin once removed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106632004556129651?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106632004556129651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106632004556129651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_archive.html#106632004556129651' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106606321211033647</id><published>2003-10-13T09:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-10-13T09:40:11.763-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Camping For Dummies&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the whole family camping trip is on.  I should put family in quotes, I mean really, they aren't my family or anything.  What the hell are we going to do up there for a few days?  I've never been camping.  I don't understand this whole phenomena of going out to the middle of nowhere.  I guess it's probably beautiful.  But I think, nice scenery, where is the mall?  I guess I could understand staying at a nice B&amp;B and at least having a nice place to take a shower and read and watch TV.  I'm assuming this RV thing will be somewhat nice.  Oh, R decided that he didn't want to sleep in the RV and is going to sleep outside.  Hopefully he won't get sick or anything.  I think he has a sleeping bag and camping crap, but who knows where it is in the mess that is our apartment.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106606321211033647?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106606321211033647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106606321211033647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_archive.html#106606321211033647' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106582448785910153</id><published>2003-10-10T15:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-10-10T15:21:27.833-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Paranoia Is Out To Get You&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was thinking today that sometimes I feel like every thing that doesn't go my way is some vast conspiracy against me.  Admittedly, I was thinking this while waiting for the two women using our bathroom at work to finish their damn conversation so I could use the toliet.  Thinking on a full bladder is not my strong suit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R's family is planning this camping trip next weekend.  I originally thought that I had no desire in Hades to go, but am rethinking.  For one, they are camping in an RV that supposedly has room for all of us.  Which means running water and all that.  Also I really want to see the area we are going to.  Yeah, I already looked at hotels in the area and it's all pricey B&amp;Bs.  I feel like I have to go in a way, because I'm dragging R to see my family the following weekend.  And, it's only for a weekend.  How bad could it be?  Ha, I shouldn't say that and tempt the fates (or the universe that is conspiring against me or whatever).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thankfully, it's Friday and I don't have any stomach flu anymore.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106582448785910153?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106582448785910153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106582448785910153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_archive.html#106582448785910153' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106563326360803689</id><published>2003-10-08T10:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-10-08T10:14:23.580-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Circumstances Beyond My Control&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ugh.  So I got to go home early on Friday.  I thought I was just tired so I took a nap.  When I woke up, I was incredibly nauseated.  Lunch came back up.  Dinner did not go down.  I just went to bed after drinking some lemon-lime soda.  Isn't that supposed to be the cure for nausea?  It didn't work great for me.  I thought it was some minor thing and I'd feel better the next day.  Well, I didn't.  I didn't throw up again but felt pretty nauseated throughout the weekend.  I did manage to eat but not that much.  I even took Monday off work because I still wasn't feeling quite right.  Oh I did have fever and chills, so I guess it was some kind of bug.  So pretty much all I did all weekend was sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We did have dinner at my friends' house on Sunday which was nice.  I don't think that R and I do nearly enough social stuff together.  Though in the next few weeks, we have a ton of stuff planned, including going to LA for my dad's birthday.  Yeah, I'm going to subject him to my family again.  Considering I see his way more, it's only fair.  Even though my grandmother is very much like the mom on &lt;em&gt;Everyone Loves Raymond&lt;/em&gt; and the rest of the family is only marginally easier to be around.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106563326360803689?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106563326360803689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106563326360803689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_archive.html#106563326360803689' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106520309015326531</id><published>2003-10-03T10:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-10-03T10:44:49.660-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Longest Week&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This week hasn't really seemed that much longer than usual but I'm just glad that it is over.  I'm just looking forward to vacation I have upcoming.  I haven't really been that into my job this week at all.  It's been either annoying or difficult, and I'm hating waking up early.  If it weren't for the money...  Wouldn't it be nice if we lived in the days where people didn't have to work.  I guess there hasn't been a time in history that all people didn't have to work.  Maybe that wouldn't be a good idea for all people.  But I'd like it for me.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106520309015326531?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106520309015326531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106520309015326531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_archive.html#106520309015326531' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106505065795678793</id><published>2003-10-01T16:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-10-01T16:24:18.066-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Neurotic Cats &amp; Life As Usual&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R has been house-sitting for his sister, taking care of her somewhat crazy cat.  I spent the night there Saturday and was hanging out on Sunday.  When I was going to leave, I sat next to R and started hugging, and the cat jumped in the middle.  It was kind of cute and kind of annoying at the same time.  I do like cats but I don't have a lot of maternal instincts.  I tend to prefer the less clingy and more aloof cats.  In any case, this house-sitting will end soon and R will be around more.  Though he does come home every day for dinner.  And he calls it his home, no longer just "your place."  Last night, we were sitting on the couch, and he said, things are pretty good.  And I said, what things, the apartment, our relationship?  And he said, everything.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106505065795678793?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106505065795678793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106505065795678793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_archive.html#106505065795678793' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106426545551785987</id><published>2003-09-22T14:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-22T14:17:35.443-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;The Ass Wants Comfort&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Has it really been so long since I've posted anything there?  I was actually working hard last week.  And not because I had to, but because I felt like expending some extra effort and actually being good at my job instead of just doing the minimum.  It's not like it's going to get me anywhere.  Or that working harder has reduced my cynicism.  I still work at a &lt;a href="http://www.dilbert.com/"&gt;Dilbert&lt;/a&gt;-type place.  But I think that expending some effort at least makes me feel like I'm doing something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We saw &lt;i&gt;Lost in Translation&lt;/i&gt; yesterday.  It's kind of interesting seeing something about a younger woman and older man, though it's a bit different from my relationship with R.  Which has been going remarkably well.  Yesterday we had coffee at the same place where we had coffee on our first date. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106426545551785987?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106426545551785987'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106426545551785987'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_09_01_archive.html#106426545551785987' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106330118848111905</id><published>2003-09-11T10:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-11T10:26:28.510-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Status Quo&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things seem to have calmed down this week.  More than calmed down, every thing seems to be just fine.  Well, work sucks but lately I have had less interaction with my boss, so that helps a lot.  Things with R have been going really well.  Though last night, he told me that he was growing a beard.  But then he said that he was going to shave it off next summer.  And I thought, next summer, we'll still be together.  I have days when I'm not certain about anything in my life, but I'm pretty certain of that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106330118848111905?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106330118848111905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106330118848111905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_09_01_archive.html#106330118848111905' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106304040985715551</id><published>2003-09-08T10:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-08T10:00:09.700-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Monday Sucks&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a pretty rough weekend and I'm already looking forward to Friday.  I don't think I'm cursed or anything but it seems like a lot of things are difficult right now.  My friend M always talks about changing her name and moving to a foreign country and that sounds very appealing right now.  I don't know which name or which foreign country yet, but it would have to be some place where American dollars would take me far.  Not like I have that many of them to begin with.  Which is a large part of the problem.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106304040985715551?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106304040985715551'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106304040985715551'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_09_01_archive.html#106304040985715551' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106260775845402705</id><published>2003-09-03T09:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-03T09:49:18.440-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Back in the Groove, Sort of&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It sucks having to be back here at work.  Yesterday was pretty foul.  We had an hour long meeting about how we could possibly get laid off at some point.  That's really nice, I have to say.  I actually wouldn't mind getting laid off in some ways but I really would like to leave here on my terms, not on someone else's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had this weird dream last night that I started a relationship with someone at work.  It was about this totally random dorky guy at work.  Who is married.  And not my type at all.  But anyway, in the dream he was talking about how it was lame that I was paying for R and basically supporting him.  I don't really think I have a grudge against R about this, not consciously anyway.  But then I woke up and R told me that he cracked a tooth, and I was like, maybe your sister can loan you some money.  I think my first thought was just that I can't add this expense onto the money it's going to cost to fly to see my mom over Thanksgiving.  I guess the whole talk of me getting laid off stresses me out a bit.  Not to mention that R is owed some $300-400 by his boss and he might have to take legal action to see any of that money.  Can I just win the lottery now?  I guess I'd have to actually buy a ticket.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106260775845402705?