The rabbit has a name.

It is Mr. Darcy.

Mock at will.

Ummmm, Dr. Y, are these the black holes you were looking for but couldn't find?

http://news.yahoo.com/s/space/20071025/sc_space/hundredsofmissingblackholesfound

Maybe they're like the pencil you can't find but has been wedged under your butt the whole time you were looking...That's like a law of the universe, isn't it?

One more day till I'm thirty. In celebration, I will list 30 things -besides years- that are awesome to have:

1. jelly beans
2. consecutive orgasms
3. robots that clean rabbit poo
4. days until the rent is due
5. fingers and toes (if you are three people)

this is harder than I thought it would be...

6. minutes late to school for a snow day
7. degrees celcius
8. beats per minute
9. days in a menstrual cycle (it would be an improvement, at least.)
10. nekkid pictures of Hugh Laurie (he's so dreamy)
11. legitimate reasons why I should be excused from [insert onerous task]
12. outfits that make my boobs "pop"
13. penguinis!
14. secret admirers
15. open admirers
16. dollars on my EZPass (okay, I don't have one, but I always think how awesome it would be if I had one with money on it, 'cause I'm eternally short 2 dollars)

Yeesh. This feels like work...

17. Campari and sodas of my dreams (not the gross, real life kind)
18. secret hide-y holes
19. books with dirty pictures!
20. known aliases
21...

I'm tapped. I'll come up with more tomorrow. In the meanwhile, you can help!

Bunny will not eat Romaine lettuce.

(Went to Giant.)

Bunny will not eat parsnips.
Bunny will not eat turnips.

(Went to Mars.)

Bunny will not eat carrots.
Bunny will not eat radishes.

(Went to Walmart.)

Bunny will not eat fruit and nut "treat."

(Went to Food Lion.)

Bunny will eat cilantro!!!

Now if he'll only do the dishes and keep his end of the bargain...Men. Sheesh.

BIG NEWS!

I am now the proud owner of a pet rabbit! A co-worker found him under his back porch, and asked me to release him at the farm. But that would pretty much be death-by-owl, so I decided to keep him. The vet says he is an 18 month old male Rex rabbit with chinchilla coloring. And he's a boy.

He doesn't do much. I was ragging him about that yesterday. I'm all like, "Hey, bunny. What are you planning on doing today? Sit in the left corner or the right corner?" And then I shifted from the lefthand corner of the couch to the righthand corner to watch another two hours of House.

But I don't poop when I sit. Which differentiates me from the beasts!

Any ideas for names? Dad suggested "Crusader."

Not much to report here...Been moping around, experiencing some interesting/unfortunate side effect of surgery. Mostly moping though. I'm a Mope-et.

In literary news, I'm finally getting into Short Stop's sister-in-law's book club selection, The Devil in the White City. (It's not nearly so racist as it sounds.)

And in philosophical news, I've been pondering whether it's better to experience a personal failure or a personal tragedy. But mostly I've been contemplating my navel, per usual.

Nine days till thirty...

I was thinking about the movie "Never Been Kissed" with Drew Barrymore, the part where Drew Barrymore's character says, "You know, Adelie penguins spend their whole lives looking for that one other penguin and when they meet them, they know. And they spend the rest of their lives together."

And I got to thinking...maybe my "other penguin" is ACTUALLY a penguin. How cool would that be? And how sad...

This weekend, Dr. Y and I were joshing each other about being old maids.

But think about this, dear sis-tor. If we lived 100 years ago, we'd be some old-as-shit maids. We'd probably have had dowager humps and gout by now.

I've decided to recreate the library I had when I was a child. My first aquisition was "George and Martha" by James Marshall. (You remember, Dr. Y. The split pea soup.)

Anywho, I'd forgotten this particular tale called "The Tub." It goes:

George was fond of peeking in windows.

One day George peeked in on Martha.

(She throws tub out window and onto his head.)

He never did that again.

"We are friends," said Martha. "But there is such a thing as privacy!"

It made me giggle.

Your Opinion Is Solicited

Alright, here's this scenerio. I've been talking to a very nice pediatric neuropsychologist from Hopkins/Kennedy Kreiger. He's Catholic, cute, and has a decent grasp of English grammar.

And he's technically blind. Has a seeing eye dog and everything.

Now, here's the problem. The guy himself doesn't get me excited or hating men any less than utterly and with my entire soul.

But I SOOOOOOO want to go out with him so I can say, "I had a blind date last weekend. Literally."

But that's wrong, right?