web-goddess

Okay, since I promised to mention it, the ex-girlfriend meet-up went very well. After all the drama, she just turned out to be a normal-looking chick. I didn’t get a chance to talk to her very much, but she didn’t seem unpleasant. Probably not somebody I would be best friends with, but not mean or scary or anything. The whole visit probably lasted less than an hour. So other than that whole “me-puking-two-hours-later” thing, I call the trip a success. Thanks to everybody who voted in the poll and encouraged me to go.

Ah, the end of a three-day weekend. Man, that sucks. On the plus side, though, I’m feeling much better. I don’t know what it is about me and holidays, but every time I’m off work I end up sick or causing myself bodily injury (see the Australia trip for further proof). Anyway, thanks for all the kind words. I should be back in the blogging swing of things by tomorrow!

Sick.
(Warning, extreme grossness ahead.) Ugh. Nastiness. Either I’ve caught a bug or else I’m still weak from the blood loss Thursday. Regardless, I’m in bad shape. We ventured into Central London today for the long-awaited ex-girlfriend meeting (more on that later, but the short version is that it went fine) and I unwisely chose to start off the day with an icy coffee slushy. I couldn’t even finish it. It was so hot and humid and pretty soon my skin started to get cold and clammy all over. After parting from the Aussies, we successfully purchased The Sims House Party and Amy’s digital camera but that was it for me. Amy, Snookums and I stopped in a pub for a cold drink but my stomach was having none of it. Shaky, weak, and feeling icky, I headed for the Tube with the others in tow. How I survived on that rocking train for so long is beyond me. In the end, though, the train won. Let’s just say that being sick on the London Underground in a Tower Records bag is not the best way to start off a three-day weekend. *sniff* I want my Mommy.

Check out what I just bought! It’s a Handspring Visor Deluxe. I’ve been thinking about getting a PDA for a while now, and this seemed to be the best use for my meager summer bonus. Isn’t it adorable? I got the blue to match Boudicca, the iMac at home. I love gadgets.

Union leaders are calling for British workers to get three more bank holidays to bring them in line with the European average of about 11. A bank holiday, for you Yanks, is like Labor Day or Memorial Day – pretty much everybody gets it off and the banks/government offices are all closed. So not only does the average British worker get, like, at least three weeks of paid vacation, we’re also getting 11 work-free holidays. Just to make you even sicker, compare that with the U.S. system where you only get two weeks vacation (if you’re lucky) and roughly seven holidays (New Year’s, Easter, Memorial Day, 4th of July, Labor Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas). Take my advice: hop on a plane, come to England, and start livin’ the good life. (Link courtesy of Jann.)

Dreamlog: My subconscious dredged up one of my all-time top anxiety dreams. I’m backstage in my high school theater, about to go on, and I have no clue what lines I’m supposed to say. This time it was “Bye Bye Birdie”, in which I originally played the role of “Rosie”. (Yes, “Spanish” Rose, and I had to wear a horrid Hispanic fright wig despite my protestations that many, many Spanish people have light hair, and I’m still bitter about that to this day.) So anyway I went on and managed to make it through the first few lines, but then I just lost it. I woke up before we even got to the first number, “An English Teacher”. It was horrible.

I’ve been cruising around IBM’s developerWorks site today. Found some great usability articles, like “How not to make your site accessible”, “Instant back buttons”, and “Keeping up appearances”. Good stuff.

On one hand I loved Bridget Jones (the book). On the other hand, “chick lit” really does frickin’ annoy me. Every time I walk into Books Etc. these days there’s a table out front full of pastel-colored paperbacks with “funky” cover fonts and “punny” titles. Whatever. You know, I come across enough angsty, twenty-something women moaning about their weight, love lives, and cats on the Internet as it is. There’s no way I’d actually want to read it in a book. Literature my ass.

I’ve never thought about the Sklyarov case in terms of the “Dukes of Hazzard”, but I guess it kinda works. Kinda.

Well, I’ve officially contributed to the United Kingdom’s blood supply. There was a slight bit of scariness, though, when the nurse couldn’t decide where to stick me and pronounced that I had “small veins.” (My co-worker, Nick, looked over from the next bed and said, “It’s okay Kris. That just means they’ll have to take it from your neck.”) A few more pumps on the blood pressure cuff, though, and a big sucker popped right up. They’re so nice over here, the even provide you with a nice little old lady – mine was Judy – to sit with you and make sure you’re all right while you fill your bag. Then you get juice and cookies and a sticker to wear. Mine says “Be nice to me. I gave blood today” while Nick’s says “I’ve been a good little bleeder.” Ha!