Meow!

The phone-sex goddess at work said "I have a serious foot fettish." I resisted the urge to ask what she meant by that.

Today psycho-Mike decided to experiment with rock-climbing rope again. He speared a tennis ball and hung it from the ceiling. Rather than spar, two people would box the ball - dodging and striking this tiny bouncy little target. I felt like the world's least successful cat ever. Seems like such a good idea, sounds like fun, until you realize you can't hit a fucking ball tied on the end of a string. Unable to punch a bouncing ball - man that is humbling! I pronounced the ball 'da winna!'

While I was waiting for class, I was bitching to some people about how school was kicking my ass, and how insane it is to call 5 nights a week of law school 'part-time.' Who walks by me on his way to the locker room? The mofo Dean. Yes, he recognized me. No, I don't think he heard...or he was polite and ignored it. Ok - I wasn't saying anything bad, but it still threw me for a loop. At least he didn't walk by when we were calling the raquetball players 'fossils!'