Thursday, September 14, 2006

In which I register some complaints

  • I have no idea why Blogger's being stupid with comments. Apparently, it doesn't like to acknowledge people who have Blogger accounts, so comments have to be posted under the "other" option. I ran into this on KT's blog as well, so I'm thinking it might be a problem larger than li'l ol' me.
  • Why is it no longer possible to buy a six-pack of diet Coke at the grocery store? Why must I buy my six-pack from our local (very nice but) overpriced bodgea? If I'm at home, I'm enjoying my diet Coke in two-liter form, but since St. Happy became a Pepsiopoly, I'm taking a can of my choice to class with me. A six-pack will last me two weeks; I neither need nor have room for yet another twelve-pack of soda in my fridge (which already houses one of Coke and one of black cherry Fresca). Vive la six-pack!
  • I am seriously going to start running down people on the sidewalk. Fully loaded, my bookbag weighs probably 15 pounds, and I am willing and able to sling it at those who will not cede me the 18 inches of space I need to pass. If you're walking two or three abreast toward me, something's gotta give, and it's not gonna be me, because I'm wearing pretty shoes and the grass is muddy.
  • I'm shopping for a dress for the end-of-the-month multi-wedding extravaganza, and I hatehatehate being exactly at the tipping point between "regular" and "plus" sizes. A size 12 in a plus store is, like, two inches bigger than the same size at a regular store, leaving a two-inch gap where I live and where there are no dresses. There are, of course, two solutions to this: lose weight and go down to the land of 10, where things make sense again; or, gain weight and move toward the land of 16, where things also make sense. Or I can just wear one of the fourteentrillion black dresses I already own (proving that this size discrepancy exists in time rather than as an absolute, since I had to have bought these dresses sometime).
  • My left knee is evil and has decided to protest stairs. Which is a problem, as I live on the third floor and must navigate stairs both at home and at the El station. Also, dear Aleve, you do not work on joint pain, so shut up about it already.
  • Laundry is calling out, pleading with me to just do it. But, see above, re: stairs and evil knee.
P.S. to Al: I've left a couple of comments for you recently, but you have comment approval turned on! Approve me! Validate me! Tell me I'm loved!

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