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106260775845402705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106260775845402705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_09_01_archive.html#106260775845402705' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106219429473988044</id><published>2003-08-29T14:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-29T14:58:14.570-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Zzzzz&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damn I'm so tired today.  This week has just been long and exhausting.  I feel like my reserve of energy was zapped away early in the week.  Thankfully it is a 3 day weekend.  That way I have an extra day of catching up on my sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R reorganized our apartment last night and went through everything in the closet.  The last time he did something like that, I cried.  But I was a little more prepared.  I appreciate that he was working on cleaning the apartment that now has become ours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm such an idiot.  My boss just offered to let two of the three of us go home early and I volunteered to stay until 5.  But it's only two hours and I'm already prepared to stay here that long anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106219429473988044?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106219429473988044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106219429473988044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106219429473988044' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106191868260902345</id><published>2003-08-26T10:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-26T10:24:42.606-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Disgruntled at Best&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My job this week has thus far sucked greatly.  My two coworkers are out today and were also out yesterday, so that means that I'm doing all the work.  I do have an intern that helps a lot, but it's still just me being responsible for everything.  Yesterday was a crazy day too.  Today hasn't been too bad so far but I probably shouldn't say anything lest I jinx it.  I'm pretty tired.  I have noticed before that my coworkers seem to call in sick after I take any vacation at all.  I just took Friday off too.  Bastards.  I really should just be looking for another job right now, bad economy be damned.  It's not like I expect much but there is really no sympathy or anything from management or any realization that when I'm the only one here, my job is much harder.  I can't figure out if my boss is dumb, ignorant, or just a bitch.  In a way, it's not like it matters which she is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106191868260902345?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106191868260902345'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106191868260902345'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106191868260902345' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106151019750081383</id><published>2003-08-21T16:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-26T10:24:50.733-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Silver Lining&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even after the rough start my morning got off to, my day wasn't too bad.  Admittedly, it's way easier knowing that I'm not coming in to work tomorrow.  I am slightly cleaning up my desk right now and trying to make sure everything is squared away for my departure.  I'm also hoping that my phone doesn't ring in the next five minutes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106151019750081383?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106151019750081383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106151019750081383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106151019750081383' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106148230762607028</id><published>2003-08-21T09:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-21T09:11:47.620-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Sure Happy It's Thursday&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I woke up feeling like crap today.  Yeah, usually it's hard for me in the mornings since I'm so not a morning person.  So today, I woke up also with a sore neck and aching head and way more tired than usual.  Then I ended up spilling a cup of coffee all over myself.  Yay.  Even though I was just wearing my robe, I still smell like coffee wearing normal clothes.  And R was being a jerk too because he said something about how I always am not a morning person.  Yeah, neither is he, but since he doesn't have to wake up to go to work every day, it's not a problem for him.  It just added to my irritation having to deal with his lack of sympathy.  And then I looked at my bank online and some morons double-charged me.  I called my bank and they basically said, check your balance again later and it should be fixed.  Ugh.  At least I don't have to work tomorrow, so today is essentially Friday to me.  Otherwise, I'd probably kill the next person who bugged me.  Which at work could happen any minute.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106148230762607028?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106148230762607028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106148230762607028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106148230762607028' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106132971358114666</id><published>2003-08-19T14:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-19T14:48:33.580-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Year Two&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday was the anniversary of me meeting R.  We celebrated by going out to dinner.  In a way, it wasn't very exciting, no huge bouquets of flowers, candy, or anything like that.  But it was really nice.  We talked a lot about future goals and plans.  I certainly don't have any idea of what I want to do in the future.  I have a hard enough time planning day to day.  But R has a lot of future plans, and I'm in all of them.  Since Sunday, we have been getting along exceptionally well. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106132971358114666?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106132971358114666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106132971358114666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106132971358114666' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106087739197147223</id><published>2003-08-14T09:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-14T09:14:26.373-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Worms &amp; Sickness&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were overrun yesterday at work.  It seems like just about every user here had the Blaster worm so I was fielding calls from tons of people freaking out about that.  People are so dependent on their computers.  It's kind of sad.  Though if they weren't, I might be out of work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just feeling way more sick today.  I woke up with a total congested head and have been sneezing pretty much nonstop since coming into work.  Ugh.  And it's not like I have that much sick time since I called in sick on Monday.  But I do have a lot of vacation time, so I guess if I need to take off, I'll just use that.  My boss is really weird about these things.  I was right nearby my desk but she just went to my desk and took my timesheet without even asking me or anything.  If I wasn't in the office, I'd understand that.  But come on, at least she could attempt to act like a human being.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106087739197147223?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106087739197147223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106087739197147223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106087739197147223' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106070617863745053</id><published>2003-08-12T09:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-12T09:36:18.556-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Work Makes Me Sick&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Haha, that sounds sort of extreme.  I called in sick yesterday because it was R's birthday and I wanted to hang out with him.  I also do feel exhausted and perhaps like I have some mild cold or something.  As the day wears on, I feel tired and a little headachy.  But it's still morning right now.  Being back at work sucks.  I had this feeling today that I just wished I wasn't working.  Maybe I need a vacation.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106070617863745053?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106070617863745053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106070617863745053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106070617863745053' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106035872831337589</id><published>2003-08-08T09:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-08T09:05:28.303-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Looks Like We Made It&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even with taking Wednesday off, this week has felt too long.  I don't know, do I hate my job more or am I just totally worn down by it?  It would be nice to not have to work for a while.  Like three weeks.  I know that I'd get bored sitting at home and not working, but I think I might be more bored here at work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R and I went to &lt;a href="http://www.linuxworldexpo.com/linuxworldny03/V40/index.cvn"&gt;Linux World&lt;/a&gt; on Wednesday.  This is something that I would have never thought of doing on my own.  And yeah, it was pretty boring.  R said that Linux World seems more corporate now than it has in the past.  I don't really know that much about Linux, or really care too much, but R is really interested in it.  It was nice to take a day off work and go up to San Francisco.  I even had time to do a little shopping.  That would be cool if they had a convention called Shopping World and all you did was look around and buy stuff.  Oh wait, I guess that's like the mall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our one year anniversary is in 9 days.  Kind of crazy that it's been that long, sometimes it seems longer.  When I think about my life at this time last year, it seems pretty unbelievable.  But the person I was then would probably find my life now unbelievable too.  I don't know exactly what we are going to do for our anniversary.  Maybe go to the coffee place we met at.  Or perhaps I will finally cook my fabulous spicy steak recipe for R.  Though I was telling him about it, and for some reason, he didn't seem all that excited.  It's steak!  It's spicy!  How could you not like it?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106035872831337589?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106035872831337589'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106035872831337589'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106035872831337589' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-106011698255637570</id><published>2003-08-05T13:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-05T13:56:22.526-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Money vs. Sleep&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to bed late last night because we had a discussion on money.  R owes me some money.  Not to mention that he hasn't been able to even contribute much towards groceries lately.  But I was stressed about money because of my own mismanagement.  But when I started talking to him about being stressed, he felt guilty or something.  He got all defensive.  We went back and forth on this, and finally I just said, okay, I'm going to bed.  But he came in and then we talked for a while and managed to work things out.  But I didn't get enough sleep and am just groggy as hell today.  I just got a mocha in hopes of the combination of sugar and caffeine will work its magic for me.  At least today is quiet and there are only 3 hours until 5.  Unfortunately, part of that time will be spent in a staff meeting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-106011698255637570?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106011698255637570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/106011698255637570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106011698255637570' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-105968790100583281</id><published>2003-07-31T14:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-31T14:45:00.870-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Where It's At&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ugh, I have just been not really in the space to do anything at work.  