I’m in a rotisserie baseball league and have been for longer than I can count. Well, let me try. Um. 10 years?! JESUS CHRIST. I think it’s been since 1997.

I’m horrified. Ok, maybe 1998 but still. What is up with the time and the passing. Is the entire universe on Blog Time where a week is like a year and a half?!

Anyway, enough about my problems locating myself within an appropriately slow-moving space-time continuum.

Last night, Hubby came in second in one of his many fantasy leagues. This one was football, and he didn’t win. But it’s still awesome. Because Sean, who has been playing fantasy sports since the dawn of time, finally won a league. He was one of the original members of Hubby’s rotisserie league, and despite that many years, about fourteen thousand “Time out - gotta look him up” moments during auction drafts, countless different sports leagues, and a wide knowledge of random sports trivia, Sean has never won.

He now has a win. Way to go Sean!

Ok, after uploading that graphic and checking it on the site, I have to say: in that picture, Yogi Berra kind of looks like Sean. Now I’m freaked out. Sean has better teeth though.

Because many people use the plural noun emails, it will soon be standard usage.

NO NO NO NO NO A thousand TIMES NO.

I mother fucking fuck fuck FUCK shit HATE the word “emails.”

That is all.

Today is Friday. Well, for me it is. I’m off tomorrow. And so looking forward to it.

Of course, I have been filling the day, which suddenly seems so short, with stuff to do, and now I have to pick and choose what it is I want to do. Why is it that when I’m working, the day takes a really long time to progress through the hours, but when I’m looking at one day of freedom and playing time, I can’t find enough hours to do what I want to do?

Movie? Out to lunch or breakfast? Shopping.. in a store (NOoooooooo!)?

I have to figure it out. But the allure and lusciousness of knowing that tomorrow I don’t have to get up at 6 and go to work at 645am is going to be such a treat in and of itself.

It is so effing cold. And yet, Wednesday it’s going to be 60F and rainy. Will Hubby and I have a cold by Friday? Saturday? Next week?

Either way, I’m taking of Friday and SO LOOKING FORWARD TO IT OMG.

Dear Migraine:

Fuck you. You may not stop me from doing my thing. I got shit to do.

Not yours,

Morag.

I sneezed myself into a headache. Ow.

I’m wearing leather boots with 2.5” heels. Not ow. Yay, in fact. Heels are comfy.

Though I am tempted to take one off and pound my head with it. Head is throbbing. Ow.

Tonight I go to the ob/gyn for the annual look under the hood. I totally forgot my last appointment last month (BAD BAD BAD) and feel like a complete tool. So I’ll be buying baked goods as bribes and guilty presents. 

Greetings from Morag’s feet. We’re rather particular.  Morag has flat feet but high insteps, and after 16 years of ballet and 6 years en pointe, well, we won’t even discuss it. But suffice it to say that we, Morag’s feet, are lesbians. We only tolerate comfortable shoes.

Flats are right out. Ow.

Heels are nice but not to low in the toe because then it cuts across that pesky instep.

Our favorites are the Dansko clogs, which are comfortable beyond belief. We wore them through two pregnancies and three jobs. But while they’re lovely, they aren’t the most flattering or professional.

Today, however, we are wearing these shoes: the Dansko, with heels. And oh, my stars, they are maaaaaahvelous. After weeks of saving up to buy them (because let’s be honest, they are holy crap expensive) we are so so pleased. And since we’ve worn the clogs for at least five years, we hope these will last just as long.

That doesn’t meant we’re not shopping for the next pair. We like these, but we also like these. Oh, and these