I've realized there are a few very important happenings that I've failed to mention in my blog.

The most important of which is that I got new socks. Anyone that has seen me with my shoes off knows what a big deal this is. And best of all, Darren bought them for me. My oh my, is this man perfect or what? I should probably just skip all the formalities and drag his ass to the courthouse next time he's here and force him to take me as him crabby, nagging wife. Well hell, it's like we're married already!

Another matter of importance was a certain cat at the humane society down in Golden Valley. He's an ugly little guy that makes weird noises that may or may not be considered meowing and I'm beginning to have my doubts that anyone will ever adopt him, but none of that matters. What matters is his name. Morley. Someone named their cat Morley, which I think is really quite unfortunate, but I was so happy I almost peed my pants. Turns out Morley was living with nine other cats (and a cat lady, perhaps?) before his transfer to the humane society so I assume his caretaker ran out of names and clicked on the TV just in time to see Morley Safer's face flashing across the 60 Minutes intro, thus deeming her newest feline Morley.

I was just thinking (yoses!) and I've decided that if Darren thinks new socks aren't reason enough to get hitched and refuses to say he does (get it? like "I do," ... "he does" ...), I'm going to marry Ron Weasley. I'll work hard to buy him pretty things and I'm pretty sure they'd have to accept me into the Weasley family, what with my hair and all. I could even feign a really bad British accent if it were necessary. What I don't understand is if his parents were so bloody poor to start with, why did they spend that money Arthur won on a trip to Egypt. What kind of magical shit does Egypt have anyway?! They would have been much better off coming to Minnesota. Because, you know, there's lots of magic here and all. I just hope Ron's a better money manager than his nutter parents.

This whole not working thing is giving me way too my time to mentally transplant myself into alternate realities. It's also giving me way too much time to blog. Alas, do not fear, as I return to that shitpile of a gas station today.

Ah, and I forgot to mention that I kicked Darren's ass at yet another game of mini golf last week, only to be dethroned by my dad on Saturday. It was painful, but I think I took it quite well.

That's all, folks. Come back for another helping tomorrow, because I'm sure there'll be plenty more to go around.