My boss is out all this week which sort of aids in this total procrastination, but she's coming back on Monday and there's stuff that I just haven't gotten done.  I'm a slacker.  Oh well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately, money has been a bit of an issue since R isn't getting paid too often.  His boss is the flakiest individual you could imagine.  I will be glad when some sort of "real job" comes up.  At this point, a real job for him would be anything with a reliable paycheck and predictable hours.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-105968790100583281?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105968790100583281'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105968790100583281'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105968790100583281' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-105906579819838254</id><published>2003-07-24T09:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-24T09:56:38.173-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Cruelty to Animals&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh the fun of babysitting R's hyper nephew.  I don't know if it's kids today or something, but this kid really doesn't understand the word no at all.  In some cases, it's annoying but not a problem.  But last night, he kept screwing with their cat.  Now this cat is way too sweet for its own good.  Most cats I know, even mellow cats, would scratch the hell out of someone pulling their tail like that.  I know it's hard for kids to really recognize that animals have feelings, but I find that behavior really disturbing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Otherwise, this week has been okay.  I've been kind of busy at work and generally tired when I get home.  It's the usual not enough sleep business.  My sleep schedule got super messed up last weekend.  It's so damn hot here; I wish it were Fall already.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-105906579819838254?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105906579819838254'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105906579819838254'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105906579819838254' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-105856893887115864</id><published>2003-07-18T15:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-18T15:55:38.690-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;The Strangest Dream&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a really weird dream last night.  I was some place, I think Europe, and there was this woman that was into R.  The two of them were sort of cuddling or something.  I got really really mad at him and started yelling at him that he isn't supposed to do stuff like that.  Then I felt guilty about getting so angry but I also wanted to do anything I could to stop him from acting like that.  It was weird.  I know that he wouldn't do something like that in real life.  If he did do something like that, he wouldn't be stupid enough to do it in front of me anyway.  I told him about the dream this morning.  I think he said something about how dreams like that aren't really about the issue in the dream.  And no, he didn't look guilty or anything.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-105856893887115864?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105856893887115864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105856893887115864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105856893887115864' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-105838196200598151</id><published>2003-07-16T11:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-16T11:59:21.970-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;A Real Sicko&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sort of sick again.  There is probably no worse time to be sick than July when it's just too damn hot.  I didn't go to work on Monday but sat in my too hot apartment.  I ended up turning on the A/C after a while.  I don't think I have much sick time left at work so I have been coming in the last two days.  Today I'm just about falling asleep.  Maybe I'll nap at lunch.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-105838196200598151?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105838196200598151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105838196200598151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105838196200598151' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-105794009092756568</id><published>2003-07-11T09:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-11T09:14:50.906-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Exposed&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I forgot to put on makeup before I left the house and I feel really exposed right now.  Ugh.  I think I'll just hide in my cube.  I feel like my mask has slipped off.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-105794009092756568?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105794009092756568'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105794009092756568'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105794009092756568' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-105779290985167238</id><published>2003-07-09T16:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-09T16:21:49.853-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Tired and Hungry&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not actually hungry right now, surprisingly.  The moment I decided that I was going to start watching what I eat, I started feeling hungry all the time.  Even with eating about the same amount of food as before.  Ugh.  I am tracking what I eat at &lt;a href="http://www.fitday.com/"&gt;FitDay&lt;/a&gt;, which is free.  When I was looking around for free calorie tracking, I came across all kinds of diet websites.  I know that the diet industry is huge in this country, and it makes sense that they'd put it on the web.  But if I were going to pay money for a diet, I'd go to one that had supportive meetings (like Weight Watchers) or individual counseling.  My main dietary goal is to try to get 60% of my calories from protein, 25-30% from fat, and eat around 1600 calories a day.  Since I've only been doing it for a day or two, no news to report.  I don't want to do one of those crazy cabbage soup or Atkins type diets.  That would drive me crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am tired.  R hasn't spent the last two nights at the apartment because he's been taking care of his sister's cat.  I really don't sleep as soundly when he isn't there.  I think I'm going to spend tonight at his sister's house.  She has a hottub.  Woohoo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-105779290985167238?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105779290985167238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105779290985167238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105779290985167238' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-105769340975571490</id><published>2003-07-08T12:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-08T12:43:29.730-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Long Weekend&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm not sure, was I more of a zombie at work yesterday than I am today.  I'm so tired right now.  I got a lot of sleep over the four-day weekend and now I'm just dragging on eight hours.  Maybe I need more sleep than 8.  I don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had that sort of weekend where every other day was really good.  And the other days, well, we got into a couple of fights that were pretty ugly.  Strangely enough, we had sex the nights we fought.  What does that mean?  I guess I was thinking that a lot of the issues had already been worked out, but there is still a ways to go with that.  I think that R was pretty stressed from babysitting for a few weeks, and that didn't help.  Thankfully that is over, but now he is cat-sitting while his sister is out of town.  I don't think it pays as much as the babysitting but is a lot easier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so hungry right now but there was a line at the microwave.  I should try again and see if I can just displace someone else's meal and heat my own.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-105769340975571490?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105769340975571490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105769340975571490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105769340975571490' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-105716788679646586</id><published>2003-07-02T10:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-02T10:45:31.583-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;The Kid Stays in the Picture, Unfortunately&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, R and I had dinner with his 4 year old nephew.  Damn that kid can't sit still for five minutes.  I have to say that it was probably one of the more embarassing restaurant experiences, with his running around (and once almost tripping a waitress), shrieking, and eating his fries without using his hands (my mom's cats eat more delicately than that).  I did notice some looks from other diners that were rather scathing.  While this was going on, I was thinking that I was so glad that R's daughter is an adult.  If I had to do this kind of dinner often, I would not want to be in a relationship with him.  I guess there were moments that were entertaining but it was primarily distracting and annoying having to look after the kid.  And the waitress sort of looked at me like I was his mother, and I wanted to say, no no no, not mine, not mine.  I guess it wasn't that bad but I definitely think that you should just take your kids to McDonald's and let them loose in the play area if they can't sit still.  It wasn't a super fancy restaurant anyway, but it was nice enough that a screamy shrieky kid was problematic.  I'll be glad when R's babysitting days are over.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-105716788679646586?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105716788679646586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105716788679646586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105716788679646586' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-105710338429771388</id><published>2003-07-01T16:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-01T16:49:44.160-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Transition&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kind of noticed yesterday that R might be putting me ahead of his family.  He asked if it was okay if we had dinner at his sister's house, unlike the usual "this is what we are doing" or "this is what I'm doing."  It was pretty cool.  Of course, I said yes anyway.  It was an okay evening.  I would like to go home now and vegetate but we are having dinner with his nephew again tonight.  The kid gets pretty hyper.  Do they have babysitting at restaurants?  Haha, I wish.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-105710338429771388?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105710338429771388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105710338429771388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105710338429771388' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-105675524613797420</id><published>2003-06-27T16:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-27T16:07:26.136-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;The Arrival&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's finally Friday.  Sure it is over 100 degrees today.  And I'm so tired I can barely hold my head up.  But it's Friday and 4 o'clock which means that I only have an hour to go.  I even finished all the stuff I needed to do today and most of my monthly stuff that I'll need to get done by Monday.  So I'm doing good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, R came with me to this party that a coworker had.  So he met a couple of my coworkers and they said that they thought he was really nice.  One of them is a woman who has been making some effort to befriend me and whom I really like.  She has invited us over for dinner or something some night, which would be fun.  R seemed to be into it.  I would like to be more social than I am.  Most of my friends live far away and I don't see them very often.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-105675524613797420?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105675524613797420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105675524613797420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#105675524613797420' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-105664362428532599</id><published>2003-06-26T09:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-26T09:07:04.273-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Week of Irritation&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, now I'm irritated at R.  