Grr. There's this idiot redneck boy that works at the grocery store about a block from my house. There's fractional dimensions and then there's fractional brain cells, and if you're not playing with a full deck the circuits can fire and all you get is a bunch of dull sparks. Anyway, the kid's an idiot. I think I'm probably old enough to be his mother. Anyway, on several occassions now I've seen him at the check-out counter. Not my type at all. Loud-mouthed, and I can't ever tell if he's actually flirting with me in some clumsy Georgia redneck way or just that he's so empty-headed he talks to hear the echo. Anyway. So I had to get the hair gel stuff I use to keep my padawan braid from looking like a dreadlock two minutes after I braid it, and this twit is commenting on everything. Cat food. Cat treats. All of it. Asked what the hair gel was for. I held up my braid. Ten hours at work, I wasn't in a mood to be nice or forthcoming with any explanations to some nosy snot-nosed brat. Anyway. Somehow we got to talking about cons and I said something about being a Jedi, and the twit says something like, "You can't be a Jedi, you don't have the uniform." I snapped back that a cop's a cop whether he's in uniform or not and stomped out. Hell with that. They've just lost my business. From now on, it's Bi-Lo. I don't go there to get harrassed by some teenager with a vocabulary off a Buddweiser can and an intelligence in the single digits. Don't insult my religion when I've just spent ten hours solid typing at a meaningless dead-end job. I have my limits.

So. If anything I'm in an even worse mood now that it's after 11, so I'm going to bed now.

ISBN numbers haven't come in yet. Further bulletins as events warrant.