hey miss murder, can i?

[snob] If you sell your Panda to that don patrick idiot, I will personally hunt you down and burn the images of what he's done to his Paja and Rida into your brain. I imagine that will hurt very, very badly.

Also, upon seeing that she who sells her pullips every week got a Squall faceplate, though not from the moron she sent it to, I cannot help but wonder, how long until she sells Squall? It makes me feel horribly bitchy, but she went into a frenzy over some of the other dolls she's sold off, so, yeah. How long? Any bets? Takers? [/bitch]

Yesterday was the Widget's birthday. Yay! Though I had no friggin' clue he was actually showing up yesterday, so I had no time to buy the presents I'd planned on getting him. Oh well. He seemed pretty happy, and he likes presents in general, so if we have birthday 2.0 at a later date, I imagine he won't mind too much. Remind me next year to shop way in advance, okay? Thank you.

I hate it when parts of my personal life go straight to hell to the point where I cannot find the words, either written or verbal, to try and articulate what the hell is going on in my head. But I hate it even more when I do, and it's not just to myself, and the person on the recieving end chooses to then ignore the newly minted and named elephant in the room and instead is hellbent on yammering on about rednecks.

Vacation in 5 work days. I can do this.