I actually haven't been really that annoyed with him in a long time.  But last night, he spent the night at his sister's house.  He has been babysitting her kid all week, and since we were over there for dinner after 10PM, it seemed the best for him to just stay there.  I couldn't quite figure out why it irritates me so much.  I guess some of the thing that annoys me is that I feel like he's just a squatter in my apartment and will only stay with me when it's convenient.  I also feel like he's staying there to be controlling.  And I worry that he'd just rather be living over there.  I guess that last thought is somewhat paranoid.  Honestly though, it was almost 90 degrees in my apartment last night and it was probably good to not have another heat source around when I was trying to sleep.  Some part of me feels like being spiteful and telling him that he should just stay there tonight as well.  Will that immature part of me win?  Probably not.  I guess it depends on my mood at the time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-105664362428532599?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105664362428532599'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/105664362428532599'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#105664362428532599' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-96019862</id><published>2003-06-25T09:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-25T09:08:04.603-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Wave of Irritation&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work was so irritating today and I almost got in a fight with the dumbest guy here.  Uh yeah, I'll take my brain out then we'll be even.  It's not like I think I'm the smartest person here, I know I am.  Har har.  Seriously though, this guy is the biggest ass-kisser and that's probably the only reason that he is still around, since he seems to generally be without a clue.  Thankfully he is being promoted to another department.  It must be true that mediocrity rises to the top or just goes to show what a backwards place this is.  Calgon take me away.  Too bad the economy sucks.  If it didn't, at least looking for a job wouldn't be as depressing as working at one.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-96019862?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/96019862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/96019862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#96019862' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-95961916</id><published>2003-06-23T16:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-23T16:18:50.086-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Valuable Information&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damn, I've just been the little resource for everything today.  Yeah, well, that's what happens when I'm the only one who shows up to work.  I don't know why it is that a couple of my coworkers so easily get away with not going to work and calling in sick.  I just can't do it.  Maybe they have no conscience.  That must be it.  So in the meantime, I have to work harder.  It actually hasn't really been too stressful or anything, but I wouldn't mind not being here.  That's for sure.  I guess if it were supposed to be fun, they wouldn't call it work, right?  Yeah yeah.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-95961916?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95961916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95961916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95961916' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-95949794</id><published>2003-06-23T09:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-23T09:18:39.093-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Mumble Mumble Mumble&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can already tell that this week at work is going to be really difficult because we are very short-staffed.  And as well, the parking lot I usually park in will be closed.  Argh.  I think it's bad enough that I have to PAY for my parking here, but I can't even park in the damned lot when I want to.  I'm not super cranky right now but my shoulder hurts and I generally feel a bit feeble.  I'm sure it's just because it's Monday and I have to be at work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R is going to be working all week and next week, and he worked a lot this weekend.  Good thing too, considering that I'm currently somewhat impoverished.  And last night, he spent some time trying to get his stuff moved and/or unpacked, and now I can walk to the couch without scraping up against anything.  Yay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-95949794?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95949794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95949794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95949794' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-95899281</id><published>2003-06-21T12:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-21T12:54:17.000-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Aggravation&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am pretty aggravated with R right now.  It's a good thing he's asleep because I'd probably break my cool reserve and actually yell at him.  Which I don't think I've ever really done.  I do feel like I am pretty cautious when it comes to expressing my anger at him, and I take a step back and think before I go off.  But today, I felt like just waking him up and yelling at him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was trying to transfer some stuff between my computer and his computer last night, and ended up screwing up all my dial-in settings, so it took me at least 30 min to get dialed in to my ISP.  Not to mention that I had to call their damn tech support and sit on hold with them for 10 min before getting two minutes of help.  And of course, while I'm in the middle of typing this entry, the battery on my laptop goes out because he moved everything around.  And it looks like I'm not getting back online easily.  And why is he still asleep?  Because he stayed up all night setting all this crap up.  I tell you, if he paid one-third the attention to me that he did to all this computer stuff, I'd probably be the happiest person.  I kept waking up in the middle of the night to ask if he was coming to bed.  He spent forever working on this stuff and screwed up my computer settings in the process.  Argh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I'm sure by the time he wakes up (maybe around 5PM), I will be calmed down.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-95899281?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95899281'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95899281'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95899281' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-95770888</id><published>2003-06-17T16:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-17T16:28:07.893-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Busyness in Business&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've already been too busy at work this week.  I think yesterday I did more work in one day than I typically do in a week.  Of course, coming home to a totally chaotic house doesn't help matters at all.  The unpacking is not going as quickly as I would hope, and I keep bumping into things.  Hopefully when I go home today, a lot more has been done.  I am probably the last person to nag someone about cleaning stuff up, but I don't like living amongst someone else's clutter.  My own clutter is just fine, I suppose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damn, Friday seems so far away right now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-95770888?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95770888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95770888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95770888' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-95597344</id><published>2003-06-12T10:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-12T10:34:01.410-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Powers That Be&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We just had a power outage at work for almost an hour.  It was really freaky, sitting here in the dark and all that.  I have to say that I definitely don't like being in that kind of situation.  It makes me way too nervous and shaky.  I can't imagine how people live in war areas where you don't have power for weeks.  I guess you could adjust to that eventually.  I sort of feel like hoarding my stuff and staying away from people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The moving is going pretty well, though I took Tuesday off to get rid of a bunch of stuff but didn't do as much as I would like.  I got rid of tons of clothes that I've had for years and never worn, like the suit I wore to my graduation from college.  I need to get rid of other stuff that is sitting around my closet, like shoes I never wear.  I sold some books but would like to sell more.  It's kind of cool to get money for books that I would just give away.  But it's also good to give stuff away, and hope that someone who is less fortunate than me is able to put my junk to good use.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-95597344?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95597344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95597344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95597344' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-95469343</id><published>2003-06-09T09:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-09T09:15:54.050-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Progress Stalled&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, this weekend was supposed to be a big cleaning up my apartment weekend.  But R was working all night both Friday and Saturday nights, and therefore slept all day.  So I didn't really do much.  I find that I have to either have someone kicking my butt or be really in the mood to be doing housecleaning, and I definitely wasn't this weekend.  Last night we did clean out my bathroom closet but it was a wee bit traumatic for me.  I would like to be less attached to stuff, but it's difficult.  The hardest is going to be getting rid of clothes in my bedroom closet.  Because, I know that some day I will wear all of them.  Yeah right.  I should tell myself that I can buy a few new outfits if I get rid of enough stuff.  That might motivate me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-95469343?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95469343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95469343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95469343' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-95298027</id><published>2003-06-04T13:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-04T15:58:54.000-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Money Changes Everything&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Check out &lt;a href="http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/2003/06/04/couples/index.html"&gt;this link&lt;/a&gt; to Salon's front page story about the economy causing stress in relationships. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-95298027?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95298027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95298027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95298027' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-95295876</id><published>2003-06-04T12:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-04T12:04:30.586-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Enrichment, Inc.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to this Women's Conference thingy tomorrow.  I somehow managed to get my boss to pay for it.  My coworker keeps bitching about how she never lets him go to classes.  I want to say, it must be because she hates you.  He's always complaining about stuff my boss does, and from what he says, it does sound like she hates him.  Or he's exaggerating wildly.  In any case, we'll see how this enrichment thing goes.  I will get a supposedly delicious lunch as well.  No work is good work!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-95295876?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95295876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95295876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95295876' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-95201751</id><published>2003-06-02T11:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-02T11:26:14.840-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;What's Goin' On&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sort of feel like I've managed to pull my head out of my ass a little bit so I should manage to put in a decent-sized post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, I had a fantastic birthday.  