Aaaah, Bittersweet.

Maryville kicked me in the teeth when I joined a few others in their academic competition - they drill these little flashcards, and our mathematic's guy walked so that he could go attend a meeting amongst Cotillion, which is a little organization that passes out mad funding if you agree to attend fifteen meetings and learn the ways of proper etiquette. I qualified for Cotillion, but didn't meet the deadline - now I'm kind of glad, because that guy's pretty much leased them his entire life for the span of the year. They crushed us, though - it was sort of like trying to play Alien Swarm without a Techie - You know what I mean; I know it's an unpopular game and all, now, but when everyone played it, the Tech guy would be the first to get frustrated and walk, and you'd just sit there. Dying a lot. Listening to annoying response-clips.
We made it through the first and second brackets, and then they snuffed us.
While spitting out my teeth and waiting for the City Transit, I doodled a little on the scratch-paper they dished me to solve the math-calc questions.

Remade pumpkin flan. This time, I overboiled the sugar a bit, and it came out a little bitter - bitter like coffee, not bitter like booze. It's actually kind of pleasant in a weird way; like pumpkin-pie in an orgy with a coffee-cake and flan.
I figured I'd show it off a little, because I know weeafood is through-the-roof.

























Yeah - Eat your heart out, Nue.
I can make Pumpkin Flan. Twice.
All you can do is parade around in stockings.

The post-office returned my Valentine's valentines...
I'm resending them all in one box, later, and I'm using a more reliable company's next-day shipping, because this was supposed to there by last week or so. All the Atlas Shrugged stuff isn't helping: "Blah-Blah, Henry Rearden. Blah, I payed you, and I expect competent service, because the money I have saved is a measure of my capacity to work and think. Blah."

...I didn't really say it; I'm not good at being an utter bastard to people who are just doing their job, but by God I thought it.

Oh - I tore the connective stuff on a rib at the Gym.
This military guy, he goes, "Hey, buddy, how much do you lift?"
"I usually toss two forty-fives on."
"Why are you doing forties?"
"I'm still sore from the last time I came here."
"C'mooon! You got this buddy!"

...Yeah, I didn't have it. There was a reason I did forties.
On the fourth rep, my elbows gave out, and I dropped it.
It hurts to take deep breaths, but the hospital can't do too much for it.
Every now and then, I pop and Ibuprofen for it, but I haven't been able to for the past few days because if you take Ibuprofen and donate plasma, it's useless.

I'll try to be around in a day or two. There's a break in schedule, and I've got nothing better to do beyond finishing Atlas Shrugged.