Neste Sommer
Uh oh....I think my bra just snapped. Damn.
Oh...I mean...hi! I'm in a better mood today 'cos guess what?! IT STOPPED RAINING! ...and the sun is out. So hooray for that! However, today dinner is on my own and I am so scared. That's right, kids. I have to feed 110 people and if anything goes wrong, it's my ass on the line. No good. However, I'm making beef roasts and they are all looking quite good. I wish there were three more, though. See, we have 8 roasts and there are 11 tables of 10 kids. That means each table has to get ten slices of beef. Well, if there were just three more roasts, I wouldn't have to worry about how thin to slice this stuff. However, since there are eight, if I slice reasonably thin it shouldn't be a problem. Then again, it's me. The giant, walking worry-wart. I worry about EVERYTHING! Anything that CAN be worried about WILL be worried about. My paranoia is seriously going to be the death of me. But if you think about it this way, my chronic paranoia makes me think that everything is gonna turn to shit, so then when things don't turn to shit, I can feel good about myself (at the expense of others 'cos they had to deal with my snappiness that entire time). I still have beans and rutabagas to worry about, but those guys shouldn't give me much trouble at all. ...I'm hoping! (crossed fingers)
Well, I should go. I have food to not screw up. Later, lovers...
~Åstara
Oh...I mean...hi! I'm in a better mood today 'cos guess what?! IT STOPPED RAINING! ...and the sun is out. So hooray for that! However, today dinner is on my own and I am so scared. That's right, kids. I have to feed 110 people and if anything goes wrong, it's my ass on the line. No good. However, I'm making beef roasts and they are all looking quite good. I wish there were three more, though. See, we have 8 roasts and there are 11 tables of 10 kids. That means each table has to get ten slices of beef. Well, if there were just three more roasts, I wouldn't have to worry about how thin to slice this stuff. However, since there are eight, if I slice reasonably thin it shouldn't be a problem. Then again, it's me. The giant, walking worry-wart. I worry about EVERYTHING! Anything that CAN be worried about WILL be worried about. My paranoia is seriously going to be the death of me. But if you think about it this way, my chronic paranoia makes me think that everything is gonna turn to shit, so then when things don't turn to shit, I can feel good about myself (at the expense of others 'cos they had to deal with my snappiness that entire time). I still have beans and rutabagas to worry about, but those guys shouldn't give me much trouble at all. ...I'm hoping! (crossed fingers)
Well, I should go. I have food to not screw up. Later, lovers...
~Åstara