Going to LA was great, going to Vegas was great, my birthday dinner was superb.  I felt loved by all.  I don't really feel that much older, thankfully.  I am looking for signs of dotage but thus far have seen none.  I definitely wish that I could be on vacation for longer, wish that the world was still revolving around me.  Alas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, R is moving in to my apartment now, officially.  Or at least, he's moving out of the condo where all his stuff is.  It kind of sucks because his parents who own the place basically told him that he had to get out in two days without any real notice.  He had been avoiding the place because there was this jerk living there.  It seems to me that his parents are being a bit vindictive.  The situation is pretty ugly, I have to say, but could be much worse.  The problem in my mind is that I haven't really gotten rid of a lot of crap in my aparment, so where is R's stuff going to go?  He did bring over a computer and set it up on my living room table and that already takes up too much room in my mind.  Much less, two bookshelves, clothing, and other assorted furniture.  Last night, his mom was kind of hounding him too, "what about this?  what about that?"  R, to his credit, kept saying, you want me to get everything out of there, I will get everything out of there.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I ready for this?  Being away from R for a few days, getting in a fight over the phone with him, and then smoothing things out.  I don't know, the whole fighting thing is kind of annoying.  While we were in Vegas, he picked a fight part of our discussion somehow got recorded on my mom's voicemail at work.  So the next day, she calls me freaking out.  The way she was talking, it was like I was being abused or something.  Uh, no, we were just fighting.  Everyone fights.  Yeah, it would be great if it didn't happen, but there is still stuff that we are working out.  It's not perfect, but I really enjoy being with him, and that is what matters.  I think.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-95201751?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95201751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95201751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95201751' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-95200266</id><published>2003-06-02T10:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-02T10:48:02.080-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Back to Life&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm back at work for the first time in a week and a half.  Can I just say that works sucks ass?  It is pretty foul being back here, with all this crap going on.  I feel like I can only concentrate on one thing at a time, and of course, my job just isn't like that.  I am just hoping and wishing and praying for 5 o'clock, seriously.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-95200266?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95200266'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/95200266'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95200266' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-94753889</id><published>2003-05-22T13:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-22T13:49:13.843-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;30something&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going out of town tonight.  I might not have an opportunity to post anything for a week and a half.  By the time I post next, I'll be 30.  30.  I guess that's not that old.  It just feels weird.  I was thinking today that I wasn't really ready to lie about my age, but I'm not going to tell people my age either.  I will be vague.  Someone here tried to ask, in that way of pretending he wasn't really asking.  Of course, I wouldn't tell him.  Not like I'm embarassed about my age or anything, but it's not really anyone's business either.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-94753889?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/94753889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/94753889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_05_01_archive.html#94753889' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-94651940</id><published>2003-05-20T14:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-20T14:23:35.060-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;A Week to Go&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, it's a week until my birthday.  I'm going out of town on Thursday, and of course have not really planned anything well or even really thought about being on vacation.  But now, thinking about it, I have decided it is a good thing.  Ha ha.  My driver's license is expiring on my birthday, and I just went to the DMV yesterday to get a new one.  (I hadn't really known about this expiration until this past weekend.)  I have to say that the DMV is the same as it ever was.  I always expect to see Marge's sisters working there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have had a few moments of "oh crap, I'm turning 30" this past weekend.  It was a little depressing to think about it.  I was talking to R about it, and he said, well, are you just depressed about getting older or feeling like there is a lot of stuff that you should have accomplished but haven't.  I would say that to a certain degree both are true.  But I'm also excited about turning 30, not being at work for over a week, going to LA, going to Vegas...  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-94651940?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/94651940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/94651940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_05_01_archive.html#94651940' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-94341861</id><published>2003-05-14T11:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-14T11:36:11.796-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;What's the Deal&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I've just been tired most of this week and haven't really been up to posting anything.  I feel like I'm too tired to really be analyzing anything in my life right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had Robin call his mom on Mother's Day and it sounds like he's going to be needing to move his stuff out of the condo and into my apartment soon.  I told him today that I was worried about getting all the stuff out of my apartment that I want to get rid of.  But he told me not to worry about it.  So I won't.  He has been working all night and coming back in the morning a lot lately.  It's a little weird but at least he's working and making money.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-94341861?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/94341861'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/94341861'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_05_01_archive.html#94341861' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-93885061</id><published>2003-05-06T14:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-06T14:08:30.936-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Housecleaning&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, I think R and I both realized that we are moving closer to officially living together.  I have already made a couple big stacks of books that I want to sell if possible, or otherwise give away.  R was a total cleaning fiend.  He reorganized my kitchen and cleaned every surface.  Usually the way he organizes stuff makes sense.  Though when he put all my bottles in the shower in order of what kind of bottle they were, that was not right.  Uh, all the shampoos go together, then the face stuff should go together, etc.  Yeah, I have a lot of crap in my bathroom.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-93885061?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/93885061'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/93885061'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_05_01_archive.html#93885061' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-93814475</id><published>2003-05-05T11:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-05T11:41:35.970-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Good Expectations&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For some reason, R's family thought my birthday was last Friday instead of May 27.  So, his mom and stepdad sent me a very nice birthday card.  I have to say that it's very nice of them to recognize my birthday, even at the wrong date.  But his sister, who I've done countless favors for, didn't really do anything for it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's really the worst problem with being an adult.  People just don't recognize how important and special my birthday is now.  Well, when I was a kid, my family made a huge deal out of every birthday.  And when I was a kid, I liked getting older.  I have to say that every birthday after 21, I haven't really enjoyed the idea of getting older.  It seems like I'd need more of a celebration now, to sugarcoat the fact that I am getting older.  But since I've been an adult, I haven't really had the sort of birthdays I did as a kid.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though I have to say that a lot of my friends have made my birthdays pretty special.  Yeah, maybe only because I'm a whiny brat about it.  Just last year, a bunch of my friends in LA took me out to dinner.  One friend down there took me to Vegas and bought me a very expensive dinner at Bellagio.  (Well, it was the buffet dinner there, but that's $30!  But they have 6 colors of mashed potatoes.  And Kobe beef.)  A friend up here took me to the spa at Half Moon Bay last year which was fabulous.  And I got a lot of presents, phone calls, and general good treatment.  Maybe it's better having birthday parties when you're an adult because your friends have more money than they did when you were a kid.  Ha ha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this year, it's the big 30.  I want singing, dancing, feasting, and merriment.  I know that I totally sound like Veruca Salt, but it's my birthday, and I'll be as demanding as I want to be. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-93814475?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/93814475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/93814475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_05_01_archive.html#93814475' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-93713662</id><published>2003-05-03T11:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-03T11:36:02.630-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Here I Go Again&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm feeling like I'm getting sick again. Wasn't I just well for like a week in between illnesses? What is this, college?  I actually only got sick a few times in college but it was always really bad.  Like when I got the stomach flu and they kept saying, are you pregnant? are you sure you aren't pregnant? are you positive you aren't pregnant?  Admittedly, there probably are a few women who do get pregnant in college unintentionally, but I wasn't one of them.  I guess for the medicos, that would be the easy answer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started laying in plans for my birthday this week.  I booked trips to LA and Las Vegas.  I'm coming back here for the day of my birthday for my special birthday dinner.  R is accompaning me to Vegas but not LA.  I am slightly worried about leaving him alone in my apartment for 5 days.  It's not going to be like Risky Business or anything, but it's still a little bit strange.  Though I'm probably come home and find the place neater than when I left it, instead of as a pigsty.  I'm just excited about getting out of town and not having to work for a full 10 days!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-93713662?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/93713662'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/93713662'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_05_01_archive.html#93713662' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-93536882</id><published>2003-04-30T08:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-04-30T08:47:09.586-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;The Recital&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I got invited to R's nephew's recital.  The amusing thing was that the kid really wanted me to go but he didn't actually sing or anything with the rest of the kids.  Yeah, he's only four, but he already is a total rebel who won't go with the program.  