From now on, when people ask me what an archivist does, I’m going to answer “we star in romance novels.”
“Prince Alaric of Ruvingia is as wild and untamed as the remote kingdom he rules. Women fight to warm his royal bed, but he ensures that none outstays her welcome. Then reserved, bespectacled archivist Tamsin Connors uncovers a shocking state secret….
Now Tamsin has Alaric’s undivided attention—and he finds himself drawn to her burgeoning purity! Duty demands only a temporary arrangement…but soon their powerful passion is enough to fuel a lifetime’s love….”
Buying rain pants
And rain shoes
And rain covers for our pants and shoes and hiking packs and hands and (you get the point).
At this point, it damn well better rain while we’re there.
Please save me from this ridiculously horrible mood I’m in.
I would have been named Michael Patrick.
Also, my husband’s name.
That would have made dating awkward. (JK LOLS, it’s not boring, baby!)
My in-laws threw a party for us last night.
Someone brought cupcakes from New York from some new fancy place.
I woke up this morning and licked the icing off the remaining ones and threw the cake parts away.
Luckily, everyone was so drunk they don’t remember there being cupcakes in the first place.
My mom had strict rules for if we stayed home from school. It meant no tv, no doing anything that evening or weekend, no nothin’.
I understand why she had them.
I still feel guilty breaking them.
Not enough not to break them.
sounds kind of like saying you’ve had plastic surgery.
while playing video games.
About the video game levels.
I fell on my way to work this morning. Twice. Hard.
My leg got all bent up weird. My cheek slammed against the ground. Then my kneecap hit a stair.
My yogurt exploded. In my purse.
Last night our car got hit while it was parked.
I hate Boston, I hate winter, I hate walking, I hate yogurt, I hate cars, I hate my leg that is on fire, I hate ruining my favorite pants.
Screw you, Tuesday.