"Hey, er, hand me the raprod, Plate Captain."

The little waiter's eyebrows wandered about his forehead in confusion.

"I bet your pardon, sir?" he said.

"The phone, waiter," said Zaphod, grabbing it off him. "Shee, you guys are so unhip it's a wonder your bums don't fall off."

Thank you, Douglas Adams, for sharing your brilliance with the world. Let's hope my mom doesn't slap me tomorrow night when I tell her, "Bring me dinner now, Plate Captain!"

I am the proud new owner of a blog banner by Cuppycake Designs!! I won this banner through a contest at The Tattooed Mama, the personal blog of my lovely designer. I highly recommend checking out both sites. For realz. Do it. Now.

While you're still here, though, please bear with me as I try to make the rest of the site match the new banner. Thanks!

Much love,
Skirts

*Note: If you have been without internet for the past five million years and are unfamiliar with Dooce and the story of how she was fired on account of her blog, go to her website and read about her. In fact, go back to her very first entry and read all the way through the archives. You won't be disappointed. Unless, of course, you are immune to awesomeness. Don't forget to come back here to leave a pity comment later, though.

Tonight, I watched Braveheart for the first time in my life. Actually, I'm still in the middle of watching it, which leaves me trying to see the screen through an unsightly mixture of tears and mascara that has amassed in and around my eyeballs. As you can imagine, my mind is rather focused on savage, sword-wielding men in kilts whose accents make me want to hug people. Writing a coherent blog entry on sock monkeys? Let's just say that my poor brain would probably break if I tried.

Anyway, I am watching this movie because it happens to be Cute Tuesday Boy's favorite film.

(Aside to Cute Tuesday Boy: If you are reading this, know that you are indeed cute. You have been given a nickname on my blog in honor of your cuteness. The whole internet reveres you for it. Now don't get a big head about it.)

I am supposedly getting quizzed on the whole thing next week, but judging by how many office workers were abuzz about his presence this week, the aforementioned plans may be rudely interrupted.

(Aside to coworkers: Hi. Yes. I lose an hour's worth of work every Tuesday because I'm chatting with a boy. No, he doesn't go to our church. In fact, he doesn't go to church. I know. Time for a collective gasp. But seriously? I donate at least five or more hours of time every week, and, as long as the work is getting done, what's the issue? As I see it, I'm making a friend, and he's possibly getting over his hatred of all things church-related. Stuff it.)

As of this moment in time, I fully expect to be interrogated tomorrow as to the goings-on of Tuesday mornings. If my reason and logic are not met with respect and understanding, I'm going to hand in my notice, walk out from the office, and shout, "FREEDOM!"