It was actually kind of impressive how most of those kids seemed to be able to keep up with the program.  As R said, it's kind of like herding cats.  Afterwards, R told me that he was really glad that I went.  After time, all the verbal appreciation seems to slow down, so I liked him saying that.  I've not really been part of a family for a while since I live so far from mine.  So this is pretty different, and kind of nice.  Also, I know that I can blow stuff off because I'm not actually related to anyone there.  Yay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-93536882?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/93536882'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/93536882'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_04_01_archive.html#93536882' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-93410811</id><published>2003-04-28T10:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-04-28T10:48:42.000-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Neglectful At Best&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I've been pretty neglectful of my blog as of late.  Mostly because I've been occupied with other things at work.  I'm not very good at time-management these days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My 30th birthday is now in less than a month.  I haven't totally figured out what all my plans are, but I'm taking over a week off work.  How can it not be wonderful?  The night of my birthday, I'm going to be having dinner at &lt;a href="http://www.chezpanisse.com"&gt;Chez Panisse&lt;/a&gt; with some friends.  I just made the reservations, and had to put down a credit card deposit, but won't know what's on the menu until right before.  I've eaten at the upstairs cafe but not at the main restaurant, so that should be exciting.  I think I'm going to go to Las Vegas and Los Angeles at different times, but have not made any reservations yet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-93410811?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/93410811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/93410811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_04_01_archive.html#93410811' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-93053653</id><published>2003-04-22T09:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-04-22T09:18:04.273-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Dark Days&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The weather has been pretty crappy here lately.  Well, it was really nice on Saturday, but R and I got in a fight that made things worse.  For some reason, he's been freaking out about money lately.  He gets mad at me if I'm "assuming" that he will pay for meals.  Yeah, he's still living at my apartment rent free, with me paying all utilities.  And yes, I did pay for a ton of things while he wasn't working.  I guess he's just stressed out about money but it's irritating.  I finally find myself at a time in my life when I'm not stressed about money and then I have to deal with his stress.  Hopefully this is a short term problem.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-93053653?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/93053653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/93053653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_04_01_archive.html#93053653' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-92614215</id><published>2003-04-14T16:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-04-14T16:45:53.076-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Never Enough&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do I feel like I never get enough sleep?  I'm so tired today.  Well, yeah I could have gone to bed earlier last night.  But still.  I do feel more energy as the hour to leave work is approaching.  Mondays generally suck.  At least we get Friday off this week.  Only 3 more hell-filled days to go.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-92614215?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/92614215'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/92614215'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_04_01_archive.html#92614215' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-92441151</id><published>2003-04-11T11:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-04-11T11:02:28.000-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;End of the Week&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I just realized yesterday that my posts for this month weren't showing up, which seems pretty odd to me.  And annoyingly, it doesn't appear with my archives on the left.  I don't know what is going on, but at least it seems like new posts are coming up now.  I guess one can't complain too much about a free service.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-92441151?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/92441151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/92441151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_04_01_archive.html#92441151' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-92376234</id><published>2003-04-10T11:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-04-11T10:55:42.000-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Being Sick Sucks&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took yesterday off to work, and slept all day.  I did get up around 1 for an hour and a half, but then went back to sleep because my head hurt.  Part of why my head hurt was a lack of caffeine.  Yeah, I guess I'm pretty addicted because I felt immediately better when I drank some tea.  My antibiotics are starting to work, or something, because I'm almost feeling like a human being again.  Though of course back at work, I'm not really treated as such.  For some reason, my boss doesn't seem to believe that people can get sick.  Yes, I know, we're not all bionic women like you.  Seriously, whenever I've called in sick, she's always had this attitude like I'm faking it.  Uh, no, that's my coworkers who call in sick all the time.  I think that if you treat people like they are doing something wrong, they will be more likely to actually do things against the rules.  It's amazing, she almost walked right into me and didn't even really say hi or ask how I was.  Unlike many other people in the building who know that if I call in sick, it means I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey I must be feeling better if I can be frustrated with petty issues with my boss again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-92376234?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/92376234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/92376234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_04_01_archive.html#92376234' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-92230214</id><published>2003-04-08T09:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-04-08T09:42:01.966-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Ugh&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like I've been sick forever.  I finally called the doctor yesterday and she diagnosed a sinus infection.  So I got some hardcore decongestant that is almost but not quite doing the trick, plus antibiotics.  I haven't taken antibiotics for years, but that was the thing when I was a kid.  I hope they start working soon as my head feels like it's stuffed with cotton.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-92230214?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/92230214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/92230214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_04_01_archive.html#92230214' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-91996259</id><published>2003-04-04T10:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-04-04T10:32:45.140-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;In the Background&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was kind of wondering when this whole talk of relationships just sort of fades into the background, because it is an accepted part of my life.  I sometimes feel like that is becoming the case.  But it's not like there is anything really exciting going on in my life now anyway.  And there are always the fears that this might not last forever.  I generally tend to hope for the best and expect the worst anyway.  I need to be more optimistic, because optimistic people live longer.  Supposedly.  Then again, if you are pessimist, why would you want to live longer since you think things will only get worse anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-91996259?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/91996259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/91996259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_04_01_archive.html#91996259' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-91739063</id><published>2003-03-31T15:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-04-11T10:53:55.000-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;The Meeting:  A Recap&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been feeling kind of sick since late last week.  I am guessing it's allergies, but will I actually go to the doctor to get that verified?  Probably not.  So having an out of town guest was a little bit difficult, particularly my mom who is super-energetic, particularly in the morning.  She asked once or twice, what would you be doing if I weren't here.  The answer probably would be "sleeping."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom seemed to like Robin, and vice versa.  He was good at dealing with my mom, particularly when she started lecturing him about how the idea of us moving to San Luis Obispo was a bad one.  Yeah, I kind of eavesdropped on their conversations, but my apartment is fairly small.  He's very good with relatives, good at socializing and being polite.  He was helpful with the baggage, even waking up early today to put her suitcase in my car before we went to the airport.  And I realized how much he considers us as a couple, tagging along to things like meeting my mom's friends and talking about "us" going to visit her back east.  It was a good thing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-91739063?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/91739063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/91739063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#91739063' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-91561609</id><published>2003-03-28T11:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-28T11:22:18.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;His Turn&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight, R will meet my mom for the first time when she comes into town.  They talked on the phone once back when we first started dating.  R has met just about everyone important in my life at this point other than my mother, and I have to say that in some ways, I probably trust her opinion the most.  Well, I guess it depends what she says about him.  Yeah, he has little money and is somewhat irresponsible about what money he has.  But that's probably the worst problem, and it has a lot to do with the fact that he can't find a job in this crappy recession (or whatever they are calling it).  I have to say that they are both very personable people and will probably get along well.  Except they are both Leos.  Why do I have so many Leos in my life?  One of my best friends and her husband are also Leos.  I have to say that they are fun, generous, charming people. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend K asked me if I was worried about my mom meeting R.  I told her that I wasn't worried about much other than the space issues.  See, my mom is staying with us in our one bedroom apartment.  I had a small "hide everything that is sex and drug related" festival last night.  It's not that my mom thinks I'm a virgin or anything, but I want to spare her the details.  Because, let's face it, it's not like I want to know the details of her sex life either.  I guess there are women who talk about that stuff with their moms, but I think my mom is enough prudish that she'd blanch at the sight of some of that stuff I have sitting around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think the thing I really worry about is that my one bedroom apartment is too small for three people.  I've had two houseguests before, but now my place has a lot of R's crap lying around, plus my crap lying around.  I initially asked R if he could relocate for a few days, but then when my mom said she'd sleep on my futon couch, I figured it would be okay.  Well, we'll probably be out of the house a lot, and if it's really a problem, my mom can stay with a friend of hers, or R could stay with his sister.  Maybe I could kick them both out and just have the place to myself!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-91561609?