Well, I had a nice little bit of commentary ready to go for this evening, and then I decided to put it down and go do some other stuff for a while. I went to see X-Men with friends, and then chatted with the crew (tonight: Jeff, Katharine, Jessica, and Brian) over at the wondergeeks' apartment.

Then I came home and checked my email. Discovered that my sister's getting married in September. Needless to say, this is a bit of a surprise. She and her husband Jackie divorced in December of last year or January of this year—I don't know when the divorce became final. I didn't know that she was dating someone seriously. I now know that his name is Carl, but I don't know a last name.

Here I sit at my computer desk at the end of another day. Edmund is perched on top of the desk, sunning himself under the lights of the ceiling fan and looking beatifically down upon his chosen human.

All is well here in my quiet little corner of the world. Jeff is curled up in bed, reading Iain Banks' Use Of Weapons. I'm pleased that he's finally getting addicted to this lovely (and unfortunately, mostly out-of-print) science fiction series. Mostly, I just want someone to talk to about what I'm reading.

I have a few minutes left before the end of my workday, so I'm going to sit here, look occupied, and type out today's random thoughts. I promise that I'm over my depravity from yesterday; it would take a while to explain why in the world I posted what I did, but suffice it to say, it was just one of those things that, once you heard about it, is hard to get off your mind.

Okay. I can't help it. I was going to go for a record—two nights in a row of all nice and serious postings on domesticat, and then I heard something and I just can't shake the sillies.

Someone actually makes a Hello Kitty vibrator.

Yes. As in Hello Kitty, that nice little innocuous brand that you remember from your childhood. You cannot understand how much this disturbs and amuses me. The mere fact that this object exists—and has been manufactured—and is being SOLD—tells me that I am NOT the craziest person on this watery little blue planet.Not. Not. Not. It feels SO good to know this for certain.

Anyway. Moving on to things that won't totally shock and disturb…I got the over-the-toilet rack set up in the guest bathroom this evening. Of course, the cats had to give it a serious once-over (what is this and why is it in our bathroom?!?) and then …. shockingly enough….they left it alone.

While driving back from buying my lunch today, I was thinking about the concept of age, and how much it matters to people. We have a twofold conception of age in this society—we are obsessed both with our chronological age and our mental age. Due to our obsession with numbers in base ten, we see numbers that end with a '0' as being somehow more significant than others, more indicative of a stage of life, than any number in between.

Normally, this isn't a problem. But things get interesting when mental age doesn't equal chronological age. We as society members expect everyone to mature somewhere along an expected scale. We have certain expectations about the emotional maturation of two-year-olds versus forty-year-olds, for example.

I ended up having to do a ton of running around today to get all my errands done. One of my last stops was at the farmer's market. I know, I know, I talk a lot about food. It's a fun subject. But I was browsing through all the things that are available fresh at this time of year, and I was reveling in it. The smells were fabulous—fresh peaches, eggs, okra, blueberries, tomatoes, blackberries, and mounds upon mounds of different kinds of beans.