Admit it—you thought I'd vanished.

It's ok, I promise. You're to be forgiven, as I am usually quite regular about commenting on the randomness that life throws on my doorstep.

A bit of an interesting subject came up today while Kat and I were out shopping. It's one that I've pondered for a while, and just don't have any answer or response to.

Nothing like a good spot of thunderstorms to turn a perfectly good day into a sodden one, no?

Kat and I went out to run errands this afternoon—and managed, once again, to get caught in a sudden rainstorm. This one was worse than usual; after making our purchases at Kroger, we stopped in amazement as the winds howled harder and harder. The rain wasn't falling, it was being blown across the parking lot in sheets.

In attempts to imitate my walk and talk, there are two proper facial-expressions to assume while shopping: the absent-minded-professor look, and the kamikaze-shopping-trip look. I tend to favor the former; it requires less effort, and people don't glare at an absent-minded professor as a twentysomething power-shopping for groceries in fifteen minutes or less.

Re: my previous entry, 'A hair rock band, and a red-haired girl'—not everyone appears in my life, stays for a while, and completely vanishes shortly thereafter.

When we went house-hunting in 1999, we deliberately chose to look for a three-bedroom house. Not because we planned to have children, but to slake our burgeoning computer habit. A bedroom for us, a bedroom for guests, and a bedroom that we could turn into an office of sorts—a home for our computers.