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/91561609'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/91561609'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#91561609' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-91488987</id><published>2003-03-27T08:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-27T08:59:48.983-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Back in the Habit&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I was off work on Monday, totally spaced out on Tuesday, and no idea what was up on Wednesday.  Now it is finally Thursday and I'm posting something.  I had ideas of what to post earlier in the week but feel kind of blank now, probably because I didn't get enough sleep and took a claritin this morning.  Non drowsy, mon cul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The reason I didn't get enough sleep?  R has been working nights lately, and last night, he said he was going to come home around midnight.  When I woke up at 3:30, and he wasn't there, and wasn't answering the phone at work, well, I had problems going back to sleep.  I didn't even sleep until he finally came home sometime after 4.  I think he needs to get a cell phone.  I don't usually get all freaky and anxious like that.  I figure, he survived 41 years without me worrying about him.  But it seemed a little extreme.  At least he's working, but the overlap of time we are together and both awake seems to be 1-2 hours a day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-91488987?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/91488987'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/91488987'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#91488987' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-91153227</id><published>2003-03-21T16:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-21T16:05:57.780-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Humor and Friday&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend H sent me &lt;a href="http://www.vegas-ateam.com/message.htm"&gt;this link&lt;/a&gt; that I found hilarious, on the line with this crappy Russian language textbook I had in one class.  It had all these really weird looking photos of people with grossly exaggerated expressions, probably so we could learn the language, but it caused no small amount of hilarity in my class.  Anyway, check out that website, but be careful who is around you.  I started laughing and got a strange look from the weird guy who sits next to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so glad it's Friday, and I'm taking Monday off.  We're having an Oscars party, so I figured I would just take the day off.  Oh, and last Monday when I was driving to work, I was thinking how much I hate Mondays.  Well, hate having to go to work on them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-91153227?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/91153227'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/91153227'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#91153227' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-91088817</id><published>2003-03-20T15:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-20T15:40:55.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Early Senility&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm starting to feel like I'm losing my mind.  Well, more precisely, I am losing my memory.  I keep having that "why did I walk into this room?"  Or, "I was just going to say something, what was it?"  Maybe I'm just really distracted right now, but I was trying to remember what I had for dinner Monday night, and couldn't.  Thankfully I did document in this journal, otherwise the memory of corned beef would be lost forever.  This week has seemed way too damned long.  I am glad that I'm taking next Monday off work, because I need some time to have my brain cells repair themselves.  Why am I taking Monday off?  Post-Oscars, y'know.  I just hope that they don't postpone the broadcast, but I would guess that they wouldn't do that.  Instead of betting on who will actually win the Oscars, I'd like to bet on which celebrity is going to try to make a statement.  Yeah, they're so profound, those celebrities.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-91088817?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/91088817'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/91088817'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#91088817' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-91067529</id><published>2003-03-20T08:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-20T08:57:17.686-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Loud Ted Lives&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The loud guy on the other side of the cube wall from me has been out all week, but is back today.  Great.  This is the guy who not only has loud conversations with his coworkers, but he also uses his speaker phone all the time and plays his voicemail out loud.  Not to mention the fact that he's whipped by his wife and calls her just about every hour.  Most of those conversations on his end sound like "yes, dear, yes dear."  Yeah, I can hear him in my cube, but you can also hear him on the other side of the office.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-91067529?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/91067529'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/91067529'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#91067529' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-91003550</id><published>2003-03-19T10:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-19T10:08:45.920-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Bringing Home the Bacon&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R has been working a lot lately.  Yay.  For a couple of reasons.  First of all, it's nice not to have to pay for everything.  Because I can't afford to support two people on my salary, particularly with his expensive tastes.  Secondly, it's good that he gets out of the house and has some social interaction with someone other than me.  Thirdly, he has been bringing home stuff for us to eat lately.  Last night, he brought home three crabs for a huge crab fest.  We're talking bread, melted butter, and a ton of crab meat.  It was quite tasty.  I even washed it down with a beer, and I so rarely drink these days.  There's nothing that creates a cheery goodwill towards mankind than a full stomach of good food.  Hopefully this is not an isolated occurence.  The guy he works for is flaky but lately things have been working pretty well.  Yeah, it would be good if he had a full-time, real job, but in this economy and this location, the chances of anything fantastic turning up are pretty dim at the moment.  Bring on the seafood!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-91003550?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/91003550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/91003550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#91003550' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-90953920</id><published>2003-03-18T15:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-18T15:40:27.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;One of the Gang&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had dinner last night at the sister's house, and I started feeling like I was part of the family.  Everyone laughed at my jokes, even more than R usually laughs at them.  His sister offered me some Viagara that she got from her doctor, but I'm not sure if I'm going to dabble in such things.  I have to say that my interest in casual drug use has waned a lot in the years since college, and particularly something like that.  It would either be very good or perhaps be very scary if I took some of that stuff.  We talked about forthcoming holiday celebrations, including Easter and the 4th of July.  By the 4th of July, if we are still together, R and I will be six weeks away from our 1 year anniversary.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-90953920?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90953920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90953920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90953920' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-90888544</id><published>2003-03-17T16:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-17T16:49:39.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Majority Report&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um, it's almost the end of the day and I haven't posted anything about my weekend.  It was good and difficult at times.  Both R and I have been tired from work, which means we didn't go out much.  I brought him to my friend's party yesterday and he was fairly quiet.  I always forget that he's introverted because he has no problems talking to me or telling me just about anything.  He was kind of razzing me on Saturday, and said something about me being the most annoying person on earth.  So I just laughed that off.  I realize that you really can decide if you are going to be bothered by things or not, and lately I've been deciding not to be bothered by crap like that.  And I doubt that I'm even in the top 100 of annoying people on earth.  Anyway, I do feel somewhat well-rested, but as always, it would be better to not have to go to work.  Too bad they would stop mailing my checks to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-90888544?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90888544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90888544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90888544' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-90721697</id><published>2003-03-14T10:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-14T10:21:57.263-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;When I'm 76&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, R and I were talking about life-spans.  I read last year that a woman my age could expect to live to about 100.  He was saying something about planning to live until 88.  Then, he said something like, if we are still together then, how long will we have been together?  (The answer is 47 years for those mathematically challenged.)  It kind of struck me how he is thinking that long-term, not just six months from now, but years and years from now.  And, I like the idea.  Well, I don't like the idea of getting old, but I like the idea of staying with R.  I told him that he had better stay in good shape because I don't relish changing his adult diaper.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-90721697?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90721697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90721697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90721697' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-90668563</id><published>2003-03-13T13:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-13T13:24:28.483-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Mars, Venus, and Australia&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had dinner at the &lt;a href="http://www.outbacksteakhouse.com/"&gt;Outback Steakhouse&lt;/a&gt; last night.  Yeah, I had never been there before, even though I'm sure they have restaurants all over America.  R was in the mood for steak and potatoes and he was buying.  I have to say that while the menu isn't as deep-fried as &lt;a href="http://www.applebees.com/"&gt;Applebee's&lt;/a&gt;, it's definitely not a dieter's delight.  I've no doubt that anyone from Austrailia would be scandalized by the food not being "authentic" as well.  I ordered the smallest steak (7 oz) and they gave me two huge lumps of mashed potatoes, each one seemed to be over a cup.  I don't know if they were trying to fill out the plate or what, but it was a bit much.  I have been eating too much lately anyway, and today I feel like a sausage stuffed into my jeans, so I gotta cut back a little.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read &lt;a href="http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/2003/03/12/hacker/index.html"&gt;this article on Salon&lt;/a&gt; yesterday and was trying to talk to R about it, but part of the article is about how men and women communicate differently.  And how when women try to talk to their boyfriends the way they talk to their female friends, it feminizes their boyfriends.  Yeah, I spent years bagging on John Gray's Mars/Venus bullshit, but the more time I spend in my relationship with R, the more I realize that this is true to a certain degree.  Even an open-minded, sensitive man like R still communicates differently than women I know.  I've had male friends that I could tell just about anything too, but you can't tell your boyfriend just about anything.  Sometimes it is better to be silent or not tell stories that would inflame your boyfriend's jealousy.  Yeah, I'm just discovering this now at 29.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-90668563?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90668563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90668563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90668563' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-90614651</id><published>2003-03-12T15:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-12T15:14:16.263-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Everything I Know I Learned in College&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, about birth control anyway.  Yeah, I took Health in high school and it was a joke.  It was kind of like Mr Mackey on South Park.  "Drugs are bad, okay.  Alcohol is bad."  Yeah right.  When I was going to high school was about when people seemed to realize that people other than hemophiliacs and gay guys could get AIDS too.  So they talked about condoms a little.  But in college, they passed them out.  And passed out bananas.  And we praticed putting condoms on bananas.  Some people even praticised putting them on the banana with their mouth.  Uh, those bananas were a little too big for that, if you know what I mean.  The sex ed in college was totally non-judgemental, though didn't really get into anything too intense.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Has my knowledge of sex ed come to a good use?  Well, I haven't made a career of it, but I haven't gotten accidentally pregnant either.  (I know how to have sex with a banana too, haha.  But seriously, I don't get propositioned by fruit.)  And I've found that there are a lot of women out there who don't know as much about the subject as I learned in college.  So I'm a fountain of knowledge for those who would like to tap me.  I tend to get asked most about birth control and how to have anal sex.  I would say that a lot of what I've learned has come from reading and talking to people about their experiences.  I wouldn't say I'm particularly experienced (or slutty) but I'm not Vestal either.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-90614651?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90614651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90614651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90614651' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-90538191</id><published>2003-03-11T11:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-11T11:37:44.170-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;I Should Read the News More Often&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I just looked at the front page of &lt;a href="http://www.yahoo.com"&gt;Yahoo&lt;/a&gt; and they had &lt;a href="http://news.yahoo.com/fc?tmpl=fc&amp;cid=34&amp;in=us&amp;cat=us_congress"&gt;this news item&lt;/a&gt;.  I'm now not sure if my coworkers are the stupid ones, and those guys at the House of Reps that are idiots.  I do have to say though, that fries actually originated in Belgium.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-90538191?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90538191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90538191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90538191' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-90537350</id><published>2003-03-11T11:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-11T11:21:35.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Dissing the French&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whether you are for or against the possible war in Iraq (and by most of the polls I've seen, most people aren't too happy with the idea), you have got to think that it's pretty stupid to start "renaming" things with the word French in them.  For instance, as some people here in the office were changing the word French into the word liberty.  For instance French fries became "liberty fries."  What is the definition of liberty?  Freedom to choose?  Doesn't that imply that France and other nations should have the freedom to decide to go to war or not?  Seriously.  It used to be the case that the US was the last big country to go to war.  Both WWI and WWII were like that.  But since then, for some reason we always seem to be jumping on the war trolley.  Particularly when it involves oil or some other national resource we can't get enough of.  Most countries would agree that Saddam Hussein is probably lying about his weapons, but is that a real reason to go to war?  It seems to me that if we want to wage war, there is North Korea which is just asking for it.  I guess I'd feel better about the potential war in Iraq if our government showed some possible link between Saddam and Al-Queda, but that all seems sketchy at best.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I blame it all on the baby boomers and their SUVs.  Or maybe on the convservative media.  And those people in Florida who couldn't figure out how to vote.  But hearing my coworkers talking about the issues, and knowing how dense some of these people are, I'd be tempted to just be against war because they are for it.  I think the issues are very complicated, and "W" is a simple guy who doesn't really get complicated issues.  Reagan was like that.  The world isn't a comic book of good guys and bad guys.  As much as I enjoy mocking the French, I am glad that they aren't going to support the US fighting a not yet justified war.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-90537350?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90537350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90537350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90537350' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-90469080</id><published>2003-03-10T10:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-10T10:23:14.780-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;A Sigh of Relief&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, R is finally working.  Well, he's working part time for the flaky guy.  But it's still great that he's earning some money, finally.  The job market here is exceedingly crappy anyway, and at least this is cash.  I was starting to get a little stressed about it because we need to start thinking about our living situation, and I definitely cannot afford to support both me and R.  Nor do I want to do something like that.  Hopefully this part time work will continue.  It's also good for R to get out of the house and feel like he's contributing something.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-90469080?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90469080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90469080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90469080' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-90322118</id><published>2003-03-07T13:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-07T13:34:54.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;The Stages of Relationships&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was thinking about the stages of relationships yesterday and was going to post something about it, but then I left work early.  I've noticed that it seems like most relationships seem to follow the same stages at the same time.  Though maybe this is just based on me and the people I know.  A really good friend of mine, S, started dating her boyfriend about six weeks after I started dating R.  Right now she's in this stage where her boyfriend has stopped telling her as often how much he cares about her.  So she's getting paranoid about how he feels.  But I think this is natural, same kind of thing happened to me a month or two ago.  And I've moved out of that stage.  I never really feel insecure about R's feelings for me anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Wednesday night, we went out to dinner, and he said something like, "I wasn't staring at that woman's butt, I was looking at her cargo bag."  It was kind of weird, because I didn't even notice him looking at anyone.  And in all truth, I'm not going to get jealous about some random person at a restaurant.  Because I know exactly whom he's going to sleep next to at night.  R told me once that I'm very close to his ideal body type for a woman, and when someone tells you that they are close to their ideal, you don't really worry about stuff like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're at the stage in our relationship when there is still stuff to be worked out, but we've been pretty mellow with each other lately.  Haven't had a "scene" or anything lately.  I just got my credit card bill for our disastrous Valentine's Day trip and now am bummed both about my debt and the fact that I wasted all that money on a nice hotel where all we did was fight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-90322118?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90322118'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90322118'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90322118' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-90190125</id><published>2003-03-05T11:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-05T11:43:37.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;It's All Good&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would guess that you are really happy when you stop thinking about how something is going to happen that will end your happiness.  I'm not there yet.  I might never be there.  But I am pretty happy with my life right now, or at least the romantic part of it.  Everything has been going well.  Work, well, it continues onward.  Seriously, I need a career change.  Or to inherit large amounts of money from some random distant relative.  I can always hope, right? &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-90190125?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90190125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90190125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90190125' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-90135304</id><published>2003-03-04T14:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-04T14:08:12.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Domesticity&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, I came home and picked up R and we bought a ton of groceries for the week.  We have been trying to make the transition from eating out every night to cooking at home most nights.  I've actually managed to cook a few things that he liked, so this is working pretty well.  I got enough food for at least 3 separate dinners.  We came home and I made dinner, how domestic am I?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The housing situation is coming up again.  Remember the condo where R currently is "living?"  Well, this place is owned by his parents and they want to start renting it out for about $2000.  Yeah, it's a four bedroom place, so that's probably a reasonable price.  But I don't think they'd get anyone unless they painted, recarpeted, etc.  Also they have a lot of furniture stored there.  And there is the fact that R owns part interest in this condo.  But not enough to have any say in this.  Obviously, R and I aren't going to pay $2000 for a place to live.  So, we will probably find another place at some point soon.  He was talking about moving into my current place after getting rid of stuff, but honestly, there isn't enough room even if I got rid of half of what I have.  Luckily there are tons of apartments available in Silicon Valley right now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-90135304?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90135304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90135304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90135304' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633206.post-90079860</id><published>2003-03-03T16:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-03T16:35:44.856-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Mucho Weirdness&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I was all set to post something about how R was going to start working for a distant family member part time and make some money.  And I called him, and he said that the guy flaked on him and didn't show up today.  That pretty much sucks.  This guy owes him some money too, and R has no cash to his name right now.  The guy sounded like he was really going to hire R for some time so he could make some cash.  The money situation is pretty stressful for R, and somewhat stressful for me since I can't afford to pay for everything.  Hopefully the flaker will call him back with a great excuse.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3633206-90079860?l=intellectualslut.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90079860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3633206/posts/default/90079860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://intellectualslut.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90079860' title=''/><author><name